Article 6: My First Sweat Experience

by Peter Harris

“Spiritual renewal and purification of body, mind, soul, and spirit are the major purposes and benefits resulting from sweat lodge use” (Laframboise, 2017).

The sweat lodge has been a sacred practice of the Aboriginal People of North America for generation upon generation. There has been plenty of ignorance by non-Aboriginal people extended to this tradition. The Federal Government even banned the practicing of Aboriginal religious ceremonies and dances once upon a time. Some believe it is a fantasy, or hocus pocus- a silly practice performed by uncivilized minds. I was no different in my opinion when I first began a journey of enlightenment to better understand this wholesome tradition. I was first presented with an opportunity to alleviate long held ignorance on a school field trip to a dedicated indigenous camp, known as Mile 20, located North of Thompson, Manitoba. It was here that I was given a chance to experience a traditional sweat lodge ceremony.

To be honest I was not very anxious to participate at first, but felt that I should make the most of the time spent on the land; I didn’t want to miss a chance to take from that field trip all that was expected of me from my instructors. In the process of taking part in the sweat I was able to find my voice and my prayers. I was blessed with finding a holistic renewal of my body, spirit, and mind and was able to further increase my understanding of a very important Aboriginal ceremony.

I could sense emptiness within me. It sat deep in my stomach like the eerie hand of a ghost pressing firmly down onto my diaphragm. I could not place its origin but it was there none the less, always present, forever nagging and gnawing for what seemed an eternity. I had hoped that my pursuit of a post-secondary education would provide purpose and fill the void in my life. I was wrong, it brought distraction, and some validation, but I still felt empty. I was at Mile 20 to experience the land based education that my professors so eagerly discussed in class. If someday I was going to become a good teacher, they assured me that this was integral. It was essential for cultural proficiency that I learned to value the correlation between educating students, particularly northern students, and the land. Aboriginal practices are important. I couldn’t help feeling like a trespasser though. As a nearing middle aged white man I definitely felt out of place. The majority of the students were Aboriginal females, a part of the population greatly affected by the actions of white males through the long storied history of colonization, I felt like a trespasser invading an occasion out in nature during the most beautiful season.

Autumn is undoubtedly my favourite season, and as I walked in nature, as I walked among the jack pine trees and the poplars, I found some measure of peace. The leaves fluttered in the cool northern breeze like orange, yellow and red flags announcing their intent for the long winter rest that was eminent. The sun was hidden behind grey clouds, afraid to look out, like a young child, shy and hiding behind the skirts of its mother. Light rain danced and fell as it descended from the sky. I was supposed to participate in my first sweat lodge this morning but I used the excuse of forgetting to bring proper clothes and avoided the ceremony altogether. Now my fellow students were engaging and I regretted missing the chance.

I am not sure if it was fear of the uncertainty I felt, or worry over what others might see as an interloper trying to take part in something I had no business being a part of, but I now felt that I should have went with them. I walked alone pondering the missed opportunity. The look on my professor’s face was unmistakable when I declined the invitation to join, he appeared disappointed in what he must have thought to be disinterest on my part and his expression further embellished my regret. I spent the rest of the day helping around the camp, preparing for our nightly congregation around the campfire.

Once the day’s light vanished and the clouds fled to allow the stars their chance to make a glorious appearance we took our places around the fire. We sat on folded chairs; we sat on cut stumps of wood; we ringed the flames and allowed the glow of the fire to illuminate our faces as we told of the day’s adventures. The sweat lodge was the most talked about part of the day. The other students told of their experience. They enjoyed the intense heat, the voices of the elders who sang their chants as they ushered prayers. The lodge was dark and it was hot. The whole experience sounded exhilarating and only made me regret my missed opportunity all the more.

The flames died down as did the conversation. Students started to slowly make their way to the tents. Eventually I was left alone with one other student, he and I had grown close enough over the past few weeks that I felt comfortable enough to ask him about his personal experience of the sweat. I told him of my fears and how I worried about other’s perceptions of me taking part in an Aboriginal religious ceremony. As it turned out, he claimed to have held similar ideas about himself before he sweated. This coming from a strong Aboriginal man made me take pause. Although he was Aboriginal, he felt a strong disconnect from his culture and he too wasn’t sure what he should have expected during his first sweat. He was so grateful that he tried; he clearly found some measure of peace during his time spent inside the small dome structure. I was last to leave the fire that night as I pondered my fellow student’s experience. I fell asleep on my cot happy for my friends but with a heavy heart because I didn’t have the courage to take part in the sweat.

The night was cold and I woke before the daylight. The camp was still dark as I made the fires and started breakfast. I enjoyed the solitude of the quiet camp. I cracked the eggs and fried sausages. I stirred the hash browns. The pans were in full use and the coffee was hot and steaming. My professor came into the camp and announced that he was off to help prepare another sweat lodge ceremony that was being held that morning. I couldn’t believe my luck. There was chance for me not to be the only student who did not sweat. I followed quickly after my professor and asked him if there was a free spot in the upcoming ceremony. His face brightened at my inquiry, “of course, there is,” he said and told me “it was mine if I wished.” I went back to camp and finished making breakfast. I was excited at another opportunity. Despite my excitement, the fear from the day before began to creep into my thoughts. I still felt like a trespasser. I ate and then quickly washed my dishes and went to find a pair of shorts I could wear during the sweat.

I wasn’t sure what I should do. From the descriptions given around the fire the night before, I was supposed to pray. Pray to whom? Pray to the land? Or pray to the spirits? I could feel my trepidation increasing again as I made my way down the path that led to the site of the lodge. It was a cool autumn morning, and I only wore the pair of borrowed shorts, my shoes and a T-shirt, but I was warm with perspiration. What right did I have to infringe on this old, Aboriginal tradition? I could not turn back though, I told my professor I would do it and no matter how I was going to participate.

I rounded the last bend in the trail and I could smell the smoke from the fire pit where the grandfather stones were being heated. I could see the dome structure, the heavy blankets draped over top of the willow frame that housed the ceremony. There was an older Aboriginal man there helping heat the grandfathers’ stones and he must have witnessed plainly on my face the worry I was feeling. This man was a gentle individual who had helped us students learn some of the traditional ways of the Aboriginal people. I liked him, he reminded me of a kindly uncle. “Hey Peter. I didn’t know you were gonna be sweating today. You missed the one for students yesterday but I am glad you will be joining the teachers for this one.” His tone was gentle and reassuring.

“I am not sure what I should do?” I said in hushed speech, as if I was reluctant to give voice to my concerns. Even though I trusted no judgment from this man it still felt a bit silly to say.

“It will be ok young fella.” He said, in equally hushed speech, “Allow yourself to relax, allow your prayers to find whatever it is you pray to.”

I felt a calm come over me with his words. I realized that a sweat was not some traditional ceremony reserved for Aboriginal People alone but for whoever needed revitalization. And I was in need of revitalizing. All around me stood members of the faculty from UCN and a couple of employees from the School District of Mystery Lake. All of us looked nervous as we patiently waited for instruction. Not one of us had ever sweated before. I had no reason to be afraid. “Thanks,” I said as I shook the man’s hand.

“No problem, we are about to start the ceremony so make your way to the entrance.” He said this as he gestured me towards the lodge. I removed my shoes and my T-shirt and entered on my hands and knees. In the center was a small pit where the heated grandfather’s stones would be placed. At the back of the tiny lodge sat an older, majestic looking woman, she had a strong sense of confidence to her. We all took our places as she welcomed us. The only light was from the open flap of the doorway. The sitting was cramped. I huddled near the edge of the pit with my back to the slanted wall. Last to enter was another woman who was to help with the ceremony. I felt excitement at what was about to unfold. It was a completely new experience for me and I tried to take in all that I saw but once the stones were placed in the center and the door was closed, we were shrouded in complete darkness. Although there were others present I felt greater solitude than I did that morning in the empty camp when I was alone.

In the lodge, the only companion in the darkness was the melodic chanting of the majestic woman and the sizzling sound of water turning to steam on the red hot stones. I felt a hot blast as my body reacted to the warmth but even more important my spirit and my mind felt a sudden peace. My mind cleared in the confines of that heated lodge and I allowed myself to pray. It could have possibly been near two decades since I focused my thoughts on prayer. It had been an eternity since I allowed my mind and my thoughts to be directed to God. Once I started though there was no stopping what was unleashed that cold autumn morning inside the sweltering heat of a sweat lodge. I prayed for my family, I prayed for my friends. I prayed to God for salvation and for strength to live a better life. I prayed for love and for health. I especially prayed for my children. At the end of the fifth round of new heated stones I felt an acute connection with the God I prayed to. I felt a holistic renewal of my body, spirit and mind. Once the ceremony was complete we all crawled from the lodge. Every person who took part all seemed to have similar experience. We said thank you to those who allowed us to join and offered our tobacco. We hugged and shook each other’s hands, bonded now like soldiers gone through battle together. My experience was a positive one. I was happy to have gone through with it.

I no longer felt like a trespasser, infringing on another’s ceremony but felt clean and glad. In the midst of the darkness, in the midst of the enveloping heat, in the midst of the silence, my prayers broke through and my heart found a path to the divine. I could sense that cultural connection too, which I had been learning about during my studies. It was a turning point in my education. I fully intend to take part in as many sweats as I can and as often as I can, and continue to further my understanding of the Aboriginal culture.

Works Cited
Laframboise, Sandra. “The Sweat Lodge Ceremony- An Aboriginal Healing Tool”. Dancing to the Eagle Spirit Society. http://www.dancingtoeaglespiritsociety.org/swlodge.php. Accessed 11 June 2017. Web

About the author: Peter Harris is in the final year of the Bachelor of Education at UCN. He plans to teach at junior high level in Thompson after graduation. He is a father of four and devotes lots of his time raising his children. He loves reading fantasy novels, and he enjoys writing.

Instructor’s remark: Peter Harris was one of my students in the Academic Research and Writing Course (IDS.1003). His reflections on his first sweat experience makes a good read. Through Peter’s story, the reader understands that the concept known as “an outsider” does not exist in a sweat ceremony because participants suddenly realize that they are part of a family (Dr. Joseph Atoyebi).