What should I tell you about the sweat lodge ceremony after the darkness and heat had taken over? There were four sessions in each of the ceremonies I participated in. I will tell you later how the second ceremony unexpectedly came to be and some of the details – it followed the first by two days – but for now I will stick to the basics of what happened during both ceremonies to give you a broader sense of what I observed.
Much to the disappointment of most of my friends, there was no peyote or any other substance designed to play with the mind other than a modest puff of tobacco through a long wooden pipe as each of the ceremonies drew to a close. I would guess that each ceremony lasted about 90 minutes. Neither was a continuous hour and a-half of heat and darkness. The ceremonies comprised four sessions - Ernest calls them “rounds” - of prayer and singing - almost all in Lakota. After the first and longest round of roughly twenty-five minutes, Lorenzo opened the door and we relaxed in the cool air for a few minutes. The flap door was opened after the second and third sessions, too. Then it was opened for good following the fourth and final round. After it was opened, all of us scurried to our automobiles to towel off and put on our dry clothes.
In this part of the series, I will tell you about the first round of the first ceremony.
After Lorenzo closed the door behind him and following the dark silence of a few moments - long enough that your attention was drawn to the strangeness of your surroundings - then Ernest began praying. That is how both of the ceremonies opened.
After Ernest had spoken prayer for some time, he began to lead the others in song. Some songs sounded like hymns, others were chants. All of the songs, of course, moved with their own rhythms and repetitions. Most of the times, Ernest would lead us – I found myself more able to harmonize in sync with the rhythms as the ceremonies went along – into a new verse or song. I believe Tyson led us into variant verses at times, too, but in the darkness it was impossible to be sure. I was not yet familiar with the men’s voices. The song and prayer was fluid, natural, authentic, unrehearsed, something that was happening through the men. They seemed to be letting themselves by guided by the same forces that cause our lungs to operate, yet on a metaphysical level. You have seen it in live performances by great bands and other artistry. I’ve had the similar experiences during Christian church activities over my lifetime. I continue to have them. I am not alone. There is something about the experience, connecting you with something wonderful (or terrible) that you believe in but do not understand.
It was as the the men were singing – not more than a chorus or two after the men’s voices had found their strength – that I first heard women singing. My western-trained caught me. This cannot be. I have never believed in such things. I have always scoffed as such tomfoolery. If know me, I think you will understand. I have long egged on friends after a drink or two to go with me to a psychic, but have found no takers. I always thought it would be fun to fuck with those who somehow find cause to hold themselves out public as media with the spirits. Even the idea of Catholic communion puzzles me. Leaving all that aside, I went on listening to the Lakota and continued to hear. The men’s singing was moving. I have been a part of many fervent Christian singing that has moved me deeply, but i have never been moved like this. This strange music agitated me to become a part of it. In the darkness and sinuous glow of the lava stones, the women’s voices would come and go. Sometimes, one or two. Other times, you could not count the voices. You imagined a choir of altos and sopranos. The women complemented the men, harmonizing in their way, and sometimes sang with them. I let myself doubt and wonder. I let myself listen. Despite the heat and darkness, I felt as clear of mind as I do at that time in the morning when I am my sharpest. I was not focusing on a task at work, but I was focusing with the same strength and clarity as I would that work task on the singing. I heard women’s voices.
After what seemed an eternity of music ended - I would guess it was ten minutes - Ernest asked each of us to pray for whatever lay on our hearts. Lorenzo, the doorman, began, praying mostly in English but with a mix of Lakota. I prayed next for certain troubles I confessed, for my family, naming and speaking briefly about my wife and four children. I prayed for my sister and her family, telling the men she was dying of breast cancer. The men’s audible responses overwhelmed me. I concluded. Next to me, Ron prayed in Lakota. Junior prayed in a mix of Lakota and English. Tyson prayed exclusively in Lakota, the only nephew to do so. Ernest concluded, praying a brief prayer in Lakota, before asking Lorezo to open the door.
The coolness of the evening eased into the lodge and we all sat back and relaxed. Common talk. That was a hot one. Yes, that was a good one. Then idle words, wisecracks, and laughter for a few moments as we all caught our breath. It was not difficult for me to breath in the sweat lodge, but cool air is as to hot, as cold water is to warm. The cool air felt good within.
Ron told me thank you for telling them about my sister. I replied, explaining she had told me to ask them to pray for her. Again, the men made spirited sounds of acknowledgement. Ron asked me what I thought of the first round. I told him I felt fine. I had no troubles with the darkness, confinement, or heat. I said I was moved by the music and prayer. Then, after pausing a few moments to think about it, I chuckled once and sheepishly told them that I heard women’s voices. The men once again audibly responded to my comments. There was no hint of derision or doubt. Ron quipped, “We all heard them. At least they were singing with us tonight.” We laughed together.