Sweat Lodge in the Poconos

It was a perfect weekend. Tranquil lake, morning dew, warm fire and spiritual beings gathering for an experience. It was different from the one I partook in last year. The one that changed my life. This one was lead by Lunging Bear. Tall, gentle voice, and blue-eyed leader. He was having problems with his prostrate. TMI? Well, that's what he shared.

His goal was to take us in and out. One swift motion. He smudged half-heartedly and recited none of the rituals. A cd played in his S.U.V. and the hypnotic voice instructed that if a woman was on her moon cycle, to be sure to share this with the chief. I did as instructed.

Lunging Bear looked at me with dismay. His blue eyes widened and he whispered, "You will have to do a separate sweat. Otherwise, you will drain me of my energy. You see?" I was a little annoyed. It wasn't just that I would have to paddle back to the other side of the lake and wait an hour or so, it was that so many people were turned off to this sweat because he was a man that preferred to have the women dressed in long gowns upon entering the wee-pee (or tee pee, as it is more commonly known). Time. Patience. The bane of my existence, really.

The long hour passed, and I watched the sun move from the sparkling angle of the trees, to the shining kisses on the waters' edge. They shone like diamonds. The ripples calmed down to a faint murmuring reflection. I was calm. I was ready.

I entered in the wee-pee. Fully ready to disclose my intention. Lunging Bear sat outside and smoked his Marlboro reds. "Go in," he said. "Don't I have to re-smudge?" I asked. "No. You're fine," he answered cavalierly. I was ready. I was waiting for an awakening. I went in the wee-pee and only about 5 people (from the 35) remained. Some where lounging in bikinis, some were in full gear. I sat close to the rocks and breathed in serenity and centeredness.

There is a tradition among the Indigo people whereupon women in their moon cycles are asked specifically to sit on the Earth and feed it with the milk of human suffering. It reminds nature to awaken and protect, as it had so many centuries ago. With mindfulness, I let the drops kiss the Earth. I let go.

Lunging Bear entered the wee-pee, and when the panels closed, we were cloaked in darkness. He went through the ritual. "What are your concerns?" he asked. In a round-robin fashion, people shared their most intimate worries. He spoke beautifully. He called in all the spirits of healing. A calm swept over our little clan.

"What are you grateful for?," Lunging Bear then asked. I could hear some people hyperventilating and weeping. So much had been revealed, so many wounds were exposed. Three people expressed their gratitude. So many more sat in silence. Lunging Bear retreated. I was anticipated the four directions, and found myself caring for two spirits, like wounded fawn. I gave reiki to those remaining. I called healing and pure energy and spirit to come and infuse this wee-pee. When I retreated, the sun was setting. I felt the trees call to me and awaken an appreciation for having fed them with the milk of human kindness. I was no longer afraid of the woods. I was no longer afraid of the Earth. I had transformed in a different way. Thank you Mother Earth!!! Abundance is my birthright, and you have shown me the way.

Labels: Native American, reiki, Rumi, serenity, sobriety, Sweatlodge

Treasure in the Park

Sorry I've been so quiet lately. The frenetic pace of the City when the sun comes out is almost viral. As we speak, I can barely hear myself think because of the noises competing to make their own symphony. Yet, there it is. Like an oasis in the City. Bryant Park.
It may seem rather plebeian of me to mention something so basic. The Park. Not THE park (as in the Central one) but the one between Grand Central and Port Authority. Next to the New York Public Library, across from Nat Sherman. That one. Did you know there were treasures hidden within?
As I was filming a pilot, reviewing scripts for ideas with my sketch comedy group, working on new material to perform for my stand-up act and looking for locations for a show I’m producing, I suggested to take a meeting in the Park. Off in the distance, I could see well dressed couples drinking clear glasses of Chablis. Laughter tinkling like the best polished crystal. The symphony of birds chirping like Texan lavender. As my footsteps neared the granite walkway, the crescendo of the orchestra reached new heights. There they were, the participants of an elegant opera, in grand New York City style.
As I made my way to a new found slice of serenity, I caught a glimpse of my old thinking like a hiccup, or a faint echo. It wasn’t such a long time ago when I would not have even known that every Thursday one can go to the concerto in the park. The sense of community and peace is like nothing I can describe, and tastes sweeter than any glass of anything I’ve ever put my lips to.

Labels: Bryant Park, Rumi, serenity, sobriety