As heavy sweat dripped onto my legs and the discomfort of the small pebbles I sat on dug into my thighs, it wasn’t the discomfort that had my attention. I suddenly had clarity! It was just one of the many benefits of a temazcal. When we were finished, I stepped into the clean, crisp air outside, feeling rejuvenated and ALIVE!
The Setting
I had been teaching yoga at an addiction recovery center in Uruapan, just about an hour south of Ensenada, on the Baja Peninsula. The Executive Director generously arranged for me to join in a temazcal (sweat lodge), which the guests enjoy twice a week as part of their recovery. I expected a good sweat, but the experience went far beyond the physical.
What is a Temazcal?
For centuries, temazcal ceremonies have been part of the Mexican culture. An authentic temazcal is led by a shaman. Mario was our shaman, and he was accompanied by Grandma Shirley. Together, they guided us through the “four doors” of the ceremony that lasted just over an hour. I must admit that I was nervous before the ceremony because I don’t do well in extreme heat. I’m from Washington State, after all! Seventy degrees feels hot to me, so I wondered how I would handle it. Add to that very tight quarters with sweaty strangers during a pandemic, and I almost didn’t go. But I’m so glad I did!
The Ceremony
I was one of the last ones inside the igloo-shaped adobe hut. Thirteen of us sat cross-legged around the fire pit. I couldn’t believe we could all fit! Mario brought in eight large volcanic stones, one at a time, using a pitchfork. One of the girls in the group smeared copal and sage over the hot rocks. The fragrance was delightful! The stones glowed bright red, and the hut began to heat up quickly. Then, Mario brought in a five-gallon bucket and spooned water onto the rocks, creating steam. The heat intensified as he closed the door with a heavy blanket, and we sat in total darkness and waited in silence.
Mario said a prayer to Tunkashila, which means creator or Great Spirit in Sioux. During the ceremony, he and Grandma Shirley spoke a combination of Sioux, Spanish, and English. He asked for guidance and healing, explaining that the “first door” represents birth and emotional growth. We were told to envision the color yellow, which represents the east. I thought about my time in Asia. They started to chant, and someone began banging a drum. They added more water to the hot stones, and the heat intensified, as did the chanting. I heard my voice rise with the others as sweat started dripping from my face. I focused on my breath and the chant. I didn’t know what I was saying, but it was as if my ancient mystic self was taking over.
The blanket was briefly opened between the first and second phases, so more stones could be added to the firepit. Again, the blanket was draped over the opening, and the heat became nearly unbearable. Chanting vibrated through my body, and I heard my voice making sounds I didn’t understand logically, but I connected with them emotionally. The physical, mental, and spiritual realms blurred, and I surrendered to the experience. The one thought I do remember was that if I died, it would be a beautiful way to go.
The process was repeated for the next doors. Door two represents the physical life, and door three is mental. We were instructed to consider the women before us, our ancestors and elders. I envisioned my mother and grandmother. My tears joined with my sweat, and I began to rock in place with the rhythm of the drums.
Divine Guidance
The fourth door represented the spiritual realm, and that is where it took me. I stopped chanting and just listened. Before the ceremony, I struggled to decide whether to continue my annual yoga festival or cancel it for the year. For some reason, I wasn’t having much success with getting people to register, so I asked for a sign for what to do. There, on the dirt floor, covered with sweat, barely able to breathe, I heard the answer in the rhythm of the drums and chanting voices. I remembered the purpose of the festival, which is to heal. An ancient voice spoke to me and said that if only one person at the festival experiences healing, it’s worth it. I needed to move forward and let go of any fear of failure.
Smoking the Peace Pipe
Suddenly, the ceremony ended. The blanket was removed, and I could see clearly (both literally and metaphorically). I looked around, and several people were lying on the dirt floor. Mario and Grandma Shirley checked on them, and they were fine, just depleted. As we left the hut, we drank hibiscus tea and checked in with one another. Grandma Shirley brought out her 40-year-old peace pipe. It was a stunning piece of art, and I could feel its energy from several feet away. As she loaded it, she explained that it was a gift from her father and we shouldn’t inhale, just puff it, like on a cigar. Mario said to think of our prayers as we passed it around, that the smoke would reach Tunkashila and our prayers would be answered.
When my turn came, I followed the instructions. I didn’t care that I was sitting on bare ground and covered with grime and sweat. I felt marvelous and energized! Afterward, I hosed myself off with cold water and felt grateful for the experience. I would do it all over again!