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MY FIRST SWEATLODGE
Beauty that is one of the few words.
The sweet, mature aged woman dressed in red and yellow telling me not to give up and that I was a good person.
In my sleep she was there in that space in reassurance.
As my eyes close I could smell the cedar.
Even now I close my eyes, deep I go.
My own personal theme of dig deeper.
In where it was only her and me.
It gave me a peace, a calming.
I know when I went into the lodge there was twenty people, but in those moments it was just me in there with the woman wearing the red and yellow dress.
Dancing like I never have and singing songs like I was free.
I felt like the wind with nothing to hold me back.
Going here, there, everywhere, yet right here.
Awakening this morning I thought…did all those things happen?
Did I dance, smile, laugh, and be free like in a celebration all night?
I thought I couldn’t accept being native American. I’m Jewish, African-American, Pentecostal with a dab of Creole, and I’m a sweet southern girl from a nice southern family.
Yet every time I close my eyes the mature aged woman is there, beckoning me to dance, sing and accept freedom.
To be honest there are no words to describe this feeling. It is more powerful than the ones I share with my mate.
Putting all fear aside. I can’t wait to do it again. I’ve never been so me, so sacred, and so whole.
