Becoming Bearheart

When the car finally came into view, I could see that it was and old, beat up, dark blue pickup truck. It came to a stop at the edge of our campsite and a woman got out. On that day, at that particular moment, she appeared to be an old woman. As I would later discover, she has many faces. She was short and round. Her hair was as white as the snow, with curls that went down past her shoulders. Her skin was soft and tan with deep laugh lines surrounding her beautiful blue eyes, which shined as if she had a secret that no one else knew. She was dressed in a pair of old, ragged pants and a sweatshirt. She had an old dog with her, a shepherd mix, I think. Abby approached the woman and they embraced. They began to work diligently, getting things from the woman’s truck, and carrying them to the place where we were going to build the Sweat Lodge. I could see them chatting to one another as they worked. Then, much to my surprise, when they were finished, they both began to walk toward me. I froze. For some reason I was suddenly feeling intense anxiety. Perhaps the very term “Medicine Woman” held so much honor and respect in my mind, or because I knew she was a woman of great importance among her lodge. Whatever the reason, it was clear that she was highly respected by Abby and the way she held herself announced strength and wisdom. As they stood in front of me, I found myself having trouble looking the Medicine Women in the eyes. I shuffled my feet a little and shifted my weight back and forth. Abby looked at the woman and said, “This is the client I was telling you about. Her name is Patti.” I looked up at them. The woman looked me up and down, and then looked deep into my eyes. “Hello Patti,” she said shaking her head with approval. She spoke softly, but with authority. I just stood there. I couldn’t speak. My mouth was dry and I was shaking like a leaf. I even felt for a moment like I might wet my pants. “This is Dancing Cloud,” Abby said breaking the silence. I just smiled nervously and offered my hand. The old woman wiped her hands on her pants and took my hand in both of hers, giving it a little pat. Then, with nothing else said, they walked away. As I stood there, trying to get a grip, I began to mentally beat myself up for not saying anything. “Jeez, I’m sure she was really impressed with you. You’re a real conversationalist, Patti,” I said to myself sarcastically. Then suddenly I was very much aware that I was standing there all alone talking to myself. I quickly cleared my mind and followed them. We all gathered quietly around the circle where the lodge was going to be built. We stood in silence for many minutes. We were like obedient little children waiting to be instructed. Everyone’s eyes were on Dancing Cloud. Finally, she spoke. “I welcome you all to this very sacred ceremony taught to me by my teachers of the Apache Nations,” she said. “What you are about to experience is not to be taken lightly. This is our church. What happens both inside and outside is to be taken very seriously. If you open your heart, it will change your life. Please treat what I teach you with honor and respect. You have all come here to change some aspect of your life. Sweat Lodge will help you to do this. But you must be careful what you ask for, for you will surely get it.” A chill ran down my spine, and for a split second I had a serious deja vu type of experience. A total sense of familiarity fell over me. It was as if this woman knew something about me that I didn’t even know myself. I had no idea what was happening, but suddenly I felt very safe. And at that moment, I knew that I was supposed to be there. And although I had no idea how, I knew that this woman was going to change my life forever. Dancing Cloud began to explain what the Sweat Lodge was all about, and the protocol for the ceremony itself. I was feeling such honor to be a part of this and I was nervous I might accidentally do something to offend her or the ceremony. I became very aware of my presence and my surroundings, and I listened very close to every word she said. It is important to note here that this ceremony, as well as every other I describe in this book, belong to the Native people. The ‘white eye’, like Abby and Dancing Cloud, have been trained fastidiously and given permission by the medicine men and women of these nations to perform the ceremonies with non-natives. This is very rare and rightfully so. The history that America has with its native people is an ugly one. They have no reason to trust that their sacred traditions will be honored by non-natives. It is thereby, very important for me to express that it is with the deepest honor and respect that I share my experiences. The Sweat Lodge was built in very much the same way the medicine wheel was built: with honor, respect and deliberate action. Not an unconscious move was made. Each branch of willow used in the frame was representative of something specific, and each hole that held the branches was dug with meaning. The poles were tied together in a sacred way, with sacred string called “sinew,” (ours was synthetic not animal) and prayers were said at every stage. The fire pit that was to heat the stones was measured so as to be a certain distance from the entrance to the lodge, and it had meaning. The shape of the lodge, and the positioning of it, all had meaning. The way the fire was built and the way the stones were placed in the fire had meaning. There wasn’t a thing done in the preparation of this ceremony that did not have significance. It was incredible, and a bit overwhelming.