Chapter 8

Jared squinted in his sleep as the sunrise spread across his bed.  Opening his eyes, he peered at his watch showing 6:10.  Lying back on his pillow, he stared up at the ceiling fan as it slowly churned the already warm air about his room.  Recapping the night before, he toyed with the idea of not going at all.  After all, the picture Pakwa had painted of the sweat lodge experience made the wild boar chili seem like a Jello moment in comparison.

***

By 8 AM, Jared had consumed sufficient coffee and donuts—compliments of The Sunset Vista—to be ready to fight the sweat lodge’s total incapacitation, as Pakwa’s description the night before had intimated. 

Thirty minutes later, as he paid the cab driver, Jared wondered how the hell he was going to get back to town.  Getting to this remote piece of sand and sagebrush was one thing, but lacking some supernatural miracle, flagging a taxi fourteen miles out of town seemed unrealistic.  “Hey…” he said to the Navaho driver, “what’s chances of you picking me up, say, two hours from now?”

The driver snickered.  “You not gonna be done with Pakwa in two hours.”  He handed him his cab company card.   You got a cell phone, give it a try.  Good luck.”  He pulled away, leaving Jared standing beside a weathered signpost.  “Two Feathers Gone.” 

He pocketed the card and looked around.  Nothing but sagebrush, red sand and one hell of a hot sun.  Most everything else is gone from this remote stretch as well, he thought as he pulled Pak’s note from his shirt pocket and read again.  “Walk north from the sign along the path until you come to a fork.  Go left into the canyon.  Follow the spring creek down the canyon.  I’ll meet you at the base at 8:45.”  Jared strode off; glad he’d only worn shorts and a t-shirt.  He figured it was eighty degrees already. Who needs a sweat lodge when you’ve got this kind of heat at eight… he looked at his watch...eight twenty in the morning?

The walls of the canyon were a welcome relief to the heat.  Jared paused and leaned up against the red rock, peering up the walls to the top, revealing the water-line carvings of the rock’s history.  The path had started out in a wide mouth of the canyon, but by the time he reached eyesight of the sweat lodge, the walls had narrowed.  He was now standing with a mere fifty feet separating the walled silence, the sweat lodge some hundred yards further down the canyon.  The screech of an eagle high above echoed through the water eroded history of the rock.  From down the canyon, another screech echoed back up, seemingly coming from the base where the sweat lodge was situated.  He stood up and started down toward the base.  “Damn,” he mumbled to himself.  “What am I doing here?”

As he walked the last few yards to the sweat lodge, he reached down and scooped up some water from the small creek paralleling the path.  Splashing his face, he sucked up a couple of mouthfuls and walked into the austere setting: one twelve-foot diameter sweat lodge encased with red mud, one fire cooking some rocks red hot, and the emaciated Pakwa, sitting cross legged in front of the flames, wafting plumes of the smoke back into his face. 

“Hi,” said Jared.

Pakwa pulled his stringy, sweat soaked hair back from his eyes, glanced up at the sun’s rays pealing through the canyon and said, “You’re ten minutes late.”

Jared glanced at his watch.  “Well, almost got that right.  Actually, I’m 14 minutes late.”

“Your watch is wrong,” said Pakwa as he glanced back up at the sun and started wafting the smoke back into his face.  “And, remove that along with any other jewelry, contact lens, anything metal.  Your father’s instructions disallowed any tourist peek.  This, he said, had to be ‘the real deal.’ You know what the real deal is?”

  “I guess a lot of sweating,” said Jared.

Pakwa stood up, grabbed a forked tree limb and began maneuvering a red hot rock into the crutch.  “No, even tourists sweat.  The real deal is past the sweating.  Some call it their minds.   We call it cleansing.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Jared said sarcastically.

“Depends on how much you’re willing to lose,” said Pakwa, carefully walking the hot stone into the lodge.

“Of my mind?  Lost that long ago.”

“No, your hubris,” said Pakwa from inside.

 Jared shook his head, thinking hubris?  “Gonna take away the only thing I have left?”

“Of course,” said Pakwa, peeking out and pointing at Jared’s hiking shorts.  “Removing all covering of the body is best,” he continued.

Jared paused a moment, contemplating what he was being asked to do.  Pakwa smiled.  “It’s very dark inside, Jared.  And…I’m not interested in anything but fulfilling your father’s request.”  He gestured again to Jared’s shorts.  “Yes?  Your face shows much worry.  Not necessary.  Save for later.  Your father wants this to be just a jumping off point.  Knowing him, the worst is yet to come when you leave here.”  As Pakwa re-entered, “Grab yourself one of those canteens by my shirt and come on in.”

 Jared nodded reluctantly, dropped his shorts, grabbed a canteen, lifted the flap and entered.

From the darkness, Pakwa pronounced, “About a hundred.  Need a couple more degrees, but it’s a good start.”  As the hissing of water on the rocks continued, Pakwa said, “You sit there, Jared.”

Sitting on a flat slab before the pit of hot rocks, Jared gazed across at Pakwa, now sitting stripped as well.  Jared, after sitting on his assigned place for just a brief minute, gave thought to, what is it about darkness that makes heat so intolerable?    Another pouring of water over the red-hot rocks brought the suffering a few degrees higher; nudging the 102 degrees Pakwa said they would settle into.

After placing some sweet grass on the hot rocks, Pakwa sat back down on his stone and closed his eyes.  Jared followed suit as he realized quickly what a good idea, given the waterfall already cascading off his forehead and into his open eyes, was stinging additional discomfort.  Closing them, he immediately flashed on his swimming pool routine.  It was only a couple of minutes, however, as Pakwa broke the sound of the steam’s hiss with some quiet chanting in a language far removed from Jared’s experience.

Within a few minutes, Jared began relaxing, allowing the chanting to lull him into a state similar to his underwater experience.

A few more minutes passed, then the chanting ebbed and Pakwa spoke more in a whisper than a full voice.  “Your father asked I merely provide this environment and not perform any of my rituals…except one.”

Jared, now in a perpetual state of sweat, wiped his face.  “I can’t wait.”

Pakwa opened his eyes.  “It is best you leave your LA sarcasm behind for this little journey.  Such scorn will only prolong the results your father requested.”

“And that is?”

“The ritual of sound and sweat will make that self-evident.” 

In the darkness, illuminated slightly by the hot rocks, Jared squinted and watched Pakwa close his eyes once again.  Following suit, he waited.  Within moments, Pakwa accompanied his chanting with a subtle tapping of a small drum.  A short glance, and then Jared withdrew into his solitary. 

After a few minutes of the droning chant and drum, Jared realized he must be in the midst of the so-called “except one ritual.”  Whatever it was, he began to feel different.  He felt his body heating up and the sweat pouring from his skin into a puddle beneath his feet.  What was that smell? he thought.  Then it struck him…he was sweating out the boar stew aromatics.  Damn, that’s stinky.

Pakwa’s chanting stopped, leaving only the soft tapping of the drum.  “The Stone People spirits have awakened in the stones now, Jared.  You may take your mind off of the smell. 

How the hell did he know what I was thinking? 

Pakwa continued.  “These stones have been placed in the pit, some to the west, to the north, east, south and in the center, to Grandfather, Grandmother and The People”

Jared remained apathetic, his eyes closed, his mind beginning to feel defenseless.  He reminded himself that mushrooms started off this way as well. 

Pakwa began what sounded to Jared like prayers, beckoning spirits from Four Directions.  Pausing a moment, he poured more water on the coals, sending a plume of steam up, engulfing them both in renewed heat and further sweating.  Jared listened attentively, his breath shortening, his heart seeming to beat but a few times per minute as he listened to Pakwa. 

Grandfather, Mysterious One, we search for you along this Great Red Road you have set us on.

Sky Father, Tunkashila, we thank you for this world. We thank you for our own existence. We ask only for your blessing and for your instruction.

Grandfather, Sacred One, put our feet on the holy path that leads to you, and give us the strength and the will to lead ourselves and our children past the darkness we have entered.  Teach us to heal ourselves, to heal each other and to heal the world.

Let us begin this very day, this very hour, the Great Healing to come.  Let us walk the Red Road in Peace.

After a pause, Pakwa continued.  “During purification, Jared, it is important you release all sense of race, color and religion…put it aside for the moment.  As in the Mother’s womb and father’s eyes, we are all the same.  We are One.  Each of us has the ability to sit with creation itself.  Healing begins here…now…for dis-ease, physical, emotional, directional and spiritual.  Are you hearing this, Jared?”

Jared cleared his throat and mumbled, “Yes.”  He was well aware of his surroundings, but the feelings were foreign to him. 

“You are probably feeling different, yes?”

“Very,” said Jared.

“That is most likely the stage being set by the Spirit World for you to receive messages and visions.  Some you will experience today.  Some you will realize when the time is right…later.  And, Jared, I’m very aware of your resistance to the metaphysical and super-natural.  I deal with that all the time with others who come here.” 

Jared opened his eyes and squinted through the sweat that now drenched his eyelids.

“That is fine,” continued Pakwa.  “Just allow your inner spirit to be your guide.  And when, or if, you arrive at that place in your heart…ask for guidance and forgiveness from Creation and the people you may have hurt along the path of your journey to this moment.”

Pakwa reached behind him and lifted an ornate carved pipe, its bowl with suspended eagle feather tethered by leather.  Reaching toward the hot coals with a thin dried branch, he waited for the flame to catch, lifted it, lit the bowl of herbs and crushed leaves and puffed a small cloud of smoke.  He placed the pipe down in front of him and rose.  “I am going out now to retrieve more hot rocks.  You are invited to puff the pipe of love and peace, but…that is up to you.  Continue to just allow…allow, Jared.”

Jared heard the flap being raised, sensed the jolt of light for a moment, and then lapsed back into a relaxation he was beginning to appreciate.  He felt carefree…unthreatened…safe.  Clinging to the latter part of Pakwa’s statement, he wondered.  He’d not thought about it before, but how many had he hurt?  It was so easy to feel he was the one who had been hurt, but for some reason, now…

Light slowly faded from Jared’s consciousness.  As if walking through a vast darkness, illuminated only by polarized shadows, their light gray on black moving side by side with Jared’s pace.  Reaching a precipice, the shadows converged and formed a human-like connection over the edge and below, looking like the formation of a surreal free-fall of jumpers connected, hand to hand, hand to foot, the seemingly protective cradle of suspended safety.

Jared held at the edge, looking past the circle of shadows and into the abyss.  A swirling gray and white ether rose and engulfed both the shadow net and Jared.  Not hearing voices, but sensing an irresistible urge to jump, he spread his arms and leaned forward.  Without any warning, the circle of shadows faded and Jared realized he was sensing weightlessness. 

Not feeling any weight, his mind willed he float to the bottom of the abyss.  The passage descended past many more shadows seeming to float upright, as if providing a safe guidance through the pattern of their switchback trail.  Floating downward, he descended through the gray ether into an almost pure white fog covering of the ground.  Coming to rest on his feet, feeling gravity once again, he paused, taking in the ground cover, dried tundra appearing like the leaves and herbs-filled peace pipe.

Gravity now pulled him downward; his body feeling like it was being squashed, smaller and smaller.  Within a few moments, he was within the dried leaves and crushed vegetation looking up.  He realized he was smaller than his surroundings.  Resting beneath the cover were ghost-like faces from his past.  He saw former employers, friends he felt he’d abandoned, lovers he’d betrayed, and faces of homeless people he’d passed by on many corners of his life.  Suddenly he was opening his mouth to cry out, but nothing came out.  After several attempts to cry out, he realized he was becoming weightless again and started floating upward.  Panic took control of his body and he twisted and writhed, trying to free himself from the images, the memories, the realities he thought he had buried. 

The shadows reached forth from their stations along the switchbacks, each touch like the brush of a feather, calming his momentary fears, bringing him back to the edge of the precipice.  He stood, his body feeling like it was flooded with tears of the unknown, the sense he had just visited the place he was sure he had buried…over and over again.

His eyes snapped open.  He was trembling, still sitting before the hot coals as Pakwa poured yet another pattern across the rocks, the steam engulfing them both.  Squeezing his eyes shut, his tried to control his breath, but couldn’t control the hyperventilation he was experiencing.

“You can breathe at any rate you wish,” said Pakwa, “but you might want to release whatever your holding back with a few small, peaceful breaths.”

                                                                  ***

It was more than an hour later that Pakwa finished another round of chanting and drumming.  “How do you feel, Jared?”

Jared remained stoic, eyes closed, glistening in the faint glow of the now smoldering rocks.

“Jared?  You are feeling okay, right?”

“Right,” mumbled Jared.  “Depending what ‘okay’ means now.”

Pakwa chuckled and rose.  “Open your eyes Jared.  Okay means what you need it to mean.  Come.  You are thirsty, yes?”  He opened the flap and stepped outside.  Stepping back into his trousers, he turned to see Jared moving as if gliding toward his own clothing.

“What the fuck was that all about,” said Jared, his voice weak and shallow.  He slowly slipped on his hiking shorts.  Shaking his head, he looked over at the large jug of water.  “Mind if I fill my canteen.”

Pakwa smiled and nodded.  “Of course.  You’ve earned it.”

Taking a deep breath and forcing a smile, Jared quipped, “Jenny Craig know about this?  Damn…look at this.  Need a belt to hold up my pants now.”

“Old boxing trick, yes? Said Pakwa.  “Sweating is ancient tradition for all warriors.”  He handed him a piece of rope.  “For now.”

After a few moments, Jared took one last swallow from his canteen.  “Well…I’m not sure I should be thanking you or hating you.  My brain feels a bit scrambled still.”

Pakwa stood and extended his hand and arm in a traditional Native American gesture.  Jared reached out and the two men gripped each other’s forearm and held for a moment.  “You’re going to be alright, Jared.  You’ve merely stirred up the fire.  The flames will come later.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did my father do this…I mean did he go in there with you and…”

“Your father purged many times, Jared.  Many times.”

“Purging?  That’s what this is all about?”

“For some,” said Pakwa.  For others, it is but the opening of a door.”

“And?”

“Your father?  He didn’t know whether to thank me or hate me either.  But…I think he should be pleased with you.  Very pleased.”

Smiling rather embarrassed, Jared asked, “Because?”

“You’re not the same person who entered the lodge a few hours ago.”

Jared pulled the waistband of his shorts.  “Got that right.”

Pakwa smiled.  “Your LA is starting to come back. But…it will be different, this LA thinking.  Different now.”

After hiking through the canyon to the road, Jared took out the rather damp cab company card.  He turned in every direction with his cell phone, but no signal bars.  “Good luck” the cabby had jokingly muttered before.  He looked back where he’d come from, the plateau looked to be a couple of hundred feet higher.  Shit, he thought, I don’t feel like…

In the distance he heard the sound of a motorcycle.  A plume of dust rose beyond the hill to the west.  A few moments later, up over the top of the hill came the gleaming chrome and clear roar of a Harley, Pump’s hair flying in the wind. 

How the hell’d he know…