Bill Record (Medicine Bear) preparing a sweat lodge at Omega Teen Camp

On the banks of Colorado's Green River one summer night, I was with a group of people who fashioned a sweat lodge on the sand out of saplings covered with tarps. We heated some smooth rocks in a fire, brought them into the lodge, and doused them with river water to create steam. Inside, we crouched down, breathing deeply in the pitch black silence, enduring the rising heat. No sight, except for the soft glow of red rocks and the rising steam when the water was poured; no sound but my beating heart, and the outside elements flickering at the tarps. The intensity of the physical sensations flooded my brain, chasing out petty problems. The space around me grew thick with connection to the natural world.

When the flaps of the tarps were opened, we burst out onto the beach, into the sharp, sand-specked wind and the icy river water, feeling renewed and reborn, as if facing the elements for the first time. Though I was unaware of the connection at the time, our sweat lodge was fashioned after an ancient purification ritual still being practiced today by indigenous people and, increasingly, by people with no direct lineage to the tribes that are keeping the practice alive.

Sweat lodges in their original form are sacred ceremonies rooted for the most part in Native American cultures, although there are similar traditions from Norway and Russia. While there are hundreds of variations of the ceremony, the universal goal is purification and healing of the body, mind, soul, and spirit. The lodge structure represents the womb of Mother Earth; those who enter are in direct contact with, and under the influence of, the barest elements of the earth. In that protective space, the old self is shed and a better self reborn.

Most traditional lodges were, and still are, constructed of willow or other saplings tied into a dome shape, covered completely with blankets. Inside, a hollow pit is dug in the center to receive stones that are heated beforehand in a large fire nearby. Building a lodge, which takes hours, is part of the ritual and conducted with as much reverence as is the ceremony that will take place inside.

When the stones are red hot, participants enter the lodge under the guidance of a medicine man or woman (traditionally), and sit in a circle on the ground. Stones are brought in to the pit one at a time. The lodge leader pours water on them and sometimes adds sacred herbs or medicines, filling the lodge with aromatic, healing steam. The doorway is covered over, and all is dark except for the glowing, sizzling stones.

Ujjala Schwartz, a Hudson Valley health educator and interfaith minister who has participated in many lodges, says that in the Lakota tradition, this darkness is the dying period. "Some people have reactions of claustrophobia or panic. Those are the layers we want to get rid of, so we start chanting to free ourselves of these games. We surrender to the lodge and let go. Sometimes, you'll hear crying or laughing. It's a real opening."

New stones are brought in three more times, for four rounds. The leader designates an intention for the rounds, such as the four directions, the elements, or the body, mind, soul, and spirit. Some rounds are of gratitude and affirm our connection with all life in the past, present, and future. The ceremony lasts anywhere from one hour to many.

Charlie Thom, also known as Red Hawk, from the Karuk tribe in Northern California, occasionally leads lodges in New Paltz. He says he does not follow any specific tradition when leading a sweat; he lets Spirit guide him, and each ceremony is different as a result. "It's an all natural healing that completely turns people around. They cry, scream, holler, sing, or dance, and come out joyful." But, he emphasizes, in order to receive healing, "you have to believe, you have to have faith."

Sparky Shooting Star, of Cherokee and Irish descent, is a Peace Elder based in Western Massachusetts, and comes to the Center for Symbolic Studies in New Paltz once a month to lead traditional Lakota sweat lodges. "Everyone gets something different," she says, "and it's up to us to use the energy. You have to be ready to open up. You have to ask for healing, and be ready in your heart and soul to let go." She says the lodge renews the elements in our bodies, enabling us to release old fears and resentments, giving us the opportunity to see anew and make amends. "We are connected to all life and all time in these ceremonies."

Bruce Schneider, a chiropractor in New Paltz who has participated in and organized sweats, says the experience is hard to put into words. "It helps me get out of my head and into my heart, and that's hard to translate into language. It's not intellectual at all, which is what we're used to. It works on a totally different elemental level. It helped me to let go of my prejudices and preconceived notions of things."

Jone Miller, a High Falls resident, says it provides a way to expel old feelings and resentments, allowing her to be present for new people, feelings, and experiences. "We carry toxins from emotions we carry with us. For me, the sweating is part of the release. It's so penetrating, it's like letting go of all those feelings that no longer serve me to hold on to."

Sweat lodges are increasingly popular among people seeking an alternative to mainstream religion and healing practices. Native American culture respects all living things, and that perspective is growing among non-native people, as natural environments around us have receded, and lifestyles become more hectic and disconnected.

"There's a real longing in most people's hearts to connect to something very deep," Schneider explains. "If you look around in our culture, there's a very shallow view of things, and people are looking for that direct connection, something larger than our five senses."

Some people object to non-native people participating in lodges, and in some cases leading them, even if trained by a medicine man or woman. Others feel it is acceptable, if conducted with the right intent and with respect for the culture from which it was borne. Charlie Thom has received flak for introducing non-native people to sweat lodges, but says he does not discriminate. "My prayers go worldwide, not just to my tribe. I don't even miss the flea on the dog's back. They go out to every living thing on Mother Earth." Some Native Americans hope that sharing their traditions will help rescue humanity from a relentless cultural downslide.

As the experience broadens to more people, it's wise to do some inquiry into what a traditional lodge expects, and who is leading it, before attending one. Not all retain the original sacred intent. Traditionally, nudity was not required, so don't get talked into that if you don't want to. The energies of women on their period are considered too powerful to partake in the lodge. If you choose to "do a sweat," remember it is considered a privilege to enter the sweat lodge, and deserves the utmost respect.