As a young child my brother and sister and I were exposed to many traditional ceremonies. The smell of sweetgrass was not foreign to us. We had no name for it, it was something that happened in our home occasionally and we would be there. I remember gatherings where people would share their stories from fasting. One in particular stands out in my memory. A man, who for some reason I think was a member of AIM (American Indian Movement) was telling us about his fast in a house. He was there alone and after going for days without food or water, praying constantly and offering his suffering so that his prayers could be answered, an Eagle came to see him. A 6 foot Eagle. The story resonated in us kids as we questioned its validity. I think I told one of my friends about it and he said it was impossible. He was a Christian. I then told my father and I remember him saying ‘Well if people believe Jesus walked on water then there’s nothing wrong with believing in that 6 foot Eagle.’ I must have been 6 or 7 at that time.
I was baptized as an Anglican, but I have never called myself a Christian. My parents witnessed firsthand the many horrible things that Christian churches did to Native people in Canada and I was constantly reminded of this growing up.
Around the time I turned 18 I attended my first sweat lodge ceremony with an Elder from Alberta who had been brought in to our reserve to run ceremonies. After going to school in Winnipeg, taking Anthropology courses of all things, I realized that Native people in Canada have a unique religious system that was still practiced today. I had to go away to suddenly become interested in our traditional ways. Suddenly there was a name to what went on in my younger days.
I was told by a traditional person that the first thing I should do was to get a traditional name – which is how I ended up at the sweat. I learned all of the proper protocols, the importance of the offerings, the importance of the gift you give to the Elder, etc. When I immerged from that first sweat I felt as if I had been reborn. I felt pure. I felt that my life had meaning and that everything I did would be to help others.
When I think back to those first few ceremonies that I went to I also had a nagging quiet voice in the back of my head telling me something was not right. I ignored it. Anything that I saw that I would have previously disagreed with I accepted, as I believed in cultural relevance. If it was Traditional, it was right. If the Elder said this is the way things are, then this is the way things are. I was told time and time again that Elders are the carriers of knowledge in our communities and they are to be supremely respected at all times. I was told that to question an Elder is to question ‘the Grandfathers’ (spirits or angels) ... sacrilege.
I became a born again Indian.
Like so many converts to new ideologies and religions I went into it head over heels. I did everything I could to be as ‘Traditional’ as I could. I fasted, two, three, four times a year for periods of up to four days. No food or water for four days (you lose about 20 pounds in 4 days if you do not eat or drink anything). I became a “Skapey’ous” or helper in the ceremonies. Basically an apprentice under the Elder who at that time I held in high esteem. I got rocks, prepared the sweat, built sweats, etc. I began to move my way up in the hierarchy of Traditionalism.
I remember one day even telling my father, “Dad you need to get a traditional name!” His reply was swift and caught me off guard. I would not know its significance until years later. He said, “If you have been walking on a path you whole life that you know is the right path to go where you want to go, why would you leave it?” I tried to convert everyone I knew to the path of Traditionalism.
In some Traditional groups you have to ‘earn’ everything that the Grandfathers give you. At first by helping out you may earn a feather, then maybe a name, then a personal pipe, then a men’s pipe, then a people’s pipe, then a personal sweat lodge, etc. It is up to your Elder to facilitate handing these things over to you when you are ready.
During those days I saw a lot of amazing things. I witnessed some ceremonies and events that I thought could not possibly be hallucinations or trickery. Again, If any doubt crept into my subconscious I pushed it away into a locked closet.
After a time I learned a tremendous amount about myself, about my body and what it was capable of, about what religion was capable of inspiring men and women to accomplish. I saw the self-sacrifice of fathers and mothers fasting and sun dancing for days in the hot sun for their children or for their sick and dying parent or relative. I learned that the spiritual fulfillment that comes with sacrificing yourself for others in very intoxicating. When you dance or fast or sweat it is never about yourself, it is about others, helping others. The last time I pierced, at a Mandan Okeepa ceremony (It has become a modern phenomenon to cut short the four days and count one day as two, or allow small amount of food and water, the Mandans danced for four full days with zero food or water), it was for my daughter. She still carries the blood stained dowel and the cordage in her personal bundle.
In those days I felt spiritually enlightened ... but there was still something in the back of my mind that I pushed away.
Then my spiritual world came crashing down. The Elder that I had been apprenticing under, the Elder that I had studied with and listened to for hours upon hours and had learned so much, was charged with sexual assault. At first I refused to believe what I was told about him. He was accused of sexually assaulting his step daughters over a period of ten years. I wanted so much at the time to believe him, take his side of the story, because if I believed his step daughters it meant that everything he had told me, everything that I had learned in the ceremonies and on my quest to ‘enlightenment’ had been false. Deep down however, the closet I had been hiding my intuition in burst open. With the assistance of a good friend who was of tremendous help to the victims of his crimes I supported the girls. I went to the trial in support of them, not the elder. They have become heroes to me, for facing up to a person that others worshipped, for telling the truth when others were calling them liars and trying to shame them.
After all of this happened I put all of my pipes away. I put away my sweetgrass, my sage, tobacco and cedar and stopped going to any ceremonies.
If the intent of religion and ceremonies it to help people be better people, then shouldn’t I just try to be a good person? If the dogma of traditional ways helped cover up the submission of women than was it worth following at all? I had so many unanswered questions and I knew that I had to turn my back on the sweat.
The Elder that I worked with was sentenced to two years in prison and to this day denies any wrong doing. He refused treatment in jail and even left jail with a new batch of followers, many of whom themselves were convicted sex offenders.
I began hearing other stories about Elders that had abused or assaulted others. Elders that used the premise of a ceremony to grope young girls, elders that in the cover of darkness in a sweat had sexually assaulted women in need of medical attention under the guise of some special ‘ceremonial penetration practice’ that they were not to tell anyone about. The power that Native people were giving to elders was harming our children and our women.
What kind of a religion turns a blind eye to abuse of children and women?
I have slowly returned to practicing traditional ways on my own terms. I am now devoutly against anyone telling me what I can or cannot do in my ceremonial life. In my view it is 100% fine to have women on their menstrual cycle participate in ceremonies. It is not okay to force women into submissive roles in the name of tradition. It is okay to “break the rules” that the fanatical converts preach and demand. Wearing pants to a ceremony doesn’t make a woman evil, nor does sitting a certain way or not walking behind a husband. These traditions are about power and the abuse of power.
If anyone wants to accuse me of doing something wrong in a ceremony or of allowing a practice that is against the teachings they can go right ahead. I do not care. I will do my best to live a good life. To walk on a path that helps others. I will teach my children about respect, responsibility and freedom. Most importantly to stand up for what they believe in and trust their instincts.
I have also learned that the sacrifice of committing yourself to others is a good thing. I suppose that anything taken to a fanatical level can be harmful. I am beginning to realize now that the words of my father are wiser than ever. “Ceremonies are the punctuation at the end of a sentence. They are not the sentence.” Only because of this am I starting to slowly appreciate them again.
My path away from the sweat lodge may lead me back to it, on my terms.
