Sweat lodges should enrich the soul, not the bank account
September. The first hints of fall color touched the trees. Pale golden cornstalks stood ready for harvest in the rolling fields as I drove through Southern Illinois towards the gathering place. About a dozen of us would gather in the sweat lodge our Medicine Woman had built for us.
Her son had spent the day heating large stones-The Grandfathers-in a fire. Tending the stones for the lodge is a holy thing. We thanked him for his work.
Some of us were there to start a moon-long cycle of inner and outer healing. One man was seeking Divine help with a cancer his doctors told him was hopeless. Another was a young man seeking blessings for his tour of duty in Iraq.
We left our offerings of food for the communal meal on the table. Out of deference for the water pourer’s tradition, we…



