I went to my first sweatlodge on Sunday in Leando, Colorado. The lodge is homemade out of birch sapling and tarps so that it's virtually air and light-tight. We sat on towels and blankets leaving grass showing where I put my feet when things got too hot. For a bunch of reasons including nursing, altitude, and hot yoga, I was half-dehydrated to start with but still well enough to feel claustrophobic when the door was closed and all was dark except for the orange glow of the granite rocks that were assembled already hot in a pile in the centre of the lodge. With my eyes closed, I felt less anxious but still anxious, still trapped. The ceremony of the sweatlodge was divided into 3 "doors" and then a final round of more sweating and singing and praying. The physical door of the lodge, a piece of tarp the size of a big bed pillow, was opened between "doors", cold air and light entered, more hot rocks were added from the fire outside, the water bucket was re-filled. When the door is closed, drumming begins, then singing, and then the leader asks for prayers. My first prayer during first door was really vague. On the second round of prayers, the facilitator encouraged us to share the joys but also the rubble of our hearts. He said "rubble". My second prayer was like this:
I have lived in Haiti for 5 years, most of the time with my doors unlocked.
As we all know there was a lot of rubble in Haiti recently.
I was in my house in Port au Prince during the earthquake.
My house shook too but nothing fell of the walls.
The rubble at my house was not physical rubble but emotional rubble.
It's the rubble of my heart.
My heart is broken.
Because we left Haiti.
Sure we stuck it out a few days.
And sure there was a ton of pressure because whenever anyone saw me and our 3 month old baby, they said "you better get out of here". And we were scared to go to the Canadian Embassy to pick up his passport in case they might not let us NOT evacuate.
But our baby Niko is unlike the so many children in Haiti who can't leave.
And that's what breaks my heart -
not that they can't leave
but that we left with Niko and Gabriela.
What breaks my heart is that it's considered safer to leave and that we think and act like it's better over here. ...what I do know is that after I shared my prayer out loud to the 30 strangers sweating with me, I didn't feel claustrophobic anymore. I opened my eyes to the darkness. I breathed the steamy air in deeply. I sat up straight. I sang louder. I felt those around me. I was together with everyone. (And my breasts started to spray milk into my shirt.)
In many ways Haiti has been a safer place for me than Canada: everyday adventures, reasonable amounts of food, fresh food all year round, sun, the family that is MCC, no speed limits or superhighways, regular nights made romantic by lack of electricity, everyone's a Christian or at least can talk about it, fewer white people in case I was still comparing myself to my peers, Christmas at church and no presents!, confidence that Gabriela is getting both sides of her culture.
And yet I couldn't stay in Haiti in the short-term post-earthquake because I was scared...scared, not of lack of water or food or people stealing stuff but because I was scared of staying home with our two kids and Matt going out all day and all night and me being stuck there with Niko nursing and Gabriela sucking on his hands like she likes to do (it's adorable but drives me bonkers) and jumping on his head and me not knowing what to do, wanting to be the best Mama I can be but feeling bored, feeling powerless, feeling alone, feeling like my bum will get stuck in a chair, worried that I'll get fat and I'll be embarrassed and my children will hate me and I'll so lack confidence that I'll be scared to speak up and to hold my own and scared of not knowing what I'm good at and what if I'm just average? WORRIED THAT I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO TO "HELP" HAITIANS because I've learned so much from them, and what if my grandfather found out I'm just daydreaming instead of writing academic articles? What if some members of my family found out that I'd rather go out and drink a milk steamer by myself than read to my kid, that I'd rather go bowling than go to a CRC church, that I love the sexy feeling of shaking my hips, that I've always wanted to be black, that I think I'm an artist, that I'd rather eat spinach casserole than fudge anyday of the week even if it's local fudge and that I like reading Oprah magazine (sometimes).
So anyways, what I learned in the sweatlodge is that if I speak up I'll be more comfortable.
Praise God for blogging.
Esther
