Inside a pre-Columbian sweat lodge ceremony in Mexico

Temazcal for All

by Marie Blazek

A temazcal is a pre-Columbian type sweat lodge. Its shape, orientation and contents are prescribed by hundreds of years of pre-Aztec tradition. Usually it is a fairly small structure; and, indeed, the chief use for temazcales for centuries has been for women after child birth. To participate in a temazcal experience is to search for personal betterment. I had had one temazcal experience prior to this opportunity in San Andres de la cal in Morelos, Mexico; I was excited.

I went with my friend Vladimir, the son of a couple of Mexican radicals from the old days. He is quite organized and had brought a tent, a tarp and food for the duration. There would be food and drink there at the home where the sweat ceremony was to occur, but it might by limited and of questionable quality. I too brought a few things to eat for the duration of our stay.

We knew that this would be a large group the moment we arrived at the small house in San Andres which is a beautiful village outside of Tepoztlan, Moelos, where I reside. The scene really reminded me of the 70’s. People were milling around, someone played a flute; someone, a drum; and a huge pile of firewood with large stones was a-ready to be lit for the Temazcal later in the evening. There were two women attempting with some success to sanitize the ordinarily primitive and disheveled outdoor food area.

Vlad set up the tent; I helped. Then he went into a type of confusion about whether or not he wanted to do the sweat which would consist of cramming oneself into a domed tent constructed of bent cane and blankets, secured to the ground to keep out light; there would be about twenty other people. Only the women were allowed to complete the dome which I thought demeaning at first, though I helped. (The women “always do the work.”) Later, I would decide that it made sense.

The sweat would be very crowded. There would be several foreigners, and there was much razzmatazz with people dressed in gorgeous Huichol Indian suits, a woman in a turquoise robe looking like Sky-high-singing-woman. Ok, so it was a bit Disney-goes-Shaman. Fortunately Vladimir already knew the organizers of the event who are genuine enough. Then there was Benito, the old Huichol shaman, dressed in his old clothes, resting at a distance in a hammock. He was so obviously the “real thing,” I could only feel encouraged.

So what is real and what is hype and how do you know the difference? Or does it really matter that much? I decided that I would join the circle, regardless. By then the ethnic variety of the group was conspicuous. Earlier that day I had attended an exhibition held in Tepoztlan to honor the memory of Hiroshima and it horrors. Several of the Japanese people that I had seen earlier when I viewed the devastating photos from the bomb attack were in attendance¸ speaking Spanish. There were a few Europeans from Estonia (!), a very thin French woman who was attempting to nurse a baby, and, in general, a fabulously motley group.

I put on a lightweight garment and joined the group. The old shaman blessed us as we circled up alongside the newly covered Temazcal dome. We joined hands, saluted the four directions, invoked the various Mexica (Aztec, more or less), and Huichol dieties, honored Mother Earth in her various regional identities, and prepared to enter the pitch-black tent. We entered one-by-one; I was allowed to sit near the door as I can be claustrophobic. It was really hot and tight inside, shoulder to shoulder with some seated near the central fire pit. Very wombic, if that’s a word.

We chanted for some time in an unknown tongue, probably Nahuatl, which was translated roughly for us. The fire keeper began to deliver huge hot rocks with a long-handled shovel through the dome door. Each time we shouted, “Enter the Grandmother,” another rock came in. As it turned out, the entire experience involved honoring the Earth and our mothers and grandmothers. This was in recognition of the devastation dealt by the nuclear bombs. We even used a ceremony in which each of the twenty or so people gave the full names of our mothers and our grandmothers individually. This was even more interesting in view of our diverse backgrounds. I was saddened to realize that I couldn’t remember my maternal grandmother’s full name.

Most touching were the voices of the six or seven Japanese visitors who had come to Tepoztlan to participate in a photographic commemoration of the anniversary of the bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Apparently Mexico and Japan have a sisterhood relationship encouraging the exchange of cultural and historic events. The photographs in the exhibition were absolutely horrifying, of course. It is hard to view the charred remains of children and entire villages without wanting to cry for those who were there and either died or, probably, wanted to die. These young Japanese visitors were fairly fluent in Spanish which made listening to the names of their maternal relatives, two of whom actually died in Hiroshima, even more forceful. If the US scientists who invented nuclear weaponry had been able to see the devastating results, they would certainly not have proceeded with it.

For several hours the fire-keeper outside the dome heated melon-sized rocks, shoving them into the lodge and across the earthen floor which had been covered in aromatic branches and herbs. This served to cushion our seats and intensify our senses. From the beginning Sky-high-singing-woman led the chants which resonated nicely in the heated dome even though few of us understood the words. We shared our thoughts about the condition of the environment and what we could do to help save the Earth from further destruction. Periodically the fire-keeper sent in two tin beakers of strong, hot “Huichol jikari tea” which we all shared. Hygiene was not an issue here.

After about an hour, we exited to cool off from our incredibly sweaty environment. I was dripping with sweat. The process went on for about another two hours although I left after the second round to check on Vlad who stood like a human monolith, listening. We ate a bit as we sat around the fire. The chanting went on for a very long time until everyone recovered and went home before an enormous storm broke soaking the ground. Fortunately, we were dry in the tent.

I slept little, waking at dawn to watch the sky change and meditate around the still smoldering fire. It was really peaceful there. The surroundings were really a mess especially the kitchen area which made it a bit difficult to agree when the host offered me a bowl of fish stew. I knew the bowl would not be clean; I doubted the condition of the soup, but I couldn’t refuse such a cordial host. The big soup pot contained several complete fish bodies and a number of boiled potatoes at the bottom. I managed to eat some, and it did me no harm.

After listening to another local resident go on and on about his girlfriend and watching an extremely thin French woman nurse her young daughter then feed her bits of fish, I took off walking through the pretty town. Not wanting to wait for Vlad, I caught a combi (bus/van) back into Tepoztlan and went home.

All cynicism and over-optimism aside, this was an incredible experience on several counts. The ability and desire to recreate and re-formulate ancient traditions with broad significance to try to support our Mother Earth is profoundly important. When I am in the US, I send money to the Sierra Club and try to honor my Mother. Here people chant, pray and renew old paths that are highly Earth-oriented; it is a re-construction of pieces of truth. Furthermore, the cultural, social, and age mix of the celebrants was astonishing, from about five years to late sixties; I, being amongst the oldest. Finally, the basic purpose of a temazcal is to purify and transform the individual through the sweat, the fragrances of the herbs, the group-chants, and the wonderful sensibilities of the people sitting beside and around you. It is a very loving ritual. May it heal each of us and help to heal the Earth.