Cheyenne worry sweat lodges will get bad name

WATONGA, Okla. - Eugene Blackbear, leaning on a wooden walking cane, takes a seat not far from the family's sacred sweat lodge on a small acreage south of here. His son-in-law, Malcolm Whitebird, stokes the flames of a bonfire built around a pyramid of stones.

Once the stones turn a glowing red they will be placed inside the lodge, where Blackbear's grandsons have draped a heavy canvas over a dome-like frame made of tree branches. The stones will then be sprinkled with water, and the sweat will begin.

Blackbear, 79, is in his element.

The Cheyenne medicine man is encircled by family, friends and the traditional ways of his grandfather's grandfathers. Life is good. Yet on this day, his heart is heavy over the Arizona tragedy.

"I pray for the families of those victims," said Blackbear, speaking above a howling wind. "What happened there is not right. I don't like it at all. Whoever conducted that sweat obviously didn't know what they were doing. You don't charge money for a sweat. That is something holy. You don't mess with those types of things.

"There was a reason this happened. We just don't know the reason yet."

James Arthur Ray, who built a financial empire from his motivational books and lectures, charged clients $9,000 to attend a five-day "Spiritual Warrior" retreat. The package included a "vision quest" in which participants reportedly fasted in the Arizona desert for 36 straight hours, followed by a two-hour sweat lodge ceremony loosely based on ancient American Indian practices.

On Thursday, Ray announced on his Web site that he has postponed all future events to "dedicate all my physical and emotional energies to helping bring some sort of closure to this matter."

A criminal investigation is pending.

Blackbear fears the fallout might have major ramifications if people don't understand how -- or why -- real Indian sweat lodge ceremonies are conducted. Sweats are performed in various forms by different tribes nationwide, including the Cheyenne, Arapaho, Kiowa, Comanche and Sioux.

"This is part of our religion," Blackbear said. "We don't want someone coming in here and making new laws, restricting our sweat lodge. You don't have to burn someone out in a sweat, or keep them from leaving. That's not right. A sweat is about prayer and healing."

Whitebird said Indians who charge for sweat lodge ceremonies are generally regarded as "sellouts." Non-Indians who do the same: "Frauds."

Inside the lodge, 11 people sit in a circle around a pit filled with glowing red rocks. They quietly await the arrival of the elder Blackbear, who enters the lodge with his walking cane and escorted by his children and grandchildren. His seat is one of honor as medicine man and family elder, and one not easily obtained.

From Blackbear's hand dangles a leather pouch filled with shavings of cedar and sweet grass -- sacred ingredients that will be sprinkled atop the scalding stones throughout the four 15-minute sessions. Blackbear calls for the entryway to be closed and the stones to be sprinkled with water from one of the metal buckets inside the lodge.

Hot steam quickly fills the lodge, pasting one's body almost instantly with a layer of moisture.

One by one the participants offer thanks for the many blessings in their lives and prayers for those near and far. Traditional Cheyenne prayer songs soon emanate from the lodge, lending the ceremony a rhythmic beauty.

Blackbear prays in his Cheyenne language, one of relatively few in the tribe who can still speak it fluently.

Afterward, the group celebrates in typical Cheyenne fashion with a feast of Indian fry bread, brisket, stew and love.

"My time here is almost through," Blackbear said. "I know my time to die is near. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of what I will leave behind -- my family. I'm just glad they have followed in all the traditional ways I have taught them, the ancient ways of our people.

"In that, I am happy. For this is our way of life."

(Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, www.scrippsnews.com.)

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