Friday night at my uncle’s sweathouse:
As I emerged from the lodge, I heard the rain beating down on the tin roof overhead. The dark night air felt cool and refreshing, and as I stepped outside, the downpour intensified, washing away all my stress from the previous week. I stood barefoot on the cool, drenched earth, and held my arms open to receive the gift of water and sky; the spirit whispering a song I heard earlier in the day:
Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me. Hallelujah, all my stains are washed away.*
I’ve heard it said the sweathouse is like the womb of our Mother Earth, and each time we enter and come out again, we begin our life anew. Tonight I feel it must be true, for my spirit is refreshed and whole.
* Grace Like Rain, Todd Agnew.
As I emerged from the lodge, I heard the rain beating down on the tin roof overhead. The dark night air felt cool and refreshing, and as I stepped outside, the downpour intensified, washing away all my stress from the previous week. I stood barefoot on the cool, drenched earth, and held my arms open to receive the gift of water and sky; the spirit whispering a song I heard earlier in the day:
Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me. Hallelujah, all my stains are washed away.*
I’ve heard it said the sweathouse is like the womb of our Mother Earth, and each time we enter and come out again, we begin our life anew. Tonight I feel it must be true, for my spirit is refreshed and whole.
* Grace Like Rain, Todd Agnew.
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