The following is a tale from our memoirs available late summer 2019:
Laughter is medicine for the soul. It doesn’t solely come from our mouth and throat but may be a silent vibration within our heart-filled body. I’ve experienced this feeling many times as I have thought back about one special morning bathing. Over twenty-five plus years have passed since relating this tale, but each time I look back, I silently chuckle at the memory of the “cows stopped giving milk…”.
With its many natural waterways, it would seem that Maine would be an ideal place to bathe. However, it was difficult finding a bathing spot that had no homes nearby and was within a suitable driving distance from our home. Over the years I have used various spots but the one that was nearly perfect only lasted two winter bathing seasons. It did have a home nearby, but it was on the other side of the river and across a road. The brutal Maine winters mean closed and possibly shuttered windows. With the roaring of the river, the distance of the house from the bathing spot and windows being closed, I assumed that no one would be able to hear my opening and closing song or hear my spirit song.
During the first winter at this new bathing spot, I only bathed a few times a month. But the next winter, I increased to a once a week schedule, usually on a Friday morning after fasting for approximately 48 hours. It had been an extremely hard winter with lots of snow and below zero temperatures. It was during this winter that I felt I wouldn’t make it back to my car alive. The snow was up to my waist and the temperature was hovering around zero. At times, I had to break through the ice to bathe. This was a fast-moving river and for it to ice up meant that it was cold.
It was near the end of March. Technically it was spring, but there was still snow on the ground. The river was iced-up with only one large opening big enough for my four submersion’s. Before I sung my song and voiced my prayers to open the river, I realized the danger inherent in being pulled under the ice during one of my submersion’s, especially the second one as I would be facing downstream. This was not an easy flowing stream but a river with a strong current. Even though it was one of my most dangerous bathing’s, it also turned out to be one of my most powerful bathing’s verified by the intensity of my spirit song after the fourth submersion.
After I had climbed out of the freezing ice-cold river, I struggled to get dressed. Dressing is always problematic after bathing. Years ago, I learned very quickly that the fewer clothes you wear the easier it is and, most importantly, the faster it is to get dressed after crawling out of the river. When you have no feeling in your body from the waist down and with arms and hands numb pulling on pants, such as jeans, is too difficult and time consuming. With the wet and cold, I soon discovered that the best bathing pants were a gift from my sister-in-law, a thin pair of Calvin Kline lounge pants; and a sweat shirt; no underwear but lite socks and slip-off footwear.
After finally dressing with the feeling in my lower body gradually returning, I began my final prayers and closing song. The star-studded night of my arrival had slide into the blossoming first light of dawn. As I looked across the river, I saw a small figure. A spirit elf I thought. I let that thought go as I closed my eyes to do prayers and a closing song.
When I had finished, I opened my eyes and glanced across the river; the elf had disappeared. I wondered if it was a spirit or an actual person. But, I thought, so what. I decided not to meditate this morning as I gathered up my blanket and towel and made my way back to my car. At this point, I must paint a picture of myself so that you may have an idea of what I looked like.
Under one arm, I had my spirit blanket and towel, and in my hand a flashlight. In my other hand I had my spirit bag containing my paint for my face and the sacred red dirt or ochre that is used in bathing. The palms of my hands were red from the ochre and my face had a strange coloration from the remains of my sacred paint. I had on an awesome wool trimmed knee length, sleeve-free coat that was a gift from a student that looks like it belongs on the tundra of Mongolia. My hair was sticking up, every which way, and my amber eyes still carried the power of the river and the spirit world. In other words, I was scary looking.
As I closed the trunk of my car, I looked up and there in front of me walking down the road was the “elf.” Definitely, he was a human being and not a spirit. I thought, “Well, I must look like quite a sight.” In the next moment I noticed something very strange. Even though there were snow banks still on the side of the road, he was walking as close as he could to the other side of the road. With no cars at this time of the morning and on a side road, the logical route to walk would be down the center of the road.
It was as if he was in a trance as he walked by me without acknowledging my presence while staring straight ahead. He stopped at least twenty feet from me, turned facing the other side of the road. The side that the river and I were on and then walked straight ahead until he was horizontal with me. He still faced the river and had not turned his head or body to look at me. He just stood still until he finally spoke in a slightly quivering voice.
“You know you scare people,” he said still not looking at me.
With this being said, I began to scan his body for a gun. This is Maine, a hunting state and the Second Amendment, gun ownership, is taken seriously. At this distance a gun would be trouble, unless he was a poor shoot. Luckily, he was not, as they say, “packing.”
After a long pause he continued speaking, “Everyone is afraid of you and talk about you constantly. In the morning over coffee you are always brought up. They feel you are some type of spirit.”
With this statement, I had to chuckle to myself. I had thought he was a spirit. Now he and everyone else think that I am the spirit. Again, a long pause before he continued speaking. But I could tell that his initial fear was slowly diminishing as he was beginning to understand that I was a human being just like him.
“Even farmers in the valley say that they hear you and it is disturbing their cows; they’ve stop giving milk!”
“Uh-oh,” I thought. Not good for me; here comes the pitch forks and torches. In times past, narrow minded, arrogant and fearful Christians have burned witches at the stake. And during the Albigensian Crusade, whole cities were burned by the Pope’s army and every man, woman, child, and even babies, were killed as heretics. What would this same type of people do if they thought I was an agent of the devil? But then I heard….
“Yah, but I think they are exaggerating,” he said. And I breathed a sigh of relief. “Their farms are miles away within the valley. Your voice is loud but not that loud.”
Then his energy changed as he continued, “We heard you a few times last winter, but then nothing. But this winter it’s been constant. My wife and I have not been able to sleep. Even with our windows closed tight, it is like you are right next to our bed. My wife is scared and very upset. This morning was the final straw; she insisted I get out of my warm bed and find out what you are. No person can go into that river during the winter. Even during the summer, it is too cold for most. What type of person are you?”
“I am sorry,” I replied. “I did not know that I was disturbing people.”
“Well, you are….” Finally, he turned his head and looked at me. But when he got a good look, as now it was very light out, he quickly turned his head back around again.
In a respectful voice I said, “I wouldn’t be back….”
Before I could continue, he turned and hurriedly began walking away from me while shouting back over his shoulder, “Good or I’ll get my gun….”