The Therapy Worked
On the drive to Bernalillo from the westside of Albuquerque, I binged on potato chips. I knew it wasn’t the best food choice, nor was it considered dinner.
It was a snack, and the flyer instructed participants to “only eat lightly” before the temazcal.
In Julie’s yard, we assembled as somewhat strangers. The eight of us had spent the previous two days together in our curanderismo class at the University of New Mexico, so faces were familiar.
But now, all of us men, standing in a circle with our shirts off wearing only swim clothes, things felt a little—different.
Prior to entering the temazcal, we each took turns summoning the four directions, the sky and the earth. My direction was the sky.
I don’t recall what I said or asked for, but I know it was something about guidance. That had been my request from the spirit that week so far.
Guide me.
And so, we entered into the temazcal on hands and knees in reverence to the earthly representation of a mother’s womb, then sat in a circle against the inner wall. It was darker inside, with only the light of dusk coming in.
Bob asked if we were ready, and we were, or, at least we said we were. We’re men, right, and so we’re always ready. Right?
“Puerta!” he shouted, and Julie just outside of the temazcal lowered the rugs that created the outside cover for the lodge.
In the pitch dark, Bob asked us how we were feeling. Someone said exactly what I was thinking: “I have to admit, I’m feeling a little anxiety.”
Leaving was not a sign of weakness, Bob assured us. If someone has to go, they must go. The temazcal was already warm at this point, Bob splashing water on the rocks to make it even warmer. Soon after, my anxiety surged, and I wanted to leave, but I remained.
The first round we each spoke about our own interpretation of what it means to be a man. Some were quick, others spoke for a while. The second round we spoke all at once sharing what we wished to leave behind.
My anxiety was peaking again. The only place I felt comfortable was lying down.
The third round we spoke all at once again sharing what we want to bring in. We closed with “Ometeotl.” A call to the dual Mexica creator deities.
I still wanted to leave, but something happened. I was calming. I was catching my breath. I sweated so much I felt like I had run a marathon. But the most important part, I had shared my soul with strangers. With my brothers.
The therapy worked.
Afterward, outside of the temazcal in the open air, I screamed. I let out the wail of new birth, of freedom, of community, of healing.
Ometeotl, I said.
Ometeotl, we each said.
I drove back to Albuquerque with all the windows down, the phone still off, the starry sky guiding me to the next step in my journey.
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Photo by John Fowler on Unsplash