Sitting in the Dark, Remembering the Light

Cerished Reader, beloved Friend,

This week I want to share something deeply personal, an experience that touched my body, my spirit, and my innerstanding of what it means to truly pray.

Recently, we were blessed to partake in two of the original seven Lakota sacred ceremonies, the Inípi (Sweat Lodge) and the Yuwípi Healing Ceremony.

Both experiences were profound, humbling, and deeply alive.

They took place on two consecutive days, guided by a Lakota medicine man and a devoted ceremonial team walking the Red Road, a path of prayer, humility, and service to life.

I have been in many sweat lodges before. But I had never witnessed a Yuwípi ceremony.

And I can honestly say: nothing could have prepared me for what unfolded.

The Inípi (Sweat Lodge)

The Inípi is a ceremony of purification and prayer, often described as returning to the womb of Mother Earth. It is a place where we sweat, pray, sing, and remember who we are beneath our stories, roles, and identities.

We gathered in the late morning.

First, the stones were collected, the Grandfathers.

Then the lodges were built and covered: one larger lodge for about twenty people, and a smaller one for more experienced participants, what they lovingly call "dusting off."

This preparation alone took several hours. And already, it felt like ceremony.

In the late afternoon, we entered the lodge together with two drumming singers and the water-pourer, the ceremonial leader. The lodge was sealed. Darkness embraced us completely.

Five rounds – five doors. Between each round, the flap opened briefly to let fresh air enter. With every door, more glowing stones were brought inside. With every door, the heat intensified.

But something else intensified too.

Prayers.

Songs.

Breath.

Sitting skin to skin, in total darkness, sweating together, singing ancient Lakota songs, something softened and dissolved.

The sense of separation slowly gave way to togetherness.

In that darkness, a living oneness emerged.

Not as a concept to innerstand with the mind, but as something felt directly, through the body and the heart.

"The wound is the place where the Light enters you." 

The Yuwípi (Healing) Ceremony

The following day, we gathered again, this time indoors, at 5:30 in the evening. Twelve hours later, we would step back into the morning light.

The Yuwípi ceremony is a night-long healing ceremony, carried entirely in darkness, prayer, song, and spirit presence. It is rare. And it is powerful.

The drummers sat around a large pow-wow drum and sang traditional ceremonial songs throughout the entire night,

steady,

unwavering,

devoted.

The medicine man began by building the Yuwípi altar.

Then he was completely bound, wrapped entirely, like a mummy.

The room was sealed.

The lights went out. 

Total darkness. 

Before the ceremony, people were invited to offer healing prayers, for themselves or for others.

During the ceremony, messages were spoken, guidance and healing carried through the voice of the medicine man, spoken from spirit.

Time dissolved.

The ceremony moved through hours of song, silence, prayer, and unseen presence.

I won't attempt to explain what can only be innerstood through direct experience.

I can only say this:

Something ancient was alive in that room. And I am deeply grateful I was able to witness it firsthand.

"Healing does not mean returning to the way things were. It means allowing what is to move us closer to what we truly are."

Why these ceremonies matter:

These ceremonies are not performances.

They are not experiences to consume.

They are living prayers.

They exist to realign us,

with nature,

with spirit,

with each other,

and with ourselves.

They invite us into an innerstanding that healing is not something we force, but something that naturally unfolds when we step back into right relationship with life.

In a world that moves faster each year, louder, more fragmented, more disconnected, these indigenous traditions carry something invaluable:

Continuity of Spirit.

They remind us that prayer is not only spoken words.

Prayer is sweating together.

Singing together.

Sitting in the dark together.

Listening.

Honoring and preserving these ceremonies is not about the past.

It is about remembering what it means to be human, now.

May we remember that healing does not always arrive as comfort,
sometimes it arrives as truth, heat, darkness, and song.

And may we have the courage to sit long enough for it to do its work.

With deep Respect and Presence

Bear Saorin
The One Mind Sanctum

P.S. Until next time, may you stay close to the quiet places where spirit still speaks, and may you listen with your whole body.