I sang lots of hymns at school. Christian teaching from the pulpit went in one ear and out the other, but the more catchy anthems have stuck with me for over forty years. In Buddhist culture singing is not really a thing. Mantras and chanting yes; songs, not really. The particular harmonic, melodic beauty of song is largely absent.
This thought hit me recently in a sweat lodge in Mexico, where you sing under the duress of high heat. The ‘temazcal’ as it is known was led by an Aztec descendant called Miguel, a mild-seeming man. When I asked about the large vertical scars on his chest and his back I was told he regularly takes part in Sun Dance ceremonies, which involve piercing the skin with metal hooks and being suspended in the air.
A good temazcal begins with the body being smudged with copal smoke, prayers to the four elements in the four directions, then to the Earth and the Sky. One is situated in a universe of ancestors and primal powers, humbly asking for blessing and protection. This seems to me a true reflection of how things are, not just a fantasy from an old belief system – the correlations that exist in the Five Buddha mandala could form the basis of a ritual like this.
Once you have touched forehead to the ground, you crawl into the igloo-shaped dome, made of concrete or sticks and cloth. This is the womb, pitch black. The door opens to allow in the glowing rocks – the grandfather energy, brewed up for hours on a fire. Sage and other herbs are sprinkled on the rocks, water is ladled, and the sweating begins. Sometimes you are so tightly packed, shoulder to shoulder, knees drawn up, that movement is almost impossible.
Fears arise. What if I can’t get out? What if I have a latent heart condition? The heat burns your ears and nose. The door opens for a few minutes. Then it closes and things gets hotter. Just breathe each breath. You are not going to die. Juice is served halfway, with bits of fruit in it, to keep the throat slaked.
The main activity – aside from sweating and breathing – is to sing. They are rough, loud songs to earth, water, fire and air; songs to the spirit, the heart and various animals. Miguel beats a drum and wails like a coyote. His voice reverberates around the dome so much that you hardly know where he is. You have to let go into the heat, just give up the worrying and the fear, and let the discomfort be. The songs really help.
Eventually, I crawl out – feeling purified and lighter, more in touch with skin, blood, earth and air.
In my best world, we’d start all retreats with a group sweat to clarify intention. (If you cringe at the idea of getting partially naked with strangers in a sweat lodge before a retreat, then it’s just what you need!) And we’d have a ready collection of beautiful, heartfelt, Dharma songs to sing. Songs are as fundamental to culture and the flowering of the human spirit as language and prayer. Songs carry meaning through beauty. Songs keep the flame of intention and community alive in hard times. You kill a culture by killing its songs. Buddhist culture will have reached a new level when we walk into a Buddhist centre and hear people singing (and sweating) together.