07/01/2025
Thank you ancestors for protecting me and all of my family.
To My Grandchildren,
kisêyiniwak nîtisânak — the little ones who carry tomorrow,
One day, when your feet are tired from walking through a world that forgets how sacred you are, I hope you remember this place I’m about to tell you about.
When I step into the Sweat Lodge, my dear ones, I am not just crawling into a small dark dome made of willow and hides. I am returning — to the womb of the Earth herself. To that first place of warmth and spirit where healing begins, where breath becomes prayer, where pain becomes release, and where silence becomes song.
Inside that Lodge, it’s hot. It’s dark. It’s humbling.
But don’t be afraid.
That heat? That’s the breath of our ancestors, rising from the stones, the steam, the songs. We pour water on the grandfathers — the sacred rocks — and they sizzle and speak. Each drop of water carries memory. Each burst of steam is a story rising to the stars. A reminder that you are part of something older than time.
In that sacred space, I have cried — for the ones I’ve lost, for the ones I couldn’t help, even for the parts of myself I left behind.
And I have prayed — not always with words, but with my breath, my tears, my silence.
I’ve heard the songs of old men whose voices tremble like birch leaves in the wind. I’ve heard the laughter of children not yet born. I’ve seen strong people fall apart, and broken people come back together. I’ve seen hearts melt and spirits rise.
Because this Lodge, my grandchildren?
She doesn’t care how much you know or how long you’ve been gone.
She only asks that you come as you are — honest, respectful, open.
She will hold you.
She will teach you that healing is not a straight road. It’s a spiral, winding and sacred. And when the world gets too loud or too heavy, there is always this place — where you can sweat out the sorrow, sing back the light, and come home to your spirit.
When I crawl out, knees shaking, chest wide open, and steam lifting from my skin like a prayer, I remember:
We are still here. We are still sacred. And we are never, ever alone.
So when your time comes, my little ones —
Crawl in with your truth.
Pour water with care.
And listen with more than your ears.
Mîkwêc. Ekosi. All my relations.
With all the love this old heart can hold,
Kanipawit Maskwa
(Your Grandfather, Standing Bear)