Have you attended a sweat lodge ceremony?

As we speed through modern life with its constant input and demands, it seems only logical that we might want to slow down and recharge. My curiosity was piqued when an invitation to a sweat lodge ceremony arrived in my inbox, via my yogi friend Esther.

Burn out your toxins and let your demons feel the heat. Enter the sweat lodge, says Connie AllfreyThe concept was familiar, not least from Breaking Bad’s Walter White using a sweat lodge as a smokescreen to cook crystal meth, but also from friends who have been extolling their benefits.

Humans have been inducing themselves to sweat for centuries to help release stress and toxins, from Turkish hamams to Finnish saunas. Sweat lodges are the Native American version.

It was with intrigue and only mild trepidation that I hopped into Esther’s car for a sweat lodge ceremony in a field in Sussex. Advertised by word of mouth and asking for only a tenner towards costs, it appeared to be running on karma.

The frame of the lodge was already up when we arrived, resembling a large ribcage with slender willow laths bent over and lashed to form a small dome. We covered it with many blankets and helped the firemaster tend to a truly hypnotic blaze. It was an all-women event, and though I initially thought sweating naked in the dark might be more fun with men, their absence allowed more openness for some.

We got changed and filed out to the lodge at about 8pm. Esther and I looked like we were off to a spa in our white fluffy robes.

On entering the lodge we stripped off naked while the leader wafted burning sage over our freezing flesh with an eagle feather. At this point a cosy pub in London, or even a camper-van in the desert, seemed fairly enticing and I did ask myself how exactly I had landed here. I crawled into the lodge in a clockwise direction, to sit cross-legged against the wall and wait.

The firemaster dropped the first hot rocks into the pit inside the lodge. The door flapped shut and the “sweat leader” tossed water and herbs onto the rocks to up the heat. We were encouraged to open up, offer thanks and prayers. After over an hour of rising temperatures there was ultimately nothing left to do but feel hot — very hot — and just let go. Neck pain, self-doubt and grief were thrown onto the mental pyre until eventually we emerged into the cool starry night. It was probably reminiscent of birth, though I can’t remember the last time.

Esther and I drove back to London feeling light and rejuvenated, but we agreed we could have endured more. I had wanted to cry “More heat, more heat” and sensed I was not alone.

The ripple effect over the next few days still brought clarity, vivid dreams and boundless energy, while Esther’s neck pain was significantly reduced. My “burnt” friend assures me the more you sweat, the cleaner you get.