I had been staring into the fire for hours. It was unseasonably cool in the Laurel Highlands on this clear July evening but the fire brought little comfort. This was no ordinary fire. In fact, to call it a campfire would demean it. Like calling a shovel a spoon.

I knew this fire and this fire scared me. I had watched it being built, the pieces of pine neatly stacked almost four feet high. I contributed by adding my own piece, knowing even then what would follow. Soon this fire would burn down to a pile of crackling red embers and I, along with 40 other strangers, all men who I'd only met the day before, would be shown, and then be expected, to walk across those red hot coals in bare feet. I was beginning to question my sanity, especially since I was paying for the privilege.
How did I ever get here?

I had seen the ad for The Heroes Journey, an all men's retreat, a couple years ago in a local metaphysical publication and laughed it off.

"Oh, great, a bunch of naked guys playing drums in the woods. How ridiculous! No, definitely not for me," said Johnny Smug.

Time passed and I wasn't quite as smug as I'd been the year before. A number of personal crises, mostly of my own making, and making me crazy, had snapped me in half. I had been humbled beyond humble and felt lower than dirt. It was the dark night of the soul and I was blindfolded.

By chance the ad again caught my eye. I asked a friend about it and she told me it was wonderful work and that it changed peoples lives. I tried to ignore it, but it kept coming back at me. I finally called the number and left a message with Mike Mervosh, a therapist who works out of the Nuin Center in Highland Park.

We kept missing each other on the phone. When we finally spoke, I hemmed and hawed and looked for a million reasons not to do it, but Mike was patient and didn't give up on me. He kept calling me back and asked me to attend a Men's group meeting a week before the retreat to get some more details.

I walked into the Nuin Center and found the meeting room. I expected rows of neatly lined chairs facing a white dry erase board with someone making lists of what to bring on the trip. What I walked into was a group of men in a circle around some stones and candles, rattles and drums. The smell of sage hung in the air. I took a step in and stopped. I knew if I went any further there would be no turning back. And then I did something very uncharacteristic. I joined the circle.

# # #

By the time I reached Jumonville Retreat Center just outside of Uniontown I was completely frazzled. I made a wrong turn and was running late. After I turned around and got back on track I realized that I had forgotten my eating utensils! I was sputtering with rage, yelling at myself and punching the steering wheel. I finally got there and saw where I thought I'd be staying. They looked like pretty nice dorms. I asked someone where I had to go. The told me I was in the wrong place. I had to go up the road about a half-mile and head up to the top of the mountain. I got up there and they told me to unpack my gear. No dorms here. I looked around and saw a lot of tents. I didn't bring a tent. They told me to grab a lean-to, basically a three-sided structure with a canvas tarp on the front that you opened in the day and closed in the evening. There were four bunks built into the structure, but no one had claimed any of them yet. I unpacked, parked in a field beyond the trees and walked back.

A friendly guy named Woody greeted me. I told him about not having any eating utensils. He told me that there's nothing that I didn't bring or that I'd forgotten that we couldn't find or remedy. He asked me to remove my watch and turn off any cell phone or beeper. I wouldn't need a watch for the next week. We would be on a different schedule. All we had to do was listen for the drum and gather in the center of the camp.
.
We'd been asked not to talk about the outside world i.e. what we do for a living where we're from etc. "Credit card information" is what they called it. Watching men make small talk about anything but the outside world is hilarious! As we were talking a man named Thomas came up and said there would be a council meeting at one o'clock. I immediately went to look at my non-existent watch. I laughed for the first time that day.

The drum sounded and we were called to our first council meeting. We sat under a tent in the rain and talked. We were introduced to the Talking Stick. The Talking Stick, each one unique, is a Native American tradition. This one was made of hickory, about 14 inches long with a rose quartz crystal on one end signifying love and the approximation of a wolf's head on the other representing fierceness. We were to speak about our fierceness and love, about our heart and our masculinity. When it was time to speak, each man would pick up the talking stick and say his peace. We would do this at least once a day for the next week. Some men sobbed as they talked from the broken places in their souls. Being cursed with a sensitive spirit, I'd always been ashamed to cry, but these men just let it out. Tears came to my eyes and I felt a little less alone.

I listened to the voice of my heart but was unsure of what it actually sounded like. As I took my turn, I told everyone that although I couldn't hear the sound of my heart I was sure it had brought me here. I was scared, but knew that the next week would be one that would change me.

We had an opening Medicine Wheel ceremony where we were asked if we wanted to continue the journey. Laid out as a giant circle, the medicine wheel represents the Four Directions: North, South, East and West; the Four stages of Life: Infancy, Adolescence, Adulthood, Old Age and the 4 Master ingredients Physical, Emotional, Intellectual and Spiritual, all the elements needed to a live a life of peace and balance. As you said yes to the journey, you were asked to step inside the circle. As the 'elders', the facilitators running the week stood in the center, each person was taken into the wheel, cleansed and purified with burning sage and cedar. It was a powerful initiation into the other world on top of the mountain. We were asked to spend the afternoon in silence, up and through dinner. But a group of men staying silent is not a big deal in my book (you should see Thanksgiving at my Mom's house).

After dinner the drums called us out and we were separated into two clans, the group that we would work with and to help support us through the week. Mike Mervosh and Will Hendel would be our clan leaders. We were also asked to pick a partner, an ally to support and be supported by. I hooked up with a guy named Don. He actually picked me. I felt honored. We also used the talking stick to tell our support group what we needed from them. Getting support from men is alien to me. I told them what I didn't want: anger, shaming behavior, indifference. They seemed to understand.

The two clans then joined together and we talked about fear, once again utilizing the talking stick. Some really amazing things came up. We had to talk about our fears, of the group, at that moment. I told them my fear was that they'd reject me, but my biggest fear was that they'd accept me. As always, I clung to the notion that I was the outcast, like a ratty blanket in the basement that should have been discarded, or at least washed, a long time ago. Again, it was an amazing outpouring of emotions. Men, who hardly knew each other, had been brought together, to help each other, and to find a new way in the world because the old ways no longer worked.

# # #

It was called the Trust Fall. The idea was that you stood atop this 6 foot wooden platform balanced on your toes with your arms folded to your chest and then you fell backwards and are caught, hopefully, by those waiting down below. Mike asked if anyone would like to go first. I'm not big on falling backwards off of wooden structures, and trust to me is just the title of an Elvis Costello album. Everyone kind of looked around at everyone else, like you do in grade school when no one knows the answer to a question asked by a favorite teacher. Then all of sudden I heard a familiar voice say "I'll go first." It was mine. School was in.

I was taught the Trust Fall protocol and proceeded to prepare for lift off.

"Ready spotters?"
"Ready Phil."
"I'm ready to fall." By now my heart was beating so loudly in my chest, I could hear it.
"Fall away," they yelled.
"I'm falling!"

Then I let go. (Something I rarely do.)
The fall was short and sweet and I fell into the arms of the men below. But I never expected how powerful the sensation would be. I had always fantasized about a race of giants that would be able to hold adults and hug them like children. Short of Jurassic Park like research, this would be as close I would ever get. And it was wonderful. I was cradled like a baby

My eyes were closed, I was shaking and I couldn't unhook my hands.
"This is what you wanted," said Mike. And it was. I looked at the faces of the men holding me, I made some joke quoting Dorothy at the end of the Wizard of Oz. Though denying my real feelings through humor, (a trick I'd learned long ago) I'd never felt so secure, so at peace, so loved.

Then they started to hum and it was beautiful, melodic and resonant, a sound and a vibration unlike anything I had ever felt and would probably never feel again. I didn't want to leave, but finally they had to put me down. They 'planted' me, feet first, and I stood up. I was overwhelmed.

"Take a minute or two," said Mike. I walked away and started sobbing from a deep sad place.
I didn't want the experience to end. That's why I cried, I cried for the acceptance I never received
from my father. I'm almost certain he never picked me up as kid. He didn't really want kids and I was third out of five. He found it best just to ignore me. This was just a taste of what I missed. As he was ashamed of me, I came to embody shame itself.

After the brief shower, I got back in line and helped catch my newfound friends as they fell, and were caught and held in our arms. It was exhausting, both physically and emotionally but completely satisfying.

We had dinner and then were called to the fire area. It was announced that we would do the Fire Walk. I almost passed out. I was afraid to do this just because I was afraid I couldn't do it. I though sure this would be the last thing we would do this week. I thought I could postpone the anxiety. Conversely, I would obsess about it all week. Well at least now I could get it over with! Yea, right. I was ready to puke!

The Firewalk was led by Peter Faust, a therapist from Boston and one of the other facilitators. There was a square structure of pine and kindling about 4 feet tall. We formed a circle around it and chanted calling forth the Fire Spirit:

"Spirit of the fire carry me,
Spirit of the fire carry me,
Spirit of the fire carry me to my home."

Pieces of wood were placed around the circle. We each took our turn and put our piece of wood in the fire. We had also been asked to go out and find our own sticks to add to the fire. I had found a forked stick when I first got there and had put it by my lean-to. I figured I would need it. I was right. And even before I knew about the firewalk I had picked up a small stick and started whittling it. I also put that on the fire.

Mike said that we would know when it was time to walk. Spirit would move us .

Slowly my fear gave way to excitement. Suddenly my mind went from saying "I can't do it" to "I can't wait to do it!" All of a sudden I was on my feet and ready to walk.

Then I walked. As I stepped onto the hot coals, I couldn't believe it. It was hot but it didn't burn. The frayed cuff of my jeans sparked but I didn't care. I moved one foot after the other and before I knew it, I was through. I thought that was it. Then Daniel, a young man from Boston who I hardly knew, asked me if I'd like to walk with him through the fire. Without hesitation I said yes and we walked through and back. We hugged and I knew I had to find Don. We walked through. I thought I would do it once. I ended up walking six times.

I felt great after the firewalk. I was elated. I really didn't think I could do it. I know people that have done it and I was afraid that I would fail. I began to realize something about myself at this point. There are very few things that I've done that I haven't succeeded in, as long as I continue to try, that is. I've been holding myself back all along. I can no longer blame anyone including myself. I hope I can remember this when I get off the mountain.

I went to bed but couldn't sleep because my feet, particularly my right one, were tingling so much. I thought I'd never get to sleep. I massaged my foot and finally dosed off. I woke up briefly and all the pain was gone. I had survived the Fire Element. In a couple more hours we would be in the caves.

# # #

We got up at about four AM. It was still dark out. We had breakfast and headed for the caves. We had to drive there and it took about ten minutes.

We had to walk about a mile into the woods. The night was beautiful, the sky clear and a bright crescent moon sliced into the star filled sky. It was magical going from the sweet darkness of the night into the humid sandy darkness of the cave. We put on helmets and headed in. We crawled into the cave and were soon able to stand. We made our way to a big room where we all gathered.

The Cave would be our Earth element and symbolize our descent into our unconscious where we would encounter our true selves as well as our shadow. We moved to a smaller room above the room we were in. They called it The Womb. Mike went in first. We had to jump up on top of a ledge (Will helped us up), crawl across it and then turn around on our backs and push ourselves up a passage with our feet until we got to the room above.

When we were all inside, we turned our lights off. We talked. There was a lot of fear in the room. But it was quiet and extremely dark. One of the men began to have an anxiety attack and said he couldn't breathe.

Mike began to talk to him. Through his fear and a shaky voice he told Mike about how when he was in kindergarten he was made fun of because he had been born with crossed eyes, and had to have a series of operations to correct his vision. He was made fun of because he had to wear an eyepatch. It was an amazing moment to be a part of. Mike was able to talk him through this moment to the point where he calmed down and decided to go deeper into the cave. Amazing what you confront in the darkness. The magic of everything we did on the Heroes Journey was how, at some point, each one of us would be taken to the most uncomfortable place we could be, completely outside the comfort zone, confronting our biggest fear. But instead of backing off or running away, we would face that fear and come out the other side.

We left the womb. Mike and Will went before us and were down below to catch us as we slid out. It was a rebirth! The thoughts I had in the darkness of the cave echoed the darkness I had been facing within myself. Earlier in the year I had come into the darkest period of my life and was obsessed with thoughts of checking out. After being in the darkness with these men, I told them that I had misunderstood the message. The darkness was not an invitation to die but an invitation to live. As I came out, reborn, if you will, my flashlight fell out of my pocket and into a cave below, (Mike had pointed it out earlier and called it the Down Under). We would all be asked to go off separately to explore the cave later that day. I would go back to the Down Under.

Our next point of departure was the snakehole. Things would begin to get real uncomfortable. We would enter the snake hole and follow the snake path to our next destination. We would have to crawl on our stomachs, through this tiny space, and we were going to do it with our lights off! I started to get a little anxious. I thought of the giant snake hiding on the asteroid in the first Star Wars movie.

We started in and it was getting to me. Crawling in the darkness, we used the foot of the person in front of us to guide us. Andrew was ahead of me. Movement was slow. I didn't like this. I was feeling a little claustrophobic when all of a sudden the line stopped moving. Mark, one of the guys up ahead, had made a wrong turn and somehow gotten stuck, literally, between a rock and a hard place. It stopped the line from moving.

He heart raced and my mind was in a spin. I wanted to scream. I wanted to stand up.. I thought about those ahead of me, those behind me. I started to have an attack of extreme discomfort. I was scared. I slowly talked to myself, I prayed and I almost cried.

"Please, just start moving."

It was sandy and stuffy in that hole. I was really on the edge of my fear. Slowly we started to move again but never fast enough for me. It seemed like it took forever to get in to the still smaller room. I was freaked out. I reached out and held Andrew's gloved hand. He seemed to know I needed comforting and didn't mind.

We talked some more in the caves. I know it was an uneasy place for many of us but, as we were packed into this place like sardines, we slowly, as a group, calmed down.

Mike asked if we wanted to move on.

I was getting pissed. When was this going to end? But he kept pushing us. By now a couple of people had left the cave, they had reached their limits. But for some reason I decided to move forward. Peer pressure, the excitement of the journey, I'm not sure. I did enjoy being there, I just wish I'd slept better the night before. Maybe I was just a little cranky.

So we continued on. We went deeper. At least this time we got to use our lights. And thank God for the helmets. I must have hit my head a dozen times! We crawled on hands and knees, on our stomachs as we crossed small underground streams. We were filthy, sweaty and disgusting. It was both fun and work. We moved a little faster this time.

Every once and a while we'd get to a place where we could stand up and stretch if just for a couple of seconds. But it was mostly on our stomachs and knees. It made me wish I done my Yoga that morning.

We finally got to a big room and we had to decide whether to turn back or move forward. Gifted Bear was torn. Part of him wanted to go back, but he didn't want to be perceived as a being weak. He became quite upset. We all gave our suggestions telling him what he should do. Finally Mike told us that it was about our limits and our decisions. That's what knowing yourself is all about. Not what you think you should do but what your heart tells you to do - as Joseph Campbell said, "follow your bliss".

I decided that I wanted to go back to the 'Down Under' cave. I was drawn there. Gifted Bear had decided to move on.

We headed back with me leading three others! It was wild. I was shaking. What if I screwed up - they'd laugh at me. Didn't happen.

I couldn't believe how quickly we got back to the main room. It took so long to get there.

I walked in the Down Under cave by myself. I was a little apprehensive. I walked in a little bit and I stopped. It was beautiful. I sat on an arrow shaped rock near flowing water and began to meditate. Alternately I closed and opened my eyes. It didn't make much difference. When my eyes were open I could see in the dark. The cave glowed. I made symbols in the dark and could see the outline. I felt very peaceful and calm. I sat for long time until Todd came to get me. He said everyone was leaving. So regretfully I headed back.. We hung out in the main room cave for a while longer until Mike came back with a couple more of the guys. We left the cave.

We took our filthy clothes and put them in garbage bags and drove back to camp. Mike suggested we take a nap. We grabbed some food and hit the hay.

Later that evening, we talked about aggression in council. Gifted Bear, fired up by the day's adventure in the cave, started wrestling with Will. They squared off like two animals, even growling at times, and were able to fight without getting dirty. Tonight, we would participate in an Aggression Circle.

We formed around the fire pit. We were joined by Jim Donovan and John Bynak of Rusted Root. They would provide the soundtrack, drumming while we worked out our aggressions. We started just by moving with another man, looking into their eyes, like a dance. Then we moved into a closer stance, pushing on each other neck to neck like animals. I was tentative but finally went into the ring and began to enjoy it.

I did one where I was up against two men, one on each shoulder. We rocked back and forth and then I told them I was ready to go. I pushed with all my might and I was getting pretty pissed. I started yelling, trying to take back pieces of myself that had been ripped away a lifetime ago. I was not to blame. I did not ruin anyone's life. I wasn't a mistake. I was meant to be here. I was alive

I screamed and yelled then I had enough and started sobbing, deep sobs from the gut. They lowered me to the ground and I finished crying.

Afterwards I felt peaceful and alive. I grabbed my tambourine and joined the musicians. I slept like a rock that night. It opened up some doors of aggression that I had never been comfortable with before. I hope I can apply them to my life in a more constructive manner other than punching steering wheels.

# # #

I'd lost track of time. I didn't know what day it was other than today would be the day we faced the ropes course. It would be our air element. There were a number of things we could do. We each wore a harness and were fastened to a rope so that if we fell the rope would catch us. Something made me go to the catwalk.

The catwalk was a 4x4 piece of timber about twelve feet off the ground. We had a guide rope in case we'd fall. I stepped out a couple of steps and was a little frightened. Mike talked me through it. I took a couple more steps and began to relax.

"Don't forget to breathe!"

I walked slowly to the other side onto the platform. Mike and I talked.

"How do you feel?"
"Good, I was a little intimidated."
"What do you feel?"
"I feel better."
"It's your power. Do you feel it in your chest?"
"Yes, I do."
I started to walk back. In the middle of the beam, Mike told me to stop.
"Enjoy it."

I stood at the midpoint and enjoyed it. I thought it would be really easy. When I first started I was really intimidated and then once I got past my fear I was able to move on. I stood and enjoyed it my sense of balance. It was great (even with my legs shaking). I walked back to where I started.

We then repelled down the wall. I always wanted to do this and it was fun. I can't wait to do it again.

I knew the Pamper Pole was coming and I knew I'd have to do another walk to get ready for the pole.
I chose the Vine Walk.

The Vine Walk has two cables running parallel to the ground. The bottom cable was about twelve feet up in the air. The top cable, about seven feet above the first has ropes hanging off of it. You have to move from one rope to the other to get to the pole at the other end. The trick is that you have to let go of the pole in order to get to the first rope.

I put on the harness that would catch me if I fell. I climbed up the pole and put one foot on the tight wire. It gave and I began to get really scared.

I was holding onto the pole. I put my other foot on the wire and it began to shake. Then I began to shake. Mike was there.

"It's okay, go back to the pole and breath. How do you feel?

"I'm scared." I was sobbing.
"You're alive. Just relax."
I took a couple of minutes. The fear passed. I put both feet on the wire.
"This is about getting what you want out of life. Concentrate on that and look at the rope. I stood and built up my nerve. I let go of the pole and reached for the rope.

I was suspended in mid air. It seemed a split second and an eternity. I grabbed at the rope. I got hold, and steadied myself. I slowly moved across the wire and grabbed the next rope.

"Don't lean into the rope but away from it. I know it doesn't seem natural but trust yourself."

I made my way across and finally got to the other side.

As I stood on the platform, Mike yelled to me, "Enjoy it."

I did. I then got back off the wire and jumped off the platform. The harness caught me and I was lowered down.

It was time for lunch.

I found a way to not think about the Pamper Pole.

I'd seen people doing it earlier in the week. (Like everything, doing it optional. No one is forced to do anything-but with your new found friends- it was wasn't peer pressure, you didn't want to let them, or yourself, down.)

You climb up a telephone pole, about 22 feet high. You wear a harness, of course, and thereare steps on the pole, the little metal things that linemen use. After you get to the top of the pole, you have to stand up, with nothing to balance you. Then after you're there you jump off and try to grab a trapeze bar, suspended about 6 feet away.

I was scared. I was shaking and crying. I knew I was safe but yet I was terrified. It was the fear of failure.

As I was waiting, Will asked if I was ok.
"I saw you go off a couple of times. Are you ok?"
I told him I was better. Scared, but I was started to get excited.

"That's good. You're alive."
I thanked him.

I would be the last one to go. There were two guys ahead of me. I put the helmet on and waited.
While I was waiting a small moth flew into my hand. It landed and walked around in my hand for the longest time. I took it as a sign. Everything was going to be ok. It would help me fly.

Then, shortly afterward, a beautiful blue butterfly, the same color as the sky, flew towards me and landed on my helmet. I couldn't believe it. Suddenly I was no longer afraid. I knew I was going to be okay.

I took off up the pole. I didn't stop until I got to the top. I put one foot on the top and steadied myself. I took a breath, It was the moment I'd dreaded. The top was larger than I thought it would be. I stood up. I made it.

As I looked down I told everybody that I couldn't have done it without their support and from watching them go before me. I felt great. I enjoyed the view. I enjoyed being alive. I was ready to jump.

I leaped.
I didn't even touch the trapeze bar but the jump was fantastic. It was a great feeling. I was flying.
Then the harness caught me.
I started singing 'I'm Flying' from Peter Pan.
"That's me, " I said. The boy who never wanted to grow up.

They let me hang there. It was fun. I goofed around for a while, alternately flying and swimming. I told them I was ready to come down. As they lowered me down they gathered below me. I thought they would circle me but they caught me in their arms like they did after the trust fall.
"I can't believe it." I started to cry. "I never thought I'd experience that feeling again."
They started humming.
They held me as I sobbed.
"It's like you read my mind."
Mike smiled.
"We knew what you needed."
It was beautiful.
I got down and it was hugs all around.

Mike and Will went next. Will climbed the pole and put on a blindfold when he reached the top.
"I'm starting over. I'm beginning a new life. This group has inspired me."

He jumped off the pole blindfolded. It was such a brave thing to do. If Mike seemed like a big brother, Will was the father figure. He is a man of few wasted words. When he speaks, every word counts. After he was lowered down, we all formed a cirlce around him and hugged.

Mike was next. He flew up the pole.

He stood at the top and shouted. "I'm going to grab this bar and nothing is going to stop me. I've decided its time for me to be happy, to have love in my life and nothing is going to stop me!"

Mike, muscular and a natural athlete, leaped for the bar. A couple of guys had come close and touched the bar but Mike nailed it. We all yelled. His getting the bar was victory for all of us. I felt like I belonged with these guys. It was a strange feeling but a good one nonetheless.

We went back to the camp. We had time to kill. We played catch with a baseball and gloves. Mike was throwing like Clemente and Will was no slouch either. Will later told us that he had played lots of baseball as a catcher when he was a kid.

"It's what got me through."

We had dinner and broke up into our clans. We were talking about how we felt.

One of the Brothers talked about how he felt nothing. He tried but was coming up empty.

Mike began to work with him. Arthur, the most guarded, began to open up. He talked of how he had tried to kill himself when he was five. How his father and his sisters had abused him. It took a while but he began to open up and began to cry, Mike and Will performed miracles. They could crack the toughest nut. We held Arthur aloft in the air. I rubbed my hand through his hair as he let it out. We put him down.

Mike smiled, "Funny how things work around here. Tonight we're doing a grieving council. Grab your sleeping bag and bring it with you. We'll explain it later."

They had set up an altar in the big tent. The floor was covered with sleeping bags. An accordion player from Pittsburgh had come in to play some mournful tunes to accompany the evening.

"This is a grieving ceremony. We, as men, are uncomfortable about grieving. This is a place where you can grieve and feel safe. No one will laugh, come out to the floor and grieve."

People played drums. There were chants and songs. Burning candles and the smell of sage added to the somber mood. What this makeshift cathedral held was more powerful than any church I'd ever been to. Mike was first onto the floor and began to wail. Others followed. It was a heartbreaking sound. I'd never heard a group of men let go in such a fashion. The best most men can do is a hearty pout.

It got to me. I went out. I began to cry. I cried for the years wasted drinking, how I ruined my marriage, how terrible I'd been to my wife. That my parents were older, that my mother would someday die.
I cried for those around me. I cried for my father.

Arthur came out and comforted me. He covered me with what I thought was a blanket. It was a fox pelt.

I cried for about ten minutes. Arthur asked if I wanted him to stay. I told him I would be ok. I finally got up and went back to my seat.

Peter told us not to wipe our tears away but to feel them and let them dry.

Afterwards, Arthur and I went outside to smoke. He told me that his mother had burned all the photos of him, that the only photo that existed of him as a child was in another photo of his mother. His grade school picture sat on the mantle behind her. He told me that he had been trained as a classical guitarist and had become a professional musician but hadn't picked up a guitar in years. The next day, on a borrowed guitar, he played some of the most beautiful music I'd ever heard.

# # #

I was hallucinating. During the fourth stage of the sweat lodge, as Joseph Jastrab, also from Boston, talked about the hearts of men, I remembered an experience I'd had earlier that day. Today had been a day of solitude. We all went off by ourselves, with our journals, to reflect, and write about our experience, about our inner worlds. If we saw anyone we weren't to say anything. As I was headed back to camp I came across a doe and fawn on the side of the hill. The doe was spooked and ran away but the fawn was not afraid and stayed. I watched the fawn for twenty minutes before I finally moved on. The fawn let me get closer and closer and I watched with wonder as it watched me. It almost seemed like it was flirting with me.

When Joseph mentioned heart the thought came into my head and I spoke it out loud. "The fawn is my heart."

My heart. The part of me I'd lost touch with so long ago. Cold and barren like the surface of the moon, the inside too sensitive, too feeling, too aware, carrying way too much of what wasn't even mine. The world needs the hearts of men, Joseph would say. My world needed a heart too. And like a fawn on wobbly legs I would begin to open my heart for the first time in many years. I would have to open it and feel the pain, and the sadness that had been buried there so long ago. It is here that my real heroes journey would take place. I knew it wouldn't be easy.

The Sweat Lodge was round, about 25 feet across made from bent saplings. It was covered with plastic. A hole was dug in the floor. During the four stages of the Sweat Lodge, hot stones would be brought in and put in that hole. Glowing pink from the intensity of the fire that 'birthed' them, the stones would be brushed with cedar and sage and water sprinkled on them creating a thick, almost unbreathable steam.

Before we went in Joseph talked about the sweat lodge, not being based on any one tradition but on a number of native American beliefs as well as Buddhist beliefs. This would be our water element. The sweat from our own bodies connecting to the earth. Sweating away impurities both chemical and spiritual.

We formed a circle around the fire, most of us naked. (The Sweat Lodge ceremony is traditionally done in the nude, I was a little apprehensive but I quickly relaxed about it. Of course I'd do it in the nude.)
We then formed a line and went into the sweat lodge in a circular fashion. I chose to be close to the door since I'd never done one before. When we were all in, they brought in the first stones. They glowed red and looked like the color of rose quartz.

At each stage new rocks were brought in. Steam and smoke would quickly fill the lodge and breathing became more and more difficult. And it got progressively hotter. It was an exhausting test of endurance both physically and mentally. The intensity of the steam and smoke and sitting on the ground made demands on the body that at times were intolerable. At each stage, the door was opened to let the air in. It was refreshing but brief. At times Joseph would ask if everyone were ok, if they wanted him to open the door. Many of us were uncomfortable but nobody left. The spiritual challenge of the sweat lodge demands that we stay in the moment and live our lives there, whether the moment be good or bad. I was in and out of consciousness. I'm not sure where I went but it seemed that everyone knew me there. I thought the whole thing lasted about 45 minutes but it actually lasted 3 ½ hours. My back was killing me but I was able to lie down for a good part of it.

As we left we grabbed jugs of water and poured them on ourselves. The water seemed to be freezing after the intense heat but opened my senses in a way I hadn't experienced before. The air was cool, low 60s or even 50s but after the experience in the lodge, it felt delicious. We raided the supply area, chowing down on whatever we could.

I slept like a baby. Or a fawn.

# # #

We would leave the mountain today. But first we would take part in the Gift Giving Ceremony.
We had been asked to bring an item to give away. Something personal that we didn't want to part with.
I brought three faux Rosewood Chinese figurines, called the Three Immortals, that my friend John had given to me when I visited him in Seattle back in 1984. The three figures represented Wisdom, Prosperity and Happiness. John was my best friend and his moving left a void in my life that I had found virtually impossible to fill. I missed him very much.

We wrapped our gifts and placed them under a blanket. No one knew who brought what gift. Each man would choose a gift and then the giver would get up and explain what it meant to him. The exchange of gifts had an amazing synchronicity about them. It was an exchange of identities, of life situations that only solidified the connections that we had with each other. Not just as participants in this week's retreat but as human beings and members of a larger family, a family that, like the nuclear family, was being torn apart by selfishness, jealousy and greed. The outer world was just a projection of our confused inner worlds. By healing ourselves we can heal the world.

Mike choose my gift which I had wrapped in a Jolly Roger flag. He said he had committed to a new life, one where he wanted all these things represented by the Three Immortals and more. And I choose Will's gift.

He told me he knew the night before that I would choose his gift. It was something he had made for his daughter, a piece of stone from the house that she had recently moved from, put in a base made from Birch wood. There was also a medicine bag with four black onyx stones for protection and a couple of pieces of kindling to represent a fresh start. A representation of love for family and self and a fresh start with a piece of earth to remind that I am protected, and that from this point on, I must be the one to change, that I must be the one to step up and take charge. To have a heart and use it even at the risk that it be broken once again. I could hide no longer.

Before we had finished Will was presented with a special gift. It was something that he had given away years ago at a gift giving ceremony. It had been given to him by his father. It was a catcher's mitt. And yes, I cried but these were different tears than I'd cried earlier in the week, there were tears with the love of life in them not the dread of life.

As a final goodbye we went to the Medicine Wheel and stepped inside and then left it for our return to the "other world". It was hard to say goodbye. I was one of the last to leave to leave the campsite.

I had forgotten how to drive! When I got on Route 40, everything was moving too fast. Cars were passing me by and the music blaring from car stereos seemed alien to me. I pulled over to a diner and called my ex-wife. I hadn't talked to her for almost a whole week, the longest we hadn't spoken to each other since we divorced. It helped ground me to talk to her, a link back to the "other world". I hadn't realized at the time how long it would take me to integrate all that I had been through. The process continues.

I went into the diner. I must have been a sight. I hadn't shaved or showered for a week and I was filthy. The girl at the counter couldn't have cared less. I ordered a hamburger, a cup of coffee and in true FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper, a piece of pie. From now on, as much as could, I would have dessert when I wanted to and I would enjoy it. I would no longer deny myself happiness and leverage my present for an unknown future. I'd learn it wouldn't be easy and sometimes I would forget the lessons learned on the mountain. I didn't know then that I would open my heart but it would snap shut with such force that I would break it once again. All I knew at that time was that this was best coconut crème pie I'd ever had.