My Ceremonial Shower- Little Bear Creek

They said it was going to be a sprinkling and NOT a baptism, but it sure felt like a baptism to me. I was baptized as a Christian on January 29, 1978, at Dover First Baptist Church. I remember it like yesterday. And while I understand that Bwiti is not a religion, this experience and the symbolism behind it certainly felt like a baptism.

It's close to sunset and Matt, Trisha and I hop in the car and head out to the chosen spot. Trisha and Christy had found this perfect little creek spot earlier in the afternoon. Little Bear Creek, at the entry of Little Bear Tree Farm, flows steadily and audibly over the rocks in May. This area of the creek has several small waterfalls that appear to be man-made. The water is about one foot deep and ice cold, probably around 50 degrees. This is northern Cali in the low mountain country and mountain creeks are cold! There is a spring coming out of the mountain flowing into the opposite side of the creek right where we will be entering.

I hop out of the car and start taking pictures, being careful not to touch anything and to not touch the water until I've been called into it. I dodge, swat and smash mosquitoes as I watch Trisha set everything up for the ceremonial shower. She has her bucket of flowers and herbs which she tops off with cold creek water, her Akoume smudge torch, some leaves, a small loaf of cake, a candle and her wooden shakers. She gatherers and precisely places everything on the rocks next to the creek before getting into the water. The ceremony begins.

Trisha lights and flames the torch. Then whipping it up and down, side to side, she cuts through the spiritual demons and darkness to cleanse the area. She then briskly scoops up some flowers out of the water into her mouth. She chews it and spits it out like fire breath in multiple directions. She cleanses herself some more with the flower water and then begins shaking the wooden instrument. She puts out her hand and calls me into the water. "State your full name at birth, your mother's name and your father's name." I speak out our names.

I leave my flip flops on the bank and do my best to lower myself down the ledge into the water. It isn't that steep but the pine bark and stones beneath my feet are sharp. In order to get traction, I have to painfully grab the ground with my bare feet. Then into the water I go. The water is not only very cold, but the bottom of the creek is solid rocks. The rocks are small, uneven and very slippery from the algae coating them. It takes me a few minutes to get my feet wedged in a way that I will not fall. How both Trisha and I both did not both fall down and bust our asses in that creek, I'm really not sure. But Trisha is one solid and strong lady. She holds me in place until I find my footing. My feet are already becoming numb.

Trisha then begins dipping her hand into the bucket of ice cold flower water and rubbing it all over my body. She starts with my shoulders and arms, then my chest. The chilly water takes my breath away. The rub down is brisk and abrupt as she vigorously smears and grinds the flowers and weedy herbs over my body. My hips, my head and my face... I'm now completely wet and covered in flowers. My body is shaking from the cold and I repeatedly gasp for air only to get a mouth full of holy water. I'm instructed to think of all the things I want to release and leave behind. I list them off in my head the best I can, but the shock of the cold water has my brain in a stupor and I begin mentally hurling random words into the empty space of my mind, hoping that some of them make sense. Trisha places a leaf into my right hand. She instructs me to call out all of the things that I want to manifest into my life. My eyes are closed as I call forth my destiny in my mind. I open my eyes at that point and I see Trisha bringing the whole bucket up to the level of my head. Our eyes lock and mine are saying, "No, you're not really going to...." and her's are saying, "Yes, you know I am." Trisha pours the bucket of freezing holy water over my head. But not just one dump, she comes back around again, and a third time, dumping the water directly in my face. By the third sweep, my mouth was still open from the last dousing and the water went straight into my mouth. By this time my mouth needed a good rinsing because I'd already cursed outloud no less than four times... and we hadn't even got to the baptism yet.

If that wasn't enough, Trisha now tells me that she wants me to sit down in the creek because she wants to get my shoulders under the water. My foot is standing on, wedged against the rock that she wants me to sit on. This rock is an 8x10 inch oval in size and shape. I go down into a deep squat trying not to lose my balance, but in order to completely sit on this rock my feet have to move without slipping. With Trisha's help, I managed to get into a sitting position in the cold creek. The icy water was half way up my back now. She then proceeded to lower me back into the water to the nape of my neck and hold me there for several seconds. At that moment I wasn't thinking about old life or new life; honestly, I was thinking about hypothermia. I decide that if I keep my left hand out of the water, I might certainly delay hypothermia's effect on my body. Eventually, she brings me up out of the water and Matt helps me back up the creek bank to the road.

I'm instructed, "Don't look at the river, don't turn around or look back. " I stand there facing the opposite direction of the creek, dripping wet for several minutes. While I'm waiting, a complete sense of warmth and quiet calm come over my body as the internal heat begins to push toward the surface of my skin. My skin all over my body begins to turn beet red. I feel really good, invigorated and whole.

Trisha exits the creek eventually and holds her skirt in front of me as I began stripping in the middle of the road. There is no towel to dry myself. I peel off the old wet clothes that i will never see again and they fall into a sopping heap on the road. My bare back is visible behind me and I turn around to see a cute little yellow house. I imagine that a sweet old couple are eating dinner and watching the whole show from the window at their dining table. They likely think they are hallucinating as they reach for their spectacles. "Hurry, Kim, before they get their cameras." I reach for my dry clothes from the hood of the car and wrench them over my wet, herb and flower-pettled body. We hop in the car and head back "home" for Julie's taco dinner. I feel like a new woman. I look in the mirror and I look myself in the eyes. I don't avoid looking at my soul. I linger here. I look into my eyes and I see me, my soul, my very essence. My green hazel eyes strikingly contrast from my bright red face, and every beet-red square inch of my body screams with delight. Sign me up for the polar plunge or regular baptisms, maybe tomorrow I'll go lay in the creek again.Læs mere