So I'm checking out McSweeney's today and there's something interesting at the top. Under the masthead they write a little addendum that changes every morning, illuminating another facet of the mysterious Timothy McSweeney. While he doesn't actually exist in any corporeal form (he's a figment of Dave Eggers' imagination, but the folks at the quarterly correspond occasionally with an unrelated Timothy McSweeney somewhere in like Limerick, Ireland), these little tidbits combine to make up a remarkably three-dimensional character. One day you'll discover that "All Timothy McSweeney's Elvises are velvet," and the next they'll reveal that "Timothy McSweeney's superhero nickname is The Trampoline."* Well today's sidenote on the fascinating T.McS. is that "Timothy McSweeney burns sage, not flags." I had a little flashback reading this pronouncement, as I've only known one person who swears by the sagesmoke.[cue flashback music, roll thunder and lightning]
I was working at The B_____, a music club in New Orleans, and we got our share of idiosyncratic musicians. Some had particular drinks they wanted prepared in particular ways (one brass band even renamed the LIT after themselves), some needed a certain arrangement of candles that had to be set out just so, some had special tip jars decorated in mosaics of broken bottleglass they insisted upon using--exactly the kind of personal tics that you'd expect from performing artists. This one woman, K_____, had a pre-show ritual she'd run through with her dreadlocked boyfriend (and cheering section) whereby they'd light a bundle of sage leaves and walk around the perimeter of the stage. When they had covered the entire area with their purplish haze, they'd waft the strange-smelling smoke over the piano, then the piano stool, then the speakers, eventually stopping by the microphone to let the smoke curl around its stand and main apparatus. The first time they did this, I was coming out of the walk-in cooler carrying cases of beer and I thought somebody'd lit a really nasty doobie on the dancefloor. That kind of stuff'll fly when the room's full and the music's thumping--people are always willing to look the other way when you're burning one at a concert. But when it's an empty room, paradoxically, the smell of somebody having a talk with ol' Bob Hope triggers a paranoid response that makes me think "Shitshitshit, we're gonna get caught." And when that happens, of course, the shit falls in my lap. As a manager in the establishment, my main responsibility was managing not to get fired (and that was a fucking miracle some weeks). So after I recovered from nearly dropping the beer I put on my best WTF face and strolled over to the stage to figure out what was going on.
"We're just burning sage, man."
"Yeah, it purifies the performance space and drives out bad energies."
"Yeah, man. With all the crazy shit around here you never know what kind of energies you have to deal with. This takes care of all of them."
I couldn't argue with the "crazy shit," having seen more than my fair share at one club or another. Duly educated and up to speed, I gave them a tolerant smile (probably more patronizing than it needed to be) and went back to purifying my own performance space behind the bar, which involved the highly spiritual and sanctified ceremony of spraying for fruit flies and emptying the beer traps.
And that was the last I heard of the whole burning sage thing, until yesterday. My curiosity piqued, I Googled "burning sage" and found that it's common practice in several cultures for just the reasons outlined by K_____ and her stoner companion. It seems the Lakota Sioux of the northern Great Plains use a burning smudge (the bundle of tied sage, pictured above) to purify their sweat lodges before rituals, and it's also an important tool during their Sundance (which, I'm assuming, is a dance for the sun-god or something. Maybe I should Google that, too.). The Latin root of sage, "salvia," comes from "salvare," meaning "to heal." And Paul Chirumbolo's "Guidance To Change Your Life" website has this gem of New-Agery on its sage page: "By allowing the purification and cleansing properties of sage to clear your items, your body, or your rooms, the space is created for new awareness and new direction to begin to take its place."
Who knew? Maybe I've been stifled by the old awarenesses and directions taking place in my particular spaces. Perhaps I should burn a smudge or two from time to time, you know, to "Give special attention to areas of stress and unbalance in relation to the individual spirit-body." Good news for me: since no sacred ritual remains that way in a capitalist system, I can buy bundles of white sage from Taos Herb Company for the lowlow price of $17.95. Or I can upgrade to the Premium Blessing Collection for $69.95, which comes "Just in time for the Holidays!" And look how much more I get! "Presented in a beautiful birchwood box are New Mexico Sage & Cedar and White Sage Smudge sticks, Sweetgrass Braid, Lavender Flowers, Copal Resin, Frankincense Resin, Myrrh Resin, a roll of Charcoal Tablets, an Abalone Smudging Shell, and a hand-painted Eagle Feather used to fan the sacred smoke."
Frankincense Resin? Hand-painted Eagle Feathers? Funny, I'm reading "Abalone" but I'm thinking "Ah, baloney." Call me cynical, call me skeptical, call me a killjoy (but call me), but I figure a jar of sage at the store is about $2.99. That's exactly the price I'm willing to put on the sanctification of my personal spaces, and I think it's a bargain. Do you think the gods care if I'm trying to purify my shit on the cheap? Do they look down on frugality? I might just burn some sage sausage tomorrow morning at breakfast, see if I can simultaneously create new energies while causing a pork-based mid- to large-scale grease fire in my tiny apartment kitchen. I'm guessing not. The Lakota would use turkey sausage.
But that's the spiritual lesson for the weekend, folks. Feeling a little rusty around the edges? All your new ideas somehow hackneyed and stale? Is what you do in the bedroom starting to feel like what you do in the boardroom? Burn a little sage, people. Take the wisdom of the ancients and put it to use in our 21st Century. I'm burning some right now, and I'm in good company. In fact, we're getting together later for chai tea and a drum circle if anyone's interested. Should be a groovy jam, man. Peace.
*: Neither of these are actual McSweeney's posts, but you get the point.
