From cigarette to sacred pipe 5: The journey of the sacred pipe begins
- Lorraine
- Aug 28
- 9 min read
This article is part of a series on the journey with the Sacred Pipe. You can find the previous articles: From cigarette to sacred pipe: my path with Tobacco; From cigarette to sacred pipe 2: in the hands of the invisible; From cigarette to sacred pipe 3: a door gently opens; From cigarette to sacred pipe 4: when tobacco whispers in my ear.
The day of departure
The long-awaited day had arrived.
At Geneva airport, I felt that special effervescence of travel: a mix of departures, reunions, and suspended promises. This trip to the United States, to the lands of the First Nations and the meeting with the sacred pipe, was not born from a precise plan. It was woven gently.
Our initial itinerary planned for Pipestone, Minnesota, but the path was calling us further west, towards the arid plateaus and mesas, in the heart of Hopi territory. The van we were supposed to take was in the shop for repairs. No matter: a deep joy, mixed with a thrill of the unknown, overwhelmed me.
What faces would I meet?
What landscapes would come to greet me?
And what silences would open the invisible doors for me?
Reunions and preparations for the passage from cigarette to sacred pipe
Upon my arrival, Martha greeted me with a familiar gentleness, her joyful presence warmed the heart, a sweet pleasure to be reunited. Our reunion was woven with simple words and shared silences.
Together, we chose to take the SUV to travel the long roads and prepared our camping gear, ready to sometimes sleep outside, under the wind and the stars.
We set up an appointment with Thomas, the one who made my Sacred Pipe, in Flagstaff, in three days.
We agreed on a meeting with Thomas, the craftsman of my Sacred Pipe, in three days in Flagstaff. After this meeting, we would likely go to the San Francisco Peaks, sacred mountains where the Kachinas reside. These messengers of the Hopi, who carry ancient wisdom and are guardians of the world's balance, are revealed through dances and ceremonies. If you'd like to learn more about their role, I invite you to read my previous articles: Meeting the Kachinas: Spiritual Guardians of the Hopi Tradition ; The Hopi Ceremonial Cycle: A Spiritual Symbiosis with Nature and Spring Equinox Ritual in the Hopi Tradition: Rituals, Kachinas and Balance.
For six months, according to the ceremonial calendar, the Kachinas live alongside the Hopi; the other half of the year, they return to their home in these majestic mountains.
Guided by the signs and invisible presences, we walk towards the essential.
On the road to Flagstaff
The morning we left, we departed from a small coastal town, leaving behind the light Pacific mist. Stretching out before us were more than 750 kilometers, a crossing that would lead us to Flagstaff, in the heart of Arizona.
Very quickly, the verdant hills gave way to more arid expanses. The colors changed, the light as well. The road unfolded like a long black ribbon between the ochre, beige, and red of the sun-scorched lands. Little by little, the landscape opened up to the immensity. The horizon became a silent, vast traveling companion.
In the cabin, the excitement was there, like a vibration passing through both of us. The hours flowed to the rhythm of our conversations, weaving a dialogue between two very different spiritual paths, and yet reunited today in this car, on this road.
I feel a gratitude for Martha as vast as the horizon that opens before us. She recognized the imperceptible breeze that indicates the way. Without her, this journey would never have taken shape. Carried by this momentum, I can follow the path that leads me to the Sacred Pipe.
Then, in the air, another breath arose... the fifth wind. Martha explained that this particular wind was associated with the Thunder Beings. These forces, both majestic and unpredictable, bring rain, storms, tornadoes, or hurricanes. She confided to me that those whose Sacred Pipe is linked to these Beings could sometimes influence the coming of rain. This wind, she said, is a messenger reminding us that every element of nature has a voice and an intention.
Mile after mile, we advanced, the desert stretched more and more around us, and already, the dry, luminous air of Arizona welcomed us. More than a journey through landscapes, our road trip was a crossing into the unexpected, into the spirits, and into that part of ourselves that is waiting to be revealed.
The meeting with Thomas and the heart of the sacred pipe
We met in a small Mexican restaurant, almost empty, just the four of us and the scent of warm tortillas. It was the first time I had seen Thomas and his wife, and yet, there was something strangely familiar in that moment. An immediate warmth circulated, as if we had known each other forever.
Thomas had followed Grandmother Medicine Song for fifteen years, sharing teachings and ceremonies. Meeting someone who had shared the same teachings and ceremonies for so long was for me an immense, almost overwhelming joy. His gentleness touched me deeply. His wife, just as luminous, accompanied us with a natural, sincere, and calming kindness.
Amidst the laughter and shared stories, Thomas asked me if he should give me the Sacred Pipe now. I replied that we would wait for a quieter place, after the meal. So we savor this simple moment together. Colorful plates, conversations that passed from light anecdotes to the evocation of our spiritual paths... an invisible cement united us, woven by a common quest and the desire to serve the sacred.
When Thomas finally placed the two pieces of cloth on the table, one wrapped around the bowl, the other around the stem of the Sacred Pipe, my heart filled with a subtle mix: timid joy, gentle uncertainty. What would this pipe be like? Would I be able to hear it? Would I love it? So many questions danced, suspended in the silence of the moment.
With a softness full of humility, Thomas confided to me that it was the first time he had fashioned the stone from Pipestone, this rare catlinite, a true imprint of the very blood of the earth. This stone whispers the weight of ages, vibrating to the rhythm of ancient spirits.
For the Lakota and the Sioux, it is not just a material: it is a fragile thread woven between sky and earth, between the visible and the invisible. A door ajar to the breath of the ancestors. Each pipe carved from this stone is a silent prayer, a song of peace carried by the smoke to benevolent spirits. This deep red resonates like spilled blood.
Carving Pipestone is entering into a sacred dialogue with the spirit of the stone. An act of silent love that Thomas carried with infinite attention, aware that he was not fashioning an object, but a living spirit.
I observed the two pieces of cloth on the table with silent respect, as if he had placed a living heritage there, an ancient spirit ready to reveal itself under my hands.
He explained that the wood was pine, and that in creating this pipe, he had connected to a feminine spirit. It is this energy, this presence, that he wanted to embody in its soft forms, a pipe with feminine curves, carrying a delicate and deep force.
I untied first, slowly, the cloth that held the stem. The wood appeared, simple and plain, without ornaments. Then, with the same precaution, I unfolded the fabric that sheltered the bowl. What I discovered was a small, pure form, without sculpture or animal totem as I had, deep down, perhaps hoped for. Thomas explained to me that it was a personal pipe, and that its size reflected this intimate use.
A slight pang crossed my heart. Not that I had imagined exactly what my pipe would look like, but I had nourished, despite myself, images: a bear, a turtle, a sculpted form that already told a story. Faced with this bare simplicity, a part of me felt disappointed at first.
And then, suddenly, an inner voice rose, clear and gentle: “This is exactly the pipe you need to learn what you need to learn.”
I understood then. This pipe is a teaching in itself: without artifice, humble, stripped bare, it invites me to go straight to the essential. It does not seek to seduce the eye, but to open the mind and the heart.
Thomas then gently took the bowl in his hands, turned it slightly, and showed me a detail on the side. In the stone, a natural design appeared, formed by its veins and nuances. He smiled at me and whispered: "You can see what you want in it..."
I let my gaze get lost in it, and already, the stone seemed to offer me its own stories.
At that moment, I feel a deep gratitude for Thomas, for the care and intention he put into his hands in shaping this pipe. My heart opens, and I know that this bond is now sealed.
Thomas explained to me that he had not activated this pipe. For some time, he had taken his distance from this tradition and no longer felt aligned to perform this gesture. This sacred ritual opens the pipe to its spiritual mission, connecting it to the spirits that choose to dwell within it and to the prayers that rise in the tobacco smoke. It is a passage, a first breath, that inscribes it in the living circle of sacred pipes.
I could choose to activate it myself, or entrust this act to a pipe keeper, so that he or she can trace its path. He reminded me that activation was not a simple formality, but a deep commitment: to offer the pipe its voice and its breath, and to agree to enter into dialogue with it. Thus begins its journey... and, through it, my own.
Two nights under the protection of the Kachinas: learning from the sacred pipe
Once this busy day was over, we retreated into the silence of the majestic mountains near San Francisco Peaks. Martha and I stayed there, motionless, letting our breaths accord with the rhythm of the wind, to listen for the next part of the path.
That evening, she invited me to experience my first Sacred Pipe ceremony, no longer behind the screen of a virtual teaching, but in the tangible presence of the world. She wanted to offer me a first taste, simple and humble, as a gesture of welcome. It was not yet about activating the pipe, but about nourishing it, letting it be impregnated with the smoke of sacred plants, carried by the abalone shell.
I am shy, awkward. The words of my prayers search, stumble a little, as if they hesitated to cross my lips. But I am deeply touched by Martha's generosity, by her sincere desire to transmit and to initiate me into this path.
After the ceremony, we decided that the next day we would go in search of a place to sleep in nature, near the San Francisco Peaks, to connect my pipe to the Kachinas. The pine wood that forms its stem is the essence that calls for the blessings of these Spirits for the proper use of words.
The day that followed, after some searching, we finally discovered the right place: a peaceful haven, away from the world. We set up our camp there.
The first night, Martha stepped silently out of the tent. Suddenly, a horde of coyotes began to howl. I had never heard such a clamor. Their song seemed to encircle us. Far from fear, it was an immense joy that ran through me: that of feeling their wild, free, and vibrant presence.
In the morning, a hummingbird appeared near me, one of my guardians, like those who used to come and greet me during my awakenings in the jungle of Peru. Since then, I had not received their visit. In that instant, I feel filled with grace for this gift from the Spirits.
The second morning, Martha confided to me that she had received a clear message: we had to celebrate a Sacred Pipe ceremony, to free the land of that place from an old and invisible burden that it still carried. We settled into an inhabited silence and, breath after breath, the smoke rose, carrying our prayers.
At the end of the day, as a silent response, a family of antelopes appeared. They advanced slowly and with confidence, letting us contemplate them for a long time. It was as if, once the land was lightened, they could finally show themselves to us. Nature opened, and in its signs, it spoke to us.
These two nights near the San Francisco Peaks offered me what I had so desperately needed. I found an intimate connection again. It slides into the breath of the wind, mixes with the distant song of the coyotes, plays in the slight rustle of the leaves, and dances in the delicate beating of a hummingbird's wings brushing the light.
We lived them cradled by the invisible presence of the Kachinas, enveloped in their protection and wisdom. These nights connected me to the grandiose nature of the United States, this country where, since my childhood, I feel how small humans are in the face of the immensity of the Earth. Here, everything invites humility before our Mother Earth.
The blessing of the Kachinas
On the morning of our departure, the last breakfast took place in the soft light of the rising sun, at the foot of the mountains. The family of antelope appeared, silent and attentive. They stopped for a moment, as if to bless us with their presence.
Among the Hopi ceremonies, the Antelope Dance is a ritual that calls for rain, blesses the harvests, and maintains harmony between humans and the forces of nature.
Through their tranquil gaze, they seemed to whisper:
"We, guardian spirits,
accompany your steps,
hear your prayers,
and carry your journey."
Their movements, light and graceful, remind me to walk with flexibility and respect. Each step accords with the rhythm of Mother Earth's heart.
I surrender to this moment, aware that each of my steps on this earth is an offering and a silent lesson.
The Creator opens invisible doors before me.
The road unfolds, infinite and mysterious.
And there, on the Hopi Mesas, the silence of the stones and the presence of the Kachinas await to whisper what has not yet spoken.
TO BE CONTINUED...
I invite you to re-read the previous articles in this series, and to share your experience, your feelings, your own path in the comments. Together, we weave the sacred web of connection and transformation.
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