From the cigarette to the Sacred Pipe 8: When the Pipe awakens
- Lorraine
- 4 minutes ago
- 12 min read
This article is part of a series dedicated to the encounter with the Sacred Pipe. : From Cigarette to Sacred Pipe: My Journey with Tobacco 1; From Cigarette to Sacred Pipe 2: In the Hands of the Invisible; From Cigarette to Sacred Pipe 3: A Door Slowly Opens; From Cigarette to Sacred Pipe 4: When Tobacco Whispers in the Ear; From Cigarette to Sacred Pipe 5: The Journey of the Sacred Pipe Begins; From Cigarette to Sacred Pipe 6: The Journey in Hopi Land and the Meeting with the Kachinas ;https://www.voiehopis.com/en/post/from-cigarette-to-sacred-pipe-7-on-the-road-to-the-medicine-wheel
The second Misogi: purification before awakening
Back at the camp, the quietness had vanished.
Some travelers had settled in during our absence.
Their laughter, their conversations, the clinking of their utensils broke the sacred silence that had filled us.
Martha and I exchanged a glance.
We knew we had to wait.
Wait for calm to return, for the voices to fade, for the place to recover its breath.
When finally silence settled again, we went back to the waterfall.
The sun was gently descending toward the horizon.
My steps already knew the path, my feet remembered every stone.
I slipped under the icy flow.
It was my second misogi.
Deeper than the first.
The water struck my head, my shoulders, running down my spine like a serpent of cold light.
It washed away the dust I had gathered, erased yet another layer of resistance, and prepared me.
For I could feel that something was silently being prepared.
The Medicine Wheel had opened a door.
And now, the water was purifying me to receive what was to come.
By my side, Martha performed her Cherokee purification ritual.
She offered her prayers to the water, in that ancient language that resonated like a song of the earth.
We were two women, two paths, two traditions meeting under the same waterfall, united in the same quest for the sacred.
Then I slipped into the small cave behind the curtain of water.
It was an old dream being fulfilled.
A dream I had carried for so long: to sing and play the drum behind a waterfall.
There, protected by the liquid veil, I began to play.
The sound echoed against the damp stone, mingling with the roar of the water.
It felt as if the mountain itself was beating with me.
Each strike of the mallet became a prayer.
Each vibration passed through the rock and rose toward the sun.
I sang my praises to the Creator Tawa, as it is told in the Hopi creation story.
I remembered.
I kept the gates of my energy centers open, letting the energy circulate freely between sky and earth.
In this space suspended between water, stone, and sun, between the visible and the invisible, I felt I was ready.
Ready for what awaited me.
The road to Hamilton
At dawn, we folded the camp.
The tent was still wet with dew.
Our hearts were light, clear, luminous.
We took US 14 toward Lovell.
The road unfolded beneath our wheels like a ribbon of asphalt leading us toward our destiny.
The landscapes of Wyoming passed one last time: barren plateaus, golden hills, vast stretches where sky and earth blended together.
Then we turned onto Highway 90, crossing the invisible border that brought us into Montana.
Something changed in the air.
A new softness.
Greener valleys.
Mountains rising with a different majesty.
Martha and I were wrapped in that companionable silence we had woven over the miles.
A silence that needed no words, that said everything without saying anything.
We arrived in Hamilton in the late afternoon.
Her parents welcomed us with immediate warmth.
Their home breathed music.
Everywhere, instruments, sheet music, books.
They were scholars of music, and it could be heard in their voices, their laughter, the melody of their gestures.
I felt instantly at home, cradled by that gentleness, that hospitality that asks for nothing and gives everything.
Evening fell over Hamilton.
I fell asleep in a cozy bed, my heart vibrating with sacred anticipation.
Tomorrow, I would meet Jim Tree.
This man who, through his book, our Zoom conversations, our email exchanges, and the shared Sacred Pipe ceremonies from afar, had opened the path that led me here.
He was the living answer to my prayers, the one the Spirits had woven for me.
Tomorrow, he would awaken my Sacred Pipe.
Lunch with Jim: The Grace of Humility
We met Jim in Hamilton for lunch together.
As soon as I saw him, I felt that rare gentleness, that kindness emanating from him like a quiet light.
Jim had mostly female teachers throughout his journey, and one can feel it.
There is in him a quality of listening, an attentive presence, a deep humility that belongs only to those who have learned to be in service.
The meal unfolded with simplicity and joy.
We joked, we laughed.
And, as Natives often do, Jim told stories.
He beautifully carried that heritage of the storyteller, that circular way of speaking, weaving the invisible threads that connect all things.
All this with infinite humility and sweetness.
His inner child shone like a pure star in the sky.
One could feel he had never lost that ability to marvel, that simple joy that illuminated his eyes.
By the river: the awakening ceremony
After lunch, we went to a park by the river.
The water flowed peacefully, carrying with it the eternal song of the earth.
We settled in a wooden gazebo open to the four directions.
Jim explained how the ceremony would unfold.
He would call in the directions and invoke the Spirits.
If they chose to do so, they would come to dwell in my Pipe to accompany me.
Each Spirit would be associated with a particular direction.
Jim asked me, if I saw or felt anything during the ceremony, not to hesitate to tell him.
I handed him my Sacred Pipe, slightly intimidated.
This moment that I had waited for, prayed for, called for, was finally here.
I explained to Jim that Thomas had carved it for me, but that he had not wished to awaken it.
Jim took the bowl in his hands with infinite delicacy.
He contemplated it for a moment, then simply said:
“I have immense gratitude for the man who carved this pipe and who did not feel he was in the right place to awaken it.”
Those words touched me deeply.
They honored Thomas, they honored the mystery, they honored the fact that everything happens in its own time, carried by those called to do it.
Then the ceremony began.
Martha became the guardian who accompanied Jim in his journey of awakening the Sacred Pipe.
Like a silent dance, they moved together through the directions, at the call of the Spirits.
I cannot reveal the details of what happened, for that belongs to the realm of the sacred — and therefore, of secrecy.
But I can say this: there were specific prayers, coded gestures, a ritual precision that testified to centuries of tradition.
For certain directions, I felt impacts in my body — a wave of heat, a shiver, a pressure on my heart.
And I had visions.
Guardians arriving.
Ancient presences responding to the call.
Jim spoke, naming what he saw.
And each time, I nodded softly, confirming that I saw and felt the same.
We were connected by the same invisible thread, witnesses to the same mystery revealing itself.
When all the Spirits had answered the call, Jim handed me the Pipe to smoke it.
Martha was by my side, guiding and supporting me, as she had throughout our journey.
I brought the Pipe to my lips.
I inhaled the sacred Tobacco.
And in that breath, everything shifted.
The Pipe was alive.
It breathed.
It vibrated.
It was no longer an object, but a being.
A bridge between worlds.
A sacred vessel where benevolent Spirits now resided, choosing to walk by my side.
Once the ceremony ended, Jim explained things related to the guardians and directions.
He gave me the name of the Pipe, the one that had come to him during the ceremony.
He spoke to me of the medicine contained in this Sacred Pipe and how to use it.
Finally, he recommended that I sleep with it for twenty-eight days, the length of a moon cycle, to create a deep alliance with it.
Then we parted, agreeing to meet again in two days to visit the Bisons.
The first night: when the Sacred Pipe speaks
That night, I lay down with my Pipe against my heart.
The energy was so strong that I stayed awake most of the night.
It was not an ordinary insomnia, but a state of hyper-presence, as if every cell of my body were alert, listening.
I felt many physical sensations — tingling, a gentle pressure on my forehead, as if someone had placed an invisible hand where the third eye lies.
And then, the Pipe spoke to me.
Not with audible words, but with images, sensations, and knowledge directly imprinted in my consciousness.
It explained things to me.
It showed me things.
It was my first teaching from my Sacred Pipe and its guardians.
That night, I understood that I was no longer alone.
That I would now walk accompanied.
That the responsibility was immense, but so was the support.
In the morning, when the first rays of sunlight caressed my curtains, I rose with something new within me.
The fatigue was there, but it was gentle, almost pleasant.
It was the fatigue of those who have spent their first night in alliance, of those who begin to learn a new language.
The White Bison: the confirmed blessing
Two days later, we met Jim near his home.
The excitement was palpable.
We were going to see bisons — and among them, a White Bison.
We drove a few kilometers through the Montana prairies.
The sky was immense, a deep blue that seemed to contain all the dreams of the world.
We arrived at the farm.
And there, before my eyes, for the first time in my life, I saw bisons.
Their presence was monumental.
Their breath was that of the earth itself.
Their gaze carried the memory of those vast plains that, just a few centuries ago, trembled with the passage of millions of these giants.
And apart from the others stood the White Bison.
It was incredible how different its energy was from the others.
It radiated a sacred gentleness, almost unreal, imposing silence not by force but by the grace of its simple presence.
In the Plains tribes’ Native traditions, the White Bison is linked to the legend of White Buffalo Calf Woman, the one who brought the Sacred Pipe to the Lakota people.
Its appearance is a sign, a blessing, a reminder that prayers are heard.
As we approached, a male began to roll on the ground in front of us.
I chose to read it as the message that we were welcome, but that we should remain aware of the power inhabiting that place.
I stood there, facing the White Bison, my heart pounding.
My Pipe had just been awakened.
And here stood before me the very symbol of the Sacred Pipe, alive, breathing, whispering a confirmation that only the heart can hear.
A vast gratitude rose within me for the Creator and the invisible web He had woven to lead me here.
I gave thanks to my teachers Pachin Beka and Grandmother Medicine Song who, though gone from this world, still watched over my steps.
From now on, it would be my Sacred Pipe itself that would become my teacher, guiding me day by day on this sacred path.
The sacred plants and the teaching of harvesting
After this magical moment, Jim guided us to places where I could gather wild plants used for Sacred Pipes.
We found Mullein and Prairie Sage.
Jim explained to me how and when to harvest them: with respect, asking permission, leaving an offering, and never taking more than needed.
He showed me how to recognize the plants, how to dry them, how to store them.
Each gesture was a teaching.
Each word was a transmission.
I harvested with care, with gratitude, knowing these plants would accompany my ceremonies, carry my prayers, and feed the sacred fire of my Pipe.
Then the three of us went for lunch.
A beautiful camaraderie had formed among us, filled with simplicity.
We laughed, we shared, we were just there — present, happy.
After the meal, Martha left us.
Jim and I returned to the park, to the gazebo where my Pipe had been awakened.
We walked along the river.
We talked.
And Jim told me stories.
The Fifth Wind: when the trickster appears
It was then that he spoke to me about the Fifth Wind.
He asked if I had ever heard of it.
I smiled.
I told him that before this journey, I had never heard of it.
But from the beginning of our trip, Martha had spoken of it, for we had encountered it many times along the way.
Jim then told me the legend.
Sky Woman, wife of the Creator, had six children, five of whom were sons.
The first four accepted to take responsibility for one direction: North, South, East, and West.
But the fifth son refused.
He did not want to be assigned to a direction.
He wanted to come from wherever he wished, to go wherever he pleased.
He wanted to be free.
When the Fifth Wind manifests, it takes the form of a whirlwind, a circle of dust turning counterclockwise — sometimes a hurricane or a tornado.
It is unpredictable, mischievous, powerful.
It is a trickster, with energy very similar to that of Coyote.
Martha had explained to me that this particular wind was associated with the Thunder Beings.
These majestic and unpredictable forces carry rain, storms, tempests.
She had told me that those whose Sacred Pipe is connected with these Beings could sometimes influence the coming of rain.
This wind is a messenger, reminding us that every element of nature has a voice and an intention.
Jim looked at me with a smile.
“So you’ve met him, then. He has chosen you.”
These words resonated in me like an ancient echo.
The Fifth Wind.
The one who refuses to be chained.
The one who dances freely between worlds.
Between the worlds: the two sacred hours
We spent two and a half hours together, Jim and I.
Two absolutely delightful hours, suspended outside of time.
It was a moment between the worlds, when one is no longer entirely in ordinary reality.
We passed together through the veil between worlds, as if crossing an invisible doorway.
He asked me questions.
I told him my path.
He told me his.
He spoke to me about the Sacred Pipe, about the responsibility it carries, the joy it brings, the challenges it presents.
He spoke of the importance of humility, of always remaining in learning, of never forgetting that we are in service.
He told me stories — stories of Pipe Keepers, of ceremonies, of signs, of quiet miracles.
He spoke in that circular way of the Natives, where each story calls forth another, where each thread weaves with the previous one, creating an invisible tapestry of wisdom.
When we parted, I knew something essential had happened.
Jim was not only the one who had awakened my Pipe.
He had become a friend, a brother on the path, a benevolent guardian watching over my first steps with the Sacred Pipe.
From the cigarette to the Sacred Pipe
This journey, From the cigarette to the Sacred Pipe, led me from shadow to light.
From profane addiction to sacred relationship.
From smoke that distracts to smoke that prays.
I began this path in confusion, lighting my first cigarettes as one lights a fire in the night to feel warmth, to belong, to be seen.
But I was then offering my sacred breath to a relationship deprived of meaning and spirit.
Then I met Tobacco as a master plant in the Amazon jungle.
I learned that it could teach, heal, transform.
I had to go through withdrawal, purification, waiting.
I planted Hopi Tobacco and Peruvian Mapacho seeds.
I watched them grow like children of the sky.
I asked, prayed, called for the Sacred Pipe.
And silence answered me.
For a long time.
Until a series of synchronicities led me to Jim Tree — to his book, his online ceremonies, to Martha, and finally to this journey to the United States.
I walked on Hopi lands.
I attended the Niman ceremony and saw the Kachinas dance under the rain.
I climbed up to the Big Horn Medicine Wheel and offered my prayers atop the world.
I purified myself under icy waterfalls.
And finally, by a river in Montana, my Pipe awakened.
It now breathes.
It lives.
It carries within it benevolent Spirits who have chosen to accompany me.
It has a secret name, a particular medicine, a mission that will reveal itself over time.
The White Bison came to confirm the blessing.
The Fifth Wind danced around me throughout the journey, weaving the link between my Pipe and the Thunder Beings who bring rain and blessing.
I am now a Pipe Keeper.
This responsibility is immense, but I do not walk alone.
The Spirits accompany me.
The teachings of Grandmother Medicine Song guide me.
The friendship of Martha supports me.
The wisdom of Jim nourishes me.
The journey continues.
For becoming a Pipe Keeper is not a destination — it is a beginning.
Each day, I must honor this alliance.
Each day, I must pray, listen, serve.
Each day, I must remember that Tobacco is not a poison, but a teacher.
That the Pipe is not an object, but a living being.
That our role as human beings is to remain connected with the Creator — by dancing, by singing, and by praying.
The cigarette belongs to the past.
The Sacred Pipe is my present and my future.
And in this passage, my whole life has been transformed.
THE END…
Now begins my path with the Sacred Pipe.
I invite you to reread the previous articles of 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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