Three months ago a tragedy took place during a sweat lodge ceremony in Sedona, Arizona, leaving three people dead and many others ill. The Arizona Republic (January 13, 2010) reports on the release of hundreds of documents providing the most complete picture yet of what took place at this tragic event.

Transcripts of interviews with participants tell the story of spiritual guru James Arthur Ray and his conduct of this sacred Native American ceremony. Investigators asked participants if Ray told them about his preparation and training to perform this ceremony; about how they themselves were prepared, and whether his organization was medically prepared and trained. Authorities are preparing a case against Ray, and contemplating filing charges against him for at least negligent homicide.

Spinning the story in the media, Ray’s lawyers are saying there is no evidence to suggest reckless or negligent homicide. They say people came to this event voluntarily; they understood the intention and purpose of the ceremony; they could have chosen not to participate or leave whenever they wanted.

For many participants, this was their first experience with this sacred Native American purification and healing ritual. Ray told them that Native American shaman and spiritual leaders taught him how to perform the ritual. Most, it seems learned afterwards that a traditional sweat lodge might hold 15 people (theirs had room for 60, each paying $9,000 to get in), and are never held for profit.

James Arthur Ray can afford top-notch lawyers, and he will likely spend the last dime in his empire to convince a jury that he is not in any way responsible for those people’s deaths. But in my heart I feel he was negligent, and that he profaned this holy ritual. Every Indian traditionalist, spiritual leader and healer to whom I have spoken, says that what James Arthur Ray did was unrecognizable as sacred ceremony. They are incensed that their ceremonies are being perverted by greed and driven by ego.

Could I have a change of heart? Yes, if James Arthur Ray tells me the names of his Native American shaman and spiritual leaders (even just one), who taught him how to perform this ritual; and if one comes forward and tell us that this is what they taught him. If that happened I’d change heart, eat crow, and trumpet his innocence.

I just took my grandkids (12 and 14) to see the new 3-D, sci-fi movie Avatar that’s been breaking all kinds of box office records. It’s great science fiction and is told as a classic Joseph Campbell tale about the hero’s journey. Like Odysseus, Luke Skywalker and Frodo, the hero gets separated from his ordinary life and surroundings, is faced with almost impossible challenges, and lives to tell about it.

The hero in Avatar is a paraplegic ex-marine, who gets taken to the planet Pandora in a galaxy far-far away. His job is to support a scientific mission studying the planet’s native inhabitants; but its real purpose is to support a military/industrial takeover of Pandora’s treasures. Pandora has the largest deposit of the most valuable mineral in the universe; and wouldn’t you know it, the indigenous people live right on top of it.

In order to learn about them, the scientists have found a way to transform themselves into Pandoran natives. They become these sensually lean, blue aliens who can energetically connect to each other, to animals and to trees in a way that gives a whole new meaning to the concept of hooking up.

In his transformed state, the ex-marine is no longer paralyzed, falls in love with a Pandoran princess, goes native and (like Lt. Dunbar in Dances with Wolves) leads his adopted people on a journey of liberation.

The forces of evil have an overwhelming technological advantage; the natives’ greatest power comes in believing that a living tree contains an energy that will save them. It’s an incurably romantic story of faith, hope and redemption that will suck you in with its special effects. The movie is in 3-D, so the spectacular scenery invites you to become a full participant. Blossoms from sacred trees float into the audience, sailing over you are fighter pilots in missile-armed spaceships, battling Native warriors mounted on flying dragons fire bows and arrows. At the end of this movie, the audience applauded.

We had planned to go to lunch afterwards, and I couldn’t wait to discuss the movie’s contemporary implications… the ongoing saga of the annihilation of native people; greed and exploitation as a national policy; how far do you go in following orders that you can’t live with? There was so much I wanted to talk about, so much to teach.

I wasn’t flapping for more than two minutes when they started rolling up their eyes. Finally, both looked at me and said “Papa do you ever stop talking? This was a great movie, can’t we just eat?”

It never ceases to amaze me how my grandkids help me realize how little I have to teach them about what’s ultimately significant. We are hooked up energetically, they will love me flapping or not, and they know I love them back. That’s it, relatives, the only important question at the end of your life is, how well did you love?

Several weeks ago I spoke in Hilton Head, S.C. at the annual meeting of the National Institute of Complementary and Applied Behavior Medicine (NICABM). On the day I was to leave for California to participate in another workshop, I severely hurt myself during my morning yoga practice. Moving into triangle pose, I felt a painful pop in my left hip, and crumbled to the ground moaning having just pulled my hamstring muscle at its insertion on my sitz bone.

The flight to Los Angeles was miserable (in spite of the bourbon), and the discomfort forced me to focus on the truth that this was the third injury to my left leg in the last five months. This is the softer, feminine, more vulnerable side, what is that about? What am I not seeing clearly that I ought to be looking at more directly?

I have been struggling with this vulnerability issue for several years now. I still have trouble letting go of old strivings that once defined my competence, but that no longer serve my progress? There is some piece of me that cannot welcome and love the man I now am.

The coming workshop in Los Angeles is with the distinguished Kabbalist, Rabbi Gershon Winkler, and entitled From Torah to Tipi. It is about the shamanic roots of healing, and it just so happened that the bible reading for that week was the story of Joseph and his brothers. In summary, this is a tale of murderous rage and lies, wherein Joseph, the favorite son of his father is sold into slavery by his brothers. Living in exile in Egypt, imprisoned, he is redeemed because of his prophetic skills and eventually becomes the Viceroy to the Pharaoh.

Ultimately the brothers meet, they have no idea who he is, but Joseph recognizes them. Instead of getting even with them for their treachery, he forgives them, and eventually returns to live in the Promised Land.

During the service, it comes to me that hobbling myself is just another tribute to my inability to forgive myself for not being a man I once was. Forgiveness is the single most important process that brings us peace in life; and forgiveness is how we free ourselves from the prisons of unhealed wounds.

So here’s my New Years resolution once again. This year I am going to make peace with that past that no longer serves me and remember as my mantra every morning the words of the Mahatma Gandhi “forgiveness is choosing to love”.

Happy New Year, Feliz Ano Nuevo, Herzliche Neujahrsgrusse, L’Shana Tova!

I say this for All My Relations, Mi Takuye Oyasin.