Lessons From the Bear’s Den

The sacred roots of traditional Finnish sauna

One of the classically Nordic experiences I was most excited to learn about during my time in Finland was the sauna. I wanted to learn about the ancient traditions surrounding this beloved cultural norm, as I have only experienced saunas in gyms and ski lodges in the States–where we have it all wrong. Take note, Americans: you’re not supposed to wear your bathing suit in the sauna! The chlorine in the fabric of your suit will become toxic when evaporating in the small, hot room. And anyway, sweating profusely is much more comfortable when you’re wearing your birthday suit. Also, contrary to many US facilities’ policies, water is meant to be put on the hot rocks! In America, insurance liability makes businesses very nervous about combining electricity with water. But the steam is the whole point of the sauna in Finland. These two bullet points were the only tips I received during my Fulbright orientation about how to have a proper sauna. So I was eager to learn more about the etiquette and traditions surrounding the Finnish sauna from Kaarina Kailo, a woman who I had been told I needed to meet because of our shared interests in animism, eco-feminist studies, shamanism, art…the list goes on. And because she literally wrote the book about the sauna tradition. Kaarina invited me to her house for a sauna and dinner. Most saunas in Finland happen in the home; nearly everyone has a private sauna in their house or apartment. In fact, there are 3 saunas for every 5 people in Finland; there are even more saunas than cars!

The cold and dark of February was getting tiresome, and I was looking forward to this opportunity to experience the healing warmth of the sauna. As I walked from the bus through a neighborhood carpeted in falling snow to Kaarina’s house, I wondered how many age-old traditions the Finns must have for keeping the heart fires burning during the long winter. Kaarina welcomed me warmly into her home, and after only half an hour of talking I realized what a goldmine she was. Meeting her felt like winning the lottery of matrilineal wisdom; she showed me a selection of the books she has written (including Finnish Goddess Mythology and the Golden Woman, Wo(men) and Bears: The Gifts of Nature, Culture and Gender Revisited, Ecopsychology and traditional knowledge), as well as some of the art she is creating. My inner nerd did a little happy dance as she showed me the mixed media quilted portraits she is creating of all the ancient Finnish goddesses in the Kalevala, the national epic which I had just finished reading. But wait, I said–I don’t remember any goddesses in the Kalevala. She responded with a sideways smile and a sigh; that’s because the stories comprising the tome have been rewritten, as so many ancient matriarchal histories have, by the hands of Christian men in power while imposing their patriarchal paradigm onto the peoples they attempted to convert.

But I digress… The sauna.

Kaarina gave me a bathrobe to wear during the walk across the snowy backyard to the sauna house. I realized that once there I was supposed to take it off. Now mind you, I’m not a prude. I’m a bellydancer, and quite comfortable in my body. But this was a cultural difference I was beginning to realize has a wide gap with the more self-conscious and body-shaming society I grew up in in the States. After all, Kaarina and I were practically strangers. But I remembered the sauna is a social event in Finland, and it’s quite customary to be naked with your friends, relatives, and people you’ve just met, while sweating profusely in a small room. “She’s used to it, Abby; relax. This is how it’s done; let go of your American bashfulness”, I comforted myself.

Wrapped in the red fleece bathrobe, I put my bare feet into my boots and crossed the yard in the snowy twilight to the sauna house. A cozy and inviting log cabin glowed in the darkening blue evening, a welcoming sight of string lights and candles, smoke rising from the chimney. A table and chairs outside the door waited for the time when we’d need a break from the heat and steam. A candle lantern and arrangement of greenery on the table poked out from under a mound of snow. The adjacent couch sat covered in an animal fur, promising a soft respite from the cold bite of the winter evening. Two bottles of beer were stuck into the mound of snow on the table, promising a revitalizing break from the sweat bath that awaited us. Kaarina said there was an ancient goddess of beer, a benevolent creator who concocted the first brew with the combined salivas of forest animals: bears, squirrels, and martens.

Imagining the flavor of that first magical elixir, I stepped into the sauna hut to find an inviting anteroom, complete with a couch, candles, hooks for my bathrobe and towels, a cabinet with various body scrubs and lotions, and a wall lined with hanging birch branches, bundled and dried during the summer. Bear figurines were scattered everywhere. I asked Kaarina about the bears; she said the sauna is the bear’s den. It is the dark, warm, quiet womb of the mother where mysteries happen. Afterall, what a mystery it must have been for early peoples to witness one bear entering hibernation only to emerge from the den after many winter months with several baby bears. Like the Native American sweat lodge, the sauna is a place of rebirth, where we go to sweat our prayers and come out renewed, blessed by the communal experience of releasing our burdens to Spirit. I remembered my first sweat lodge at Breitenbush in Oregon 15 years ago, and was instantly transported back to that visceral rebirth experience. I vividly recalled crawling out of an open flap in the blankets covering the teepee, the only crack of light in the dark cave, and emerging from the birth canal coated in the slimy amniotic fluid of hours of purged sweat, blinded and disoriented by the light of life that awaited me on the other side. My body tried to remember how to function as I made my way to the river nearby and tumbled into the cold water to be washed clean, bewildered, yet renewed and reinvigorated. It felt like a fresh starting point in the way that all intense purging experiences do when you realize with relief and gratitude that you have survived the discomfort. Day 1, again. A new opportunity to move forward in life with the gift of a clear, clean start and renewed purpose.

Kaarina said saunas used to be everywhere in Europe in ancient times. The Celts had their version of a pit sauna, and one has been discovered with a statue of Brigid, a bear goddess, nearby. In many sauna designs throughout the ancient world, a sheela na gig was carved above the doorway; a woman with legs spread across the lintel, holding her yoni open for you to enter under. Warriors would leave their weapons outside, and enter the womb of the mother for healing. Of course when Christianity swept across ancient Europe, this was seen as pornographic, and saunas equated with lewdness and sexuality, and so they were condemned and destroyed. Because Finland is on the outer reaches of northeastern Europe, it was spared this sad fate, and the sauna tradition has continued since time immemorial.

Standing in the anteroom, eyeing the closed wooden door that lead to the bear’s den, I wondered at the power of this rebirth ritual, and how frequently and honestly we can return to it. And Finns do, almost daily. It is one of the few lasting traditions from ancient times, and a highly valued practice, even though the sacred roots have been lost. The Finns still revere the traditional experience of physical purification and renewal, but it has become secularized. It used to be that when invited to a communal sauna, you brought a rock with you that you collected in the forest, to offer to the fire. The rock was your contribution to the creation of the shared experience, and a physical emblem of the earth element. All the elements are represented in the sauna, and they are united by Löyly, (roughly pronounced low-loo) which is both the steam caused by tossing water on the hot rocks, and also an ancient Finnish word for Spirit. It is to the löyly that you speak your intentions for the sauna, asking for it to take away what you are releasing as you sweat. Kaarina said that it is in the sauna where we can connect with the spirits; the steam brings our prayers to our ancestors. She told me with regret that electric saunas with automatic sprinklers have replaced the wood burning dens, so now you don’t even have to give your water offerings to the stones. TV ads announce the latest and greatest in new sauna designs, while the personal connection with the elements and the active participation with the process is lost.

We disrobed and stepped into the warm bear’s den. A single candle lantern glowed just enough for me to see the dark wooden interior. Kaarina added more wood to the fire in the cast iron stove, and plunged one of the birch bundles she took off the wall into a bucket of water to soak. She poured a drop of dark liquid from a small bottle onto a bear figurine, and more into a bucket of water. I asked what it was, and she told me with a fond smile about beloved Finnish tar. Historically, pine sap reduced to tar in traditional pits had many industrial functions and was a vital economic export for centuries. Special tar produced a certain way is edible, and Finns love its smokey sweet flavor in bread, candy, meat, even ice cream. Finns maintain that tar has medicinal qualities as well, and Kaarina says that it is the juice of the tree of life, which offers its nourishing spiritual principles. She handed the bottle to me to smell. A dark, rich, sticky, earthy sweet woke up something deep in my memory. I audibly exhaled with pleasure and opened my eyes smiling. She said there’s an old Finnish saying: “If tar, spirits, or sauna won’t cure you, the disease is probably fatal”. However, she prefers the version: “If tar, beer, or a spinster can’t fix what ails you, then you’re a lost cause.” There’s a healing power to the tar, and of course to beer as well. And everyone knows it’s the spinsters who have the most pent up sexual energy. So if one of those three things can’t heal you, then you’re hopeless. I laughed; just earlier that day I had a conversation with a friend in her 60s about her renewed passion and sex drive, and we declared an urgent need to change the inaccurate narrative about asexual older women. I decided I can’t wait to be a lusty elder woman, fully actualized in my sexual power, a wise mentor for young people as they fumble through the messy process of boundaries and expression.

But again, I digress… The sauna.

We closed the door to the bear’s den and settled in to our seats on the wooden bench. I soaked up the smell emanating from the hot wooden walls and ceiling: an earthy, clean, comforting aroma that is unique to saunas. We closed our eyes and sat quietly for a moment, adjusting to the heat. She broke the silence by asking me to think of an intention for the sauna. She explained that long before the sauna experience was secularized as a physical relaxation or social bath experience, the tradition was to have an intention for the löyly. What did I want to release as the steam coaxed it out of me? She handed me a wooden ladle of the tar water. “Speak what you’re letting go of and toss the water on the rocks.” I held the water, acknowledging its cleansing power, and thought about what was holding me back that I could ask the löyly to take from me. The power of an intention can turn any act into a sacred ritual; by directing our energy and will toward a desired goal, we become co-creators of our lives. I spoke my intention and tossed the water onto the hot rocks. A hiss preceded a tidal wave of hot steam that blanketed us, making it hard to breathe. I slowed my attention down to a zen-like focus, breathing carefully and intentionally as I settled in to stillness. I got present with my body, noticing the way it wanted to fight the discomfort, and I encouraged it to quiet down into enjoyment. I noticed my muscles relaxing, and my breathing becoming slow and steady as I started to sweat. It was a different kind of sweat than when working out; it was a full body purge. It didn’t take long before I was soaked.

Kaarina took the bundle of birch branches from the bucket and shook the excess water onto the stones. They sizzled as I looked to her with curious anticipation. I remembered steam rooms in Ecuador where eucalyptus branches hung, cleansing the air with the release of their sweet spicy essential oils. But something about the way she held the bundle of branches told me this was not just aromatherapy. Kaarina explained that at midsummer it is tradition to harvest birch branches and tie them into a bundle that serves as a kind of self-flagellation tool. She referred to it as a whip or a switch; terms that didn’t elicit much confidence in an already challenging physical experience. She said “now I will hit your back and the healing power of the birch leaves will cleanse you.” I sat up a little straighter and leaned forward slightly to invite this friendly beating. The thwacks that came were actually quite pleasant, and she said that someone beating your back with the birch leaves is the nicest thing they can do for you. I smiled and received her blessing, recalling my intention and allowing the plant ally to expedite the cleanse. She handed me the bundle and instructed me to whip the rest of my body, moving from top to bottom so as to ensure a proper flow of energy. I took my time, enjoying the gentle stimulating sting. Kaarina said many cultures have this tradition. The Cree she lived with in Canada for 9 years use cedar. Some cultures use spruce for its aroma, or alder branches, a feminine tree because of the red it bleeds when you cut it. When I’m done she instructed me to put the bundle back to soaking while she spoke her intention to the löyly and added more water to the stones. We settled in again as another wave of steam overtook us. She asked me to hit her back with the birch, and I mindfully sent blessings into each thwack as I focused on her intention. She finished her front and we took turns putting our faces into the birch leaves, smiling at each other with the sweet healing scent of their leaves, a reminder of summer and the smell of the forest.

When the steam began to dissipate it was time for a break. I learned you never leave the sauna after someone puts water on the stones; it’s disrespectful to the löyly and to the people benefiting from it. The same is true for sweat lodges; you never call “All my relations” and ask to leave when a new wave of heat is released. Like the waves of awareness in a medicine ceremony, the work is in the discomfort. But we found ourselves at a natural pause, so we put on our robes (and I my boots; she went barefoot) and stepped out into the fresh snow to admire the quiet and cold. The great bear constellation hung low over the sauna hut, shining brightly in the black sky. Kaarina pointed toward the woods behind her house and a river edged in snow; “you can swim between rounds of löyly when you get too hot.” Nothing about that sounded inviting to me, but this wouldn’t intimidate most Finns. In a country of 200,000 lakes and more than 10 times that many saunas, there is a practice of going back and forth between the heat and jumping in the lake–in all seasons. I have seen pictures of Finns happily swimming in winter lakes dotted with floating chunks of ice; I wasn’t entirely sure I felt the need to experience this particular aspect of the sauna tradition. We sat on the fur covered couch and shared a drink. She said you can see the northern lights from her backyard on a clear night. Caught up in the magic of the moment, I saw the faces of my sisters back in Colorado with whom I have done so much ritual over the years; they were there in spirit, sitting with us around the candle lantern, enjoying the power of this night with me.

I took this opportunity to ask Kaarina a question I’m curious about in all cultures: what are the traditional rites of passage in Finland, that carry an adolescent into adulthood? She thought about it for a moment before shrugging her shoulders and saying “I guess it’s the Christian confirmation. The church holds all the rites of passage now: birth, marriage, death…but the sauna is where it all used to happen.” I looked at her for clarification: “birth, marriage, death…in the sauna?” Indeed, the hot wet steam eased women’s labors, and corpses would be washed in the sauna. The victim of a rape would be brought into the sauna and whipped with flowers woven into the birch branches, purifying her mind, body, and spirit. And like a homeopathic remedy, the branches would then be tossed into the fire to release her pain. Kaarina told me her wedding story where the women had a blessing sauna with a shaman who used a stick and a bag to emulate the consummation and bless the union with a robust sex life. “It worked a little too well,’’ she admitted with a smile. But now, the church is where these holy events take place. She bemoaned the male-lead, mind-centered, sit-in-your-seat rituals that people currently endure in the church, which have replaced the physical, social, intimate, transformative experience of sharing life’s pivotal moments in the sauna. Unlike an hour in church, after an hour in the sauna you feel physically changed, like you’ve really done some healing work, and come out renewed. She said the sauna can often act as a confessional, too; not like the kind in church where you carry guilt to a priest and seek to be forgiven, but in a natural way, where you can share what’s real in your life, be held in sacred witness, and let the löyly carry it for you. Sure enough, later that night I found myself recounting some of my most painful life stories in the sauna, the billowy steam creating a soft container to hold the sensitive and vulnerable shares. Kaarina said one of the most special saunas she went to was in the round, everyone sitting in a circle around a central fire, with the group intention to release their burdens by sharing their problems and throwing their worries on the rocks with each splash of water.

After cooling our heels for a while (Kaarina is literally barefoot in the snow), we returned to the bear’s den for a second round. Kaarina stoked the fire and we settled in. I asked her if there are any songs that are sung to the sauna, or to the elements, which are all present in this space. She thought for a minute and began to sing a song to the löyly, asking for its healing presence. Even though I didn’t know the words, the cadence and the rhyme lulled me into its enchantment. After a pause Kaarina chanted an incantation to the shamanic underworld where healing power lives, luring it into our middle world to benefit the work of the sauna. We sat with the spells hanging in the steamy air, and let their medicine seep into us. After a while she softly spoke a caution: “If you write about what I have told you tonight, not everyone will believe you. A lot of people have told me what I write about in my books cannot be proven, and academia discredits my research. People have forgotten the old ways, and don’t want to remember. But I am planting seeds. Rituals are meant to evolve and change over time, and new ones are meant to be born.” I sat with the sad truth of this. I came to Finland to learn about the old ways, and the people who can speak to them are few. Still, I mine for these gems of wisdom from anyone who has a story to tell. She said she knows a lot from her intuition, her dreams tell her stories of the past, and her primary sources of research are elders, old women who remember the old ways; all of which academics discredit. But as someone who works actively with intuition and listening for wisdom from Source, I know this to be true. There is a kind of knowing that is feminine in nature, requiring active receptivity and inner listening. Knowledge of the workings of Spirit is a living thing; it is meant to morph and adapt to the needs of the times. I believed in the truth of everything she told me, even though not all of it may be fact.

A last round of löyly offered the opportunity to ask for a blessing. I thought about the power of the sauna to create healing transformation, and meditated on what would benefit my current life that I could petition from the löyly. Living and researching in a new country, encountering daily circumstances that challenge me to expand beyond what is known, I asked for courage. The hiss of steam answered me with approval. And then I heard its nudge: it starts now. Acknowledging my responsibility to take action on an answered prayer, I rose in determination and skittered barefoot to the river before I could change my mind. A whoop of delight escaped from my mouth as the black night river devoured my steaming body, licking me clean with its cold velvety tongue. I emerged feeling like an invincible water nymph, snowlight glistening on my skin, all the elements alive and balanced in my body, a feeling of empowered completeness as my physical form harmonized with a renewed spirit.

On the elevator ride up to my apartment, I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror, rosy cheeks flushed from sauna and snow, a contented smile pleased with the wonder of the night. To my surprise I caught sight of a smattering of silver hairs on the crown of my head, which I had never seen before. Perhaps the transformative power of the löyly coaxed them out of me. Maybe the resonance I felt with Kaarina’s wisdom caused elderhood to come knocking on my door. I plucked one out and placed it on my altar when I got home. I knelt before it, smiling with gratitude, meditating on the lessons I received in the bear’s den. I held the silver strand between my fingers, pulling it taut like a timeline connected by the hands of fate, and felt honored to see my place on the continuum of tradition.