Cleansing your life with Sage! The things we do for love!

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There are certain types of friends in our lives.

I always try to be a good one.

I always try to be polite, helpful, and, of course, honor the unspoken "Man Code".

So, when a buddy has a girlfriend who insists on blessing your home—whether it needs it or not—well, I stepped up, smiled, and said with my best straight face,

“Cool. When?”

Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

Years ago, a buddy of mine was dating a woman deep into crystals, chakras, cleansing energy, and edgy Goth clothes.

When I moved into a new place, she decided my house had to be spiritually purified.

She seemed eager- almost pained- to purify the place for me before I finished unpacking.

I figured a well-stocked bar was spiritual purification enough, but she insisted this was more important.

So, like always I was being polite and agreed.

After all I thought, good manners cost nothing. But I was about to find out that cleaning up after certainly does.

So, the day prior I was prepared with a short briefing of what to expect: I was informed that a smudging was to take place first, then a salting, and crystal purification.

It sounded official and intense!

I was also informed this is normally expensive. So, I was one lucky guy.

For a fresh start, which was what I was in need of apparently, sunrise works best.

At sunrise.

Which meant literally at sunrise.

Just before dawn they showed up ringing the doorbell. I let them in and she was doing her preparations until the sun was cracking the horizon.

Then it began.

There I was: coffee in hand, sweatpants, not yet showered, teeth barely brushed, hair, (well we will not speak of it) yawning, giving my buddy the “you owe me for this” look.

I was told this would help create a rhythm of balance, peace, and calm in my life.

Although at that hour on a Saturday, it felt a little unbalanced, and calm? Hmmm, maybe sleepy.

A professional smudging and salting, I learned, would clear the space of residual negative or stagnant energy that had built up.

The crystal thing was going to align stuff for me.

To be honest I was lost on that one.

But me being me, I was trying to get involved and mentioned that if this was clearing out the residual energy, I was hoping it would leave the good stuff behind.

We can always use good stuff, after all.

This was met with a stern: Just focus!

As all was being made ready, and the sun was doing its thing, I was being told, everyone, apparently, should do this when moving into a new home.

You know, perform a cleansing to remove the energy of previous occupants and prepare the space for your own.

The rug doctor, pledge, and pine sol are not enough.

Yes, I learned all of this before 7 AM.

The tools:

She arrived armed with a stick—bundle—roll? —of sage, a pouch of salt, some small bowls, and what I can only describe as a spiritual-support crystal.

The sage smelled like a campfire that had gone to college for anthropology.

She lit it and began pacing the house, fanning smoke into corners and saying things.

I was thinking, “I hope the smoke detectors have dead batteries. Please don’t go off.

Why didn’t we discuss this first?”

Then came the salt—small bowls in the corners, then some hand-sprinkled in solemn circles across my hardwood floors, linoleum, and carpeted bedroom, while she muttered something about “energetic seals” and “protective barriers.”

I nodded a lot, said “Wow,” “Oh, interesting,” and “Well, I didn’t learn that in school,” all while pretending not to wonder how I’d get salt out of a thousand tiny gaps in the oak flooring.

This went on room to room, with me, my buddy, and my cat Mr. Peabody trailing along behind.

Mr. Peabody would normally just lay around and ignore people, more irritated by humans than anything else.

But this morning he seemed fascinated following a few steps behind, tail flicking, occasionally stopping to bat some of the salt across the floor.

When she finally finished the ritual, she smiled, holding the burning sage bush in one hand, and the crystal in the other, like the two tablets of the ten commandments and announced triumphantly: “There, your house and energy are cleansed.”

I asked, "should I feel different, or does it take a few days to kick in"?

Then I offered them coffee, and to make biscuits and gravy, (least I could do after all) but she was still frowning about my "Does it take a few days" comment.

She said she was now spiritually exhausted and needed to go home—she’d stop back for the salt bowls in a couple of days after they’d finished absorbing.

I thanked her profusely, waited until the car pulled away, and immediately opened every window, lit a scented candle, and fired up the vacuum.

Mr. Peabody supervised the cleanup with the same expression he wore whenever I did something foolish—mild disappointment mixed with amusement.

If he could speak, I imagine he’d have said just one word: “Sucker.”

The next morning, I emptied out the salt bowls after Mr. Peabody decided to start batting them around like clay hockey pucks and using the salt pile as ad-hoc litter.

Weeks later, I was still smelling the smudging from time to time and finding salt in cracks, corners, and baseboards.

If there were any dark spirits in the house, I hope the smoke smell and salt grit under their feet made them want to mosey on into the light.

As these things often turn out, my friend broke up with her not long after—said she was “a little intense. Like, all the time.”

“Hot, but crazy,” he added.

The house? For the record, besides never-ending salt popping up, was just fine while I lived there.

Mr. Peabody remained unchanged, still critical of humans and our actions.

Now don't get me wrong. People can believe what they want, do what they think is right, and that is fine.

It may be lost on me, and that is ok. I appreciate the thought.

When I think back on those events oh so many years ago, I think:

Sometimes, you have to step out of your comfort zone and experience something new.

Sometimes faith comes with incense, spices, crystals and chanting.

Sometimes it needs to come with a Dyson and Febreze.

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