Burning Sage to Cleanse The Spirit of Your House

We had the first hard frost last night, that gorgeous silvery blanket covering everything. Instead of drinking my morning coffee on the front porch, I am sipping it in the warmth of my kitchen. After the carefree months of living outside, we now move inside.  

How do we mark the change of seasons? How do we start anew? Spring is usually the season we associate with renewal, but I can’t wait for spring to mark the changes in my life. After a tumultuous year that involved exchanging ­— and getting rid of — a huge amount of stuff collected during a 20-year marriage that had come to an end, my house is finally settled the way I want it. Any more Marie Kondo-ing at this point might signal an obsessive-compulsive disorder. 

But what about the vibes of the place? I may have rearranged the furniture, rooted through every closet, donated carloads of stuff to Habitat for Humanity in Canaan, and painted my bedroom pink, but I needed something deeper, a spiritual cleanse, a christening of sorts to finish the transformation. My house juju needed a reju.

That’s when my acupuncturist stepped in to help. If you’re not familiar with the idea of burning sage, or smudging, I wasn’t either. It’s an ancient ritual adopted from a Native American practice that involves fanning the smoke of burning sage throughout a space in order to cleanse it of negative energy. Apparently sage has antibacterial properties. People often sage when someone has been sick or when they move to a new home. 

I drove to Crystal Essence in Great Barrington to buy the sage. There are a lot of different kinds of dried sage and I didn’t know how much I’d need to do the house from top to bottom, so I bought two bundles, one mixed with lavender. 

My sixteen-year-old daughter was home for the weekend from Hotchkiss so I decided to get her involved. I suggested we watch an instructional video before we started, but she rolled her eyes. These kids! She knew all about burning sage and other too-cool-for-mom stuff. So, we got the matches and lit up the sage. 

Was I expecting the delicate odor of a high-priced scented candle?  Instead, the sage smelled a lot like my best friend’s finished basement circa 1982 after we’d shared a giant doobie. 

“It smells like pot!” my daughter said, surprising me again.

As we flapped our arms around like spastic chickens trying to spread the smoke from room to room, I started to laugh and then my daughter started to laugh, and our laughter mixed with the billowing sage to fill the house. 

“Oh no, what about the smoke alarm?” I said, which made us giggle even more. 

By the time we finished, we were breathless with silliness. I dunked the smoking sage in the kitchen sink and we dropped onto the sofa to regroup. Something cleansing had indeed happened, but not in the way we had expected.

Now my daughter is back at school and I find myself alone again in my little house. I look around. The November light creates intricate patterns across my living room. It’s hard not smile when I think about our unique saging ritual. My house feels blessed — and I do too.