When you enter the sauna in silence, and there’s no media on the screen, it becomes a confession booth.
You don’t use your voice to confess. You don’t need a priest.
You only have to use your breath, your aches, and your moaning to sing a picture of all the questionable activities you’ve participated in over the years. You’re eavesdropping on your body and your shadow.
It’s both a sermon and a prayer that you can’t unhear or unfeel even if you wanted to.