Fire’s transmuting

Fire and air dance here. They dance, they sing, they flow in the silence, unwitnessed, with the incense smoke and the fire-burning logs. If you pay attention, you can see how the flames shed one layer of the wood at a time, slowly releasing it, burning it, and setting it aside. New wood takes a little while to catch on fire and show off what it’s doing there. In this new setting, it feels the blazing environment, but it doesn’t understand yet what it needs to do. But fire slowly welcomes her, getting into her insides by shedding layers. And then the wood understands it’s time to let go — let go of the old shape it had, of how it used to define itself, let go of the old ideas it had, of the old behaviours that accompanied her for so long and are no longer needed.

In the fire’s warm embrace, she lets go, surrenders to the fire, and lets herself burn — turn amber, burst into flames and sparkles. And now she wants it. She wants this healing, the destruction of the old self to purify the new, and to become something else, not just for herself, but for the environment around her: to give warmth, to give light, to give — just to give. Knowing full well that she will soon turn into ash — the consequence of burning so hot. But it doesn’t matter, because in the now, that is what is needed: the fire, the heat of the flames, and the smoke to carry her words.

And then tomorrow, something else will rise from these ashes, for the cycle to start again.