Andean Fire
there is a large
magnificent stone fireplace,
and a grate
and a bed of ashes.
i have placed the two small logs
in the grate, and
in between
a small tower of highly flammable stuff
with a wick.
i place two other heavier logs
beside the others
to create more pressure
and hold the soon-to-be fireball
in place.
then I build a pyramid.
i light the fuel
and light the wick
and on top i place
a flat dry piece of wood.
it takes awhile, but
the heat builds
and soon flames
are licking around the edges of the sticks.
the flames grow, they spread.
soon, a steady, even fire is burning.
when it gets hot enough,
i add a large log which
is not totally seasoned.
often things are not ready to
burn in the fire of living.
i tend it …
that is the very nature of fires.
a whole Life is encapsulated
in an evening of fire.
i move things just a bit,
opening passages for air,
adding dry sticks,
positioning differently.
i am aware that i am
a servant of the fire,
not taking away its freedom,
but assisting it towards
its destiny, its end.
under the grate,
multicoloured hot coals gather;
they are what remains
when the dross has been consumed,
what remains when the fuller’s fire
leaves only the transfigured reality
fierce and glistering.
the heavy, sodden log
lies leaden, threatening
to kill the fire.
I must add dry sticks,
they ignite, they flare.
I sit; I ponder;
i formulate mysteries,
philosophies,
systems, structures of Being.
i wonder if my living
has added to the beauty of the universe.
the fire i have created
implodes.
i go to bed,
screening so that
in its dying,
it destroys no hapless thing.
in the morning
all is ash;
it is ash wednesday
and I remember
those haunting, freeing,
grounding words
from that liturgy i so long offered
as a priest of the universe:
“you are dust
and to dust you shall return”.
in the morning,
all is ash ….
but for that heavy unburnt remainder,
awaiting me, you,
the liver of the fire,
to include it in
tomorrow’s taking up
of each day’s invitation
to renew the andean fire.
forever the transfiguring fire
will renew
until the end …
if there be such.
Fire is metaphor …
as is all.
i know what the fire
says to me.
it is unnecessary
that i should
impose upon you
the metaphor
of the fire.
you are that amazingness
of you.
you too know.
what builds?
what holds?
what sustains?
what tends?
what feeds?
what ignites?
what is that which
will not be transfigured
by the fire?
will you hold it,
love it,
until one morning
you come to look, and
it too is finally,
fully,
welcomed
and you are whole?
do not worry:
there is always
another unignitable log
to tend.
it is not for me
to tell you the meaning
of the metaphor.
I do not know it.
you know it.
we each have our own.
could there be
anything
more beautiful?
Feb 21, 2015
Cotacachi, Ecuador
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