Burn

I was ten, maybe eleven. Sitting in the field near our sheep, I wrapped an arm around each dog. On my lap was my stuffed bunny, Nester, who let me rest my chin between his ragged ears. Tucked in my jacket was my half filled journal. Looking down the hill, we three waited. Blackened hills, thick smoked skies, and the line of red glow…bright and ignited. Firetrucks first. Noise and lights.

Confusion and fear. Tears. Eventually my family returned. So did safety and sleep. I was still holding the dogs in bed when it was finally over, hoping our sheep would be safe outside.

It gives you only a moment, fire. It leaves no room for debate or evaluation. You are stripped to what matters, what you truly hold close. Letting your instinct, your gut, your intuitive soul decide what is essential and of meaning. There is little time for the logical mind to weigh in with its analysis. Not even the heart can cling too tightly to its emotional connection. You are left with the instinct of the body and the knowing of the soul. Leaving you with what your hands could hold…what you could not leave behind.

We were already stripped down, or so we believed. Call it Covid, the Global Pandemic, The Viral Awakening. It forced us to give up our schools, our work, our travels, our embraces, our communions. We thought we had deciphered what was essential and how to adapt to this new way of living in safety and shelter. It was just a practice run.

Since people still were existing in complex relationships, believing now was not the time for more change. People were still holding on to more stuff, believing that material things could take the place of connections. People were still reaching outside themselves to whatever masked the pain of our loss, believing that they would have another time for recovery. We thought we had done the work in sheltering our lives…but there was more to leave behind.

We had days to decide this time, not minutes. The extra time made the mind restless to be heard-arguing with what I already knew. But as my daughter and I shuffled through the house, one sweep after another, the mind would quiet, and we seemed resolved on what we would take and what we would leave behind. Not much really mattered. The animals were safe. The photos were in the trunk. The passports, the medication, the running clothes, the prayer blanket were stuffed in duffle bags. My grandmother’s necklace hung around my neck and her family ring jammed on my finger. And still the journals. So many journals. The rest seemed superfluous, all just extra weight we left behind as we shut the door and left.

I was ten, and what mattered was in my arms and at my side. The heartbeats of the animals I loved. A comforting stuffed companion. And my journal, whether it was fear of what someone would find and read my scattered thoughts or knowing it was my safest place to turn. I am fifty one, and the same held true.

Fire clears the clutter. It lets you release all things except that which really matters. It clears the debris and gives you another life. It burns our world to the ground and enriches the soil with its rich ash of rebirth. It strips branches and leaves the buried, singed trusted roots. It calls you to begin again, to grow fuller, deeper, simpler, clearer.