Monday, August 29, 2005
Fire
Continuing the series...Fire is beautiful. Almost as beautiful as water, but not quite. Sitting outdoors, staring into the white hot heart of an open fire is a beautiful experience...Watching flames dance and shimmer...seeming to be both real and unreal at the same time. As they flicker through space and time I think of my frailty and beauty too.
Fire is another source of life and I well understand how ancient civilisations turned to fire as divinity -- like a god, fire brings good gifts when it is contained but becomes very destructive when it breaks out of our preconceived boxes.
In Christian literature fire represents judgment, both in this life and (according to Matthew and a few others) the one beyond it. Wanting to avoid the afterlife discussion here, I still think I can see the point. They ask us to consider fire in the same way that it is used to purify ore, forcing impurities to the surface then destroying them. The result is a beautiful, pure substance.
Fire's a violent metaphor; I imagine a green twig being added to a fire -- liquid and vapour are forced out, lichen and leaves shrivel and explode in flames. At the end all that's left is ash and smoke. But in the destruction such a twig gives us precious gifts: warmth, light...life.
Perhaps, in a violent and uncomfortable world, we can take hope in this metaphor. At the end of our days we'll be nothing but dust but hopefully as we burn we can release something of value for others.
Saying this has made me think of a poem, written on the night of a new moon, which I wrote about 5 years ago. I'll publish it above.
Fire is another source of life and I well understand how ancient civilisations turned to fire as divinity -- like a god, fire brings good gifts when it is contained but becomes very destructive when it breaks out of our preconceived boxes.
In Christian literature fire represents judgment, both in this life and (according to Matthew and a few others) the one beyond it. Wanting to avoid the afterlife discussion here, I still think I can see the point. They ask us to consider fire in the same way that it is used to purify ore, forcing impurities to the surface then destroying them. The result is a beautiful, pure substance.
Fire's a violent metaphor; I imagine a green twig being added to a fire -- liquid and vapour are forced out, lichen and leaves shrivel and explode in flames. At the end all that's left is ash and smoke. But in the destruction such a twig gives us precious gifts: warmth, light...life.
Perhaps, in a violent and uncomfortable world, we can take hope in this metaphor. At the end of our days we'll be nothing but dust but hopefully as we burn we can release something of value for others.
Saying this has made me think of a poem, written on the night of a new moon, which I wrote about 5 years ago. I'll publish it above.
Craig (mars-hill) Monday, August 29, 2005
