“…our only choice is pyre or pyre, that we live and breathe to be…consumed or purified by fire.”
Fire is unique among chemical reactions in the nature world in that it can be so destructive—always is—and yet is also a source of purification. For example, did you know that some of the greatest damage done to the national parks and protected wilderness of America has been that we have guarded against, not just fire caused by human carelessness, but also natural fires, which not only destroy the land but also purify it and allow it to flourish again?
Trite though it may sound, the obvious truth is that an encounter with fire, whether to hurt or help you, will certainly leave you burned. Fire is hot and unpredictable and alive in its own right. I mean, it breathes for crying out loud. And no living thing is safe. No living thing is anything but messy and unpredictable and dangerous.
I like the analogy of fire as a purification agent because I find that so much of life is like fire, a burning, furious struggle that leaves one deeply scarred and tends to eliminate all that is not fire-proof. All that is not permanent. So much of the silliness that we think matters, but doesn’t.
A fire is sweeping through my life these days and it’s only been in the past week that I’ve come to realize the purifying potential of that fire, rather than just dreading its destructive power. This is a key turning point for me, and though I hesitate to share on such a personal level with, well, the whole digital world, I am only too acutely aware that my best posts are also my most vulnerable.
My world, as I know it, is in a state of ridiculous upheaval these days. Really. My professional life, personal life, spiritual life, marriage, future, the whole enchilada, hangs in the balance. And it hangs by a thread. I have been to dark places before, dark places of the heart, that is, but none as dark as this.
And here it is that God speaks to me. He can be so weird.
I don’t want this to come off like, having “heard the voice of God”, now all the confusion and pain and darkness makes sense. Hell, no. That’s just not true. I’m still confused, still hurting, right now even as I right this, (and probably later, while you read it, I’ll be hurting still).
I mean, I don’t even really know what it is that God is saying just yet. I hear his voice but it’s like the muffled scream of someone whose head is buried in a pillow. Audible, but unintelligible.
And that’s really it, folks. No clever resolve or neat little bow to tie on this one. Nope. I’m hurting and confusing and, to use my earlier (slightly melodramatic) metaphor, burning, and I can kind of hear a voice I think might be God. Fun stuff, huh?
