May 2026
Ride your horse along the edge
of the sword
Hide yourself in the middle
of the flames
Blossoms of the fruit tree will
bloom in the fire
The sun rises in the evening
- Thomas Merton
It's wildfire season, and we're burning it down. Life is continuous only because of the necessary cyclic cleansing provided by the natural breath of fire from the dragons mouth. The old becomes ash that feeds the forest floor, the new gains room to grow roots. There is no tragedy in this event, fire burns for a reason; the past environment is sacrificed to secure the future growth of the next. Wildfires exist as natural proof that cleansing and renewal are a violent process, ruthless. Fire does not evaluate what must remain, it does not reason with that which it needs to burn. All must go, there is no other way. If the old is not periodically removed, the new would not be allowed to thrive; the forest would remain forever torn between the two worlds of tradition and transition. And though both must be honored, cleansing is the final stage in this process. It honors the old by allowing it to burn clean and complete, its life ending as ash which feeds and protects the new growth. In this way the forest is forever infused with the life force of what came before it. Nothing is truly forgotten or wasted. Although fire destroys, nothing can completely be removed from this existence. Life is recycled into life. To move into something new, full of youth and potential, there must be sacrifice. This type of growth cannot be accidental; the white-hot growing pains of renewal must be consciously endured.
Wildfires encapsulate the cycle of birth and death which exist simultaneously during times of transition. One cannot exist without the other, both are present at each others time. Birth witnesses death, and death witnesses new life, and sometimes the two are indistinguishable by feeling-tone alone. Beginnings and ends act as containers for unlimited potential. A death should never be feared as it is a necessary process that creates life; the dark twin of existence. She is someone to embrace, to allow into oneself as an old friend.
Only through death, can life truly be lived.
The girl wants to talk. It's been forever since she was heard, her demands slowly forcing their way to the surface. My body rejects that which takes me further from her. Smaller! Smaller! Until I can feel her again. Until it's impossible to look in a mirror without recognizing her. To turn away is to die, I have no choice but to meet with her. I don't want it another way either, this is true reconciliation. There is no battle ground here, the boxing ring is empty. This is two old friends who never fully understood each other coming together years later to realize that now they do, and their past makes sense. This is reunion, one where nerves exist but anxiety does not. There is no anger between us, just a final conversation of acceptance before a lifetime of unity. The girl is a child but she's become so strong, her self-blame eradicated. It was her strength that gave my life to me, she guided me through the dark night, only she could navigate the dark path. And yet she remained without thanks and that's my fault. I didn't recognize her power until now where it stares me in the face every day, protruding collarbones as evidence.
That's the thing about children, we tend to underestimate them, we rarely take them seriously despite them possessing the type of wisdom that can only come with innocence. Their natural receptivity to life is something to be admired, but also strived for. What makes the magic of childhood is the unrelenting energy of present moment and all it entails. That's what 'heaven' really is. The ability to look at the world through child eyes, and not with blind naivety but a full awareness and acceptance of what is placed in front of you, unquestioning.
Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 18:3