She Burns. Oh, how She Burns

Saturday night I went to my first-ever Fire Circle. One of my friends and her sister organized it out in the middle of nowhere (the best place to have one, if you ask me). It rained on and off pretty much all day, but by the time we started at midnight, the clouds had cleared and the stars were out.

It was a pretty intense and fabulous experience and I'm still processing it. I was not the only one who brought things for burning, although I think I brought the most. It was bittersweet watching those bricks of journal paper go up in flames, but also very freeing. For a couple hours, I could still find the shape of a couple of them when I looked in the flames, but after a while they were gone. Little more than ashes on top of ashes under yet more ashes.

The bonfire kept us warm throughout the cold, early fall night. We moved about it, ever circling in one direction or the other, in bare feet until the earth simply became too cold (although some of us even then). The drums kept time. Songs were sung, dances danced, tears shed... whatever you needed could be found in the flames, smoke and embers.

As the sky finally lightened from deepest to pale blue, our shuffling (because let's face it, we'd been walking in circles for six hours and shuffling was all we could do) became one last dance for the dawn. We gave our Thanks and even as we took our sore selves to home and bed, our minds were still somewhat left in that time of Other.

There is a space now in me that wasn't there before. It is unsettling, but this time I'm not trying to frantically fill it with something, anything. I am accepting it, sitting with it, letting it be. Because the emptiness is not anything to panic over. It is the space where all things spark. Possibility needs room to grow, and now I have that room.


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