Twenty Two
Last night I lit a fire and felt inspired by the flames that sewed forth. I picked up a piece of burning wood and used it to light a cigarette. Under an eerily clear sky I sat staring at the fire. The wind was bitter and the air was cold, but under my many layers I could tolerate it. As the fire died I saw its center, the glowing embers that made was its heart. I thought of my own heart, and how like the embers did the fire, it kept me alive. More wood was added and the flames danced and lept and lived a roaring life. As the wood burned away the flames diminished and was soon just a gentle glow. The embers, the heart of it all. I saw my life in those embers. More exactly I saw my death in those embers. I saw everyone's death in those embers. In the end that is what we all become, just a glowing remainder of what used to be. The idea, I thought, was how those embers came to be. Did the embers begin as a blazing inferno, dancing and leaping in wonderous joy? Or a simple flame, flickering in the wind holding on desprately to life? As are the flames, so is life. The question sprang to mind, how did I get to my death. Or how will I get to my death. Will I be remembered as a blazing fire, bright in the night keeping all those around me warm? Or a small flame just trying to survive in the wind? The ultimate, I assumed, would be a blazing fire thriving in the wind. Feeding off what was trying to destroy it. Using its enemy to survive and flourish. Gazing into the fire and smoking my cigarette I thought about my life up until that point. It seemed to me that I had been a fire. No blazing inferno, but also no dying flame. I was started and burned brightly, but had faded until someone added more wood, and began to burn again. Once again, I believe, I have faded, or have begun to fade. Now I sit and wait for someone to add more wood. The fire in front of me crakles and pops and so do I. Hoping someone will take notice of this dying flame and add some wood, some newspaper, anything to keep it going. I've noticed things happening around me without my participation. As if I can't move or speak or be a part of anything. It's like a cataplectic nightmare I'm forced to live. I see people talking to me, but I don't know what I'm saying in return. I watch as people offer me their hands in support, but I don't know if I take them. Always saying two things at once and meaning a third. It's as though my mind and my heart are both trying to control me. My mind opts for the logical while my heart wants the passionate. Often times I'm stuck in the middle, seeming indifferent and coming off as cold. Perhaps I am the cold air and bitter wind attempting to kill someone elses blazing fire. I dream and hope that they become bigger and stronger rather than let it take away their flame. Feed off of this, I want to say to them, use this to become better. If I am the wind than how am I a fire? Maybe we are all the wind to someone's fire. To stong a wind and you may have your fire destoryed. Not enough wind and you may fizzle away. I suppose the goal is to not only find someone who keeps you alive, but that makes you stronger and better. Again I'm seeing the glowing embers of the fire that once was in front of me. It had a good life I think, and it will dance another day.