Missing the fire
Thinking about Walpurgis Night reminded me that I've been missing fire. In what is likely no surprise to many of you, I am very fond of fire. And not just because of its massively destructive capabilities either. Or for its terribly practical uses. More, I miss fire for its wild nature and its calm nature. That is to say - I want a big blazing fire, roaring like a great beast, around which to wildly dance, accompanied by drums and raised voices, swirling and turning and hurling all sense and reason out of me until I am completely free. At the same time, I want a small fire, a lonely fire with just me, in the otherwise dark and quiet. Watching it glow, rise and fall, and being transfixed by it. Feeling all other thoughts drain from me, and just becoming one with the moment. I want both of these things.
I wish I knew someone with vast tracks of land onto which I could go and have the fires that I've described. Alas, all the places I can think to go to do such things are civilized campgrounds or state parks that 1) Don't like raucous behavior and 2) Don't like ginormous fires. I'm sure I could find place and circumstance for my smaller, peaceful fire. That's prolly a good idea.
I wish I knew someone with vast tracks of land onto which I could go and have the fires that I've described. Alas, all the places I can think to go to do such things are civilized campgrounds or state parks that 1) Don't like raucous behavior and 2) Don't like ginormous fires. I'm sure I could find place and circumstance for my smaller, peaceful fire. That's prolly a good idea.