Fire is meant to provide warmth for us, along with the stimulus so gold can explore another form and people can whisper to themselves: i’m an alchemist…
But also, so that we can come together and stand around the campfires in the parks and beaches of our lives and meet people who we know so well, because their story is our story, and the other way around as well, it's something to hold our hands up against and be warmed by.
Fire controlled may be safe.
But if used wrongly, can be destructive & if treated without care it burns, damages.
Fire has her own voice: she crackles. Leaps and dances. Never static. But roaring.
Water refreshes, restores, vitalises and expands.
She can also overwhelm, isolate and freeze.
Earth can be used to cover the dead, trap the living, or give life.
Or rather, it is life, some say, in such a way that is unfathomable to our minds which so like to say this is that and that is not this, even though everything is neither.
Earth loves to nurture new seeds, but pummelled for everything it has, grows arid & acidic, so that only the weeds grow, or the dust spreads and people rub their eyes wondering if hay fever season has started early.
Air lures the sea beings to the land with the promise of something more. It makes our planet home, a little different to the others, a place where we can roam a little bit more naked and relaxed then on say Saturn for example.
All these elements, and they’re in us, they are us, have one thing in common: movement.
It’s the suppression of movement that turns a thing unnatural, the attempt to confine it, distort it, to use it for a means most punitive.
Movement is the nature of our hearts too. Because our hearts want to oscillate out, growing larger and more infinite, connected to an abundance of beings (and there’s no defining here of who is a being, and who isn’t a being) who they call friends, and who they care about - deeply.
Movement though, oh dear wonderful movement! some days the only movement I can make is towards me bed, where I lie, savasana style, restoring the tired to the at least functional.
until, out of nowhere, comes a conversation, a chance meeting, something, anything that sparks the movement within.
And there it is, humming away. a spiral not so much stopped, just paused. Catching her breath, to begin again, and again, and again.