[Seasons: Autumn VIII]
Sitting around a fire is an ancient practice. Fire was arguably the first human technological invention. It opened our ancestors to a whole frontier of caloric options (meat) and it offered a buffer against harsh weather (cold). It was essential to survival, but it was also critical for group cohesion, storytelling, sharing wisdom, and worship. Fire has literally and figuratively been at the center of human existence forever.
Could this be why sitting around a fire, mesmerized by the dance of flames, is still soothing? In years past, the fire was the gathering place after the hunt, the day of labor, or the battle. It meant everyone in its reach was alive and apart of the tribe or family. Sitting still and watching, waiting, meant the gift of another day could be counted and the interpretation of its meaning imparted.
The fire is not only soothing, it is humbling. It reminds us of our frailty and weakness. In its flicker, we see the very tenuousness of our own life—dependent on others, supported by the provisions from the land. This deeply meaningful act of comfort and humility is embedded in our collective conscious.
The fire is where grief and joy hold hands, celebration and lament commingle, security and fear mix. Fire connects to our ancestors, connects us to the parts or ourselves we neglect or deny, and connects us to our community.
The fire in my stove in early autumn holds within it, a remnant of this truth.
