By Sandy Penny, excerpted from her blog Writing Muse
I circled the fire with a tambourine in my hand, striking
the instrument on my thigh in time with the chant, "My body does whatever
it takes to protect itself." I gazed into the glowing red and orange
eyes of the twelve foot by four foot bed of coals and watched a coating of
white ash begin to form. "The fire and I are one," I chanted with the
others.
The fire pit looked back, studying me with its many
eyes. "Will you walk tonight?" it silently asked. Would I cast
aside caution and logic and make a tremendous leap of faith with a few small
steps on an 1800 degree bed of coals? Could I?
The chant changed to "I am the light, I am the
love" and then swelled around me again with "The fire and I are
one." I thought about how I came to be standing on the edge of eternity, a
42-year old woman, questioning the very nature of reality.
It was only a couple of weeks ago as I entered the Chapel of
Prayer with fifty or so people to listen to a Hindu Guru tell traditional
Indian parables, that I met Charmaine McGhie and Tore Fossum. We were seated
next to each other and connected so quickly that Charmaine invited me to a New
Year's Eve Party and Firewalk.
I was intrigued. I had seen firewalking on TV and read about
it in National Geographics, but never had I witnessed it in person.
Meanwhile, the couple gave me a book called
"Firewalk" by Jonathon Seinfeld that I read with great interest. The
book called firewalking an empowerment tool and a subcultural movement in the
U.S. since the 1970s. It said the U.S. has more firewalkers than the rest of
the world put together. I couldn't believe it! How could I have missed
it?
I had pretty much tried every "new age" experience
I had run into. How could such a phenomenon have slipped by unnoticed? My
excitement grew as the days passed.
The book helped keep me occupied with a lot to think about
in the days leading up to the party. It told stories of firewalking in every
culture and quoted scriptures about firewalking. It even discussed the
unsatisfactory research that has been done. I was primed for the experience -
to watch the experience, at least.
I arrived early at the suburban house in a nice Friendswood,
Texas neighborhood. Not really where one would expect to see a firewalk. The
preparations looked like any other New Year's Eve party. Guests arrived with
covered dishes, and someone played piano—fifties hits for a sing along. The
only difference is that no alcohol was present.
At about 9:00 pm everyone gathered in the back yard. A
norther was moving through, and the air was cooling down. The grass was soaked
with a hose as a safety precaution, and the evening began. The fire department
showed up to certify the safety measures, and approved the walk.
Each participant took turns carrying logs to build the fire.
They were instructed to think of the logs like children, and focus loving
attention on them. A firewalking facilitator took the logs and built an
impressive "boy scout" style teepee-shaped structure that would
become a large hungry bonfire that would devour about half a cord of wood.
The excited attendees took turns stuffing newspaper in the
cracks, and the fire was lit with great ceremony. The blaze reached skyward as
a word of thanks and protection was intoned by a lady wearing a long full
skirt. Surely that skirt was not a good thing in which to walk through
fire. I love fires. I faced the flames and raised a hand in salute. Just
as I raised my arm, the fire leaped upward, and it looked exactly like I was
waltzing with the vulcan fire god. My friend Juanita snapped a photo of it, and
I love that photo.
When the fire was blazing violet and gold, everyone went to
the patio to try out some other phenomenal activities. It would be two to three
hours before the coals were ready.
Someone announced it was time for the "rebar game"
and a cheer rang out. I had no idea what that meant. Rebars are 3/4" x 6'
steel bars used to reinforce concrete. Two people stand face to face about six
feet apart and a rebar is suspended between them by placing the tip of the
metal rod in the hollow of your throat.
Then please come back and read more first-person stories. When you're ready to post a link to your own first-person blog story, add it to the comments on this page.
What an experience! I'm intrigued.
ReplyDeleteThanks for coming back to comment, Peggy. This story was the focus of dinner conversation tonight with my husband and sons (15 & 10). None of them felt the same compulsion to be as brave as Sandy was. I was surprised since her story makes me want to try something new and scary, to take a leap of faith.
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