Where Is Your Fire?

563. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

I was awake very early, way before sunrise. I sat on my balcony and watched the sky progress from ultramarine through several shades of purple before resting in turquoise. The clouds were fiery balls of cotton. The fires burning on the eastern slope are facilitating extraordinary colors in the sky. The sun rose magenta. Through the smoky filter I could look at it directly for almost an hour. Sun and I had a staring contest. I lost.

This will go in the books as the summer of fire. I was in Colorado when fires burned across the entire state. Now, there are fires everywhere in Washington State. In May, Alan asked me a question that would give rise to the summer’s theme: he asked, “Where is your fire? Where is your rage?” I am too nice, apparently. Later, while in Colorado, I reminded him of his question and he said, “You are taking this a bit too far, don’t you think?” So, my meditation these many months has been on fire. Where is my fire.

All of the elements are transformational; they work at different speeds. Nothing beats erosion for leveling a mountain. Have you seen what wind and rain created in Bryce, Zion, and the Grande Canyons? If you do not understand the word “sacred,” go to Bryce, get out of your car – in fact, get far away from your car – be quiet, and after a few moments you will understand. The world is in constant motion.

Once, a few years ago, I stood on the lava fields, newly cooled, and watched the bright orange lava pour into the ocean, steam hissing a welcome. Lora said, “This is an island being born.” Later, as the sun set, a storm thundered down the mountain like an invading horde; I was drenched in an instant, laughing as we ran to the car, pummeled by rain. I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with the power I felt all around me: the lava, the ocean, and the rain.

And then there is the earth. While living in Los Angeles I rode through a few earthquakes but none so impressive as the Northridge quake. It came in the wee hours of the morning and is the only time I’ve awakened in mid-flight. My dog was flying next to me and I will never forget the look on his face. I can only imagine the look that he saw on mine. I thought I might be dreaming until I hit the wall. It is awesome to consider the transformational power of the quaking earth. In addition to the destruction it opened symmetrical paths of beauty. Neighbors talked. People helped other people. The city rebuilt itself in record time.

I thought about all of these experiences as I stared at the sun, magenta through the smoke and haze and asked, as I have asked every morning this summer, “Where is my fire? Where is my rage?” The sun stared back, silent, grinning a knowing grin, like a good teacher, refusing to offer an easy answer.

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