There is no middle road here. Fire is one of those things you have to commit to, either you’re on the side or you're all-in. I want to be all-in. I want to have my entire body wrapped up in those gorgeous colors. To feel the spiraling flames turning me into something else –something different, something new – like a phoenix reborn.
I look around at my fellow travelers sitting around that fire. You can see where they’re going with this. It’s so much easier to see when you’re on the outside looking in. Some have the same outstretched hand; the terror at what’s about to happen is obvious and yet they’re pushing forward, some faster than others but they’re getting there all the same.
And then there are those you see backing away from the heat. Their fear is just as noticeable, just as palpable, but they’ve let it control them, dominate them, own them. They will forever be cold.
I want to scream. I want to fall down on my knees and weep for everything I know those who’ve backed away from the fire are going to lose. I want to mourn the dreams that will slowly fade to bitterness and resentment when they’re sitting there in the retirement home with no fire to keep them warm.
Pain is temporary. That’s the point of this life: to be consumed, to become something more than what you are. To lose control, to give warmth, to be warmth, to not let your fears take control and force you into a life that you never dreamed when you were a child you would be living.
We've all been burned before, some deeper than others, but it’s all relative. Wounds heal. The more damaging wounds? We learn to live with them, to get around with them. They mark us, they make us the person who looks back at us in the mirror every day. And either you steel yourself to that reflection or you look away. Either you’re cold or you're warm.
Love is fire. Hey you, got a match? I’ve got some gasoline.