The Fire

Welcome to the Tavern. I am glad you managed to find the new entrance. I wanted to place more sign posts, but it seemed like an over-kill to do so. Some of you may be familiar with the Tavern, albeit revamped now. Some of you will be new visitors from the other side of town. I say welcome to all. I hope you enjoy your time here and find much worth in what people have to say whilst we all slug down some good ale (or a cocktail if you prefer it that way).

I would like to say that if you feel the courage to get up and have your own say, please do so. If you are exploring your true nature or some form of practice, this is the place where I hope people can feel comfortable sharing. It is not only about professional artists of varying crafts, it is about you and all of us, exploring and learning, and by sharing your own experiences, others can learn also.

Now, when we last met in the Tavern, before its revamp, I spun a tale of a traveler who came to these parts and into this very Tavern. It has been requested that I retell that tale now for the newer folk. So, if you want to listen to it, grab that brew, get comfortable, and I shall begin. Otherwise, you are quite welcome to take a tour through the rest of the Tavern and find out what other people have to say.

Something interesting happened some time back. A traveler came into the Tavern, walked straight to the Hearth Fire, sat before it and stared with great melancholy into the licking flames. He didn’t order any mead or ale, so I thought this to be a little odd, seeing that we have really good beverages here. I went to him, put my hand on his shoulder and asked if he was okay, and if he needed anything to eat or drink.

He didn’t look up, didn’t turn to me, he just said through the long, matted black hair, “I can see the fire, but I can’t feel it. Why?”

“Because you are not Aware of it.” came a voice from around the side of the great fireplace. I hadn’t noticed anyone sitting there previously and so it startled me quite a bit.

“You must walk to the fire, not around it.” he continued. I am assuming this was a Cunning Man, very wild look to him. Straggly, long dark hair. Strong, weather worn face with a wild, fiery look in his eye.

“But how can I walk directly to it if it may burn me? I have traveled far and wide looking for entry to the Fire in a safe manner, but I cannot find it. I have come to realize that I am not able to find the Fire.” the traveler stated with the same melancholic, saddened voice that his appearance suggested.

“How can you know the Fire if you are not willing to touch it? Yes, the Fire will kill you, but then it will restore you and you will be as new, even better for having found the Fire, which is then within you.”

“But if the Fire will kill me, then I do not want to go to it, for I will be in pain. But I have a need to have it, to possess it. Its memory stirs in me, it makes me wonder what it is, what will come once I have it. Sometimes I feel as if I know, but I can’t quite grasp that last little bit, and so I ache inside with desire and lust for it.”

“And this is better than the pain you fear of touching the Fire?”

“This I know, I live with it, it is that which I do not know that I fear the pain of.”

“But you once did not know the pain that you have now. Was there a time when you feared this which you now have?”

“No, it just became so. I did not wish for it, I did not seek it out, it just came to be.”

The two men had still not moved from their positions, both staring into the fire before them, watching the pieces of tinder crackle and pop and fall as they became ashes under the heat.

“You have always sought out the Fire, it is within your Wyrd, within the threads that are you and your life. You have been made Aware to a certain degree, now it is your turn to take the next step. Wyrd cannot do it all, although it guides you and is laid out before you. It is time for you to pick up the strands of your Wyrd and ride them to that which you seek.” the Wild Man continued.

“How can I ride the threads of Wyrd if I cannot see them?”

“You do not see the Wyrd or the Cunning Fire as you now see the fire before you. Wyrd is present in everything and makes everything. It makes what you see and is the active process of the Cunning Fire. Before you, you see flames that are orange, yellow, red, blue. Physical manifestations of what you know as fire. Before me, I see many strands of Power that pulsate and form and are constantly in motion and flux. You do not See with your eyes, you See with your being, your entire Self.”

“And what would constitute ‘my entire Self’? I am here now, me as me. Is that not my entire Self?”

“Only a small part of your Self. You are Ego at this moment, and Ego is preventing you from being Self. Ego is telling you to find the Cunning Fire in this Hearth, but you will not find it here.”

“Then where will I find it?”

“Within you and all around you. The Cunning Fire sits in your pelvis area, and it is only when you raise it up to your head and through your entire body that you become Aware of your Life-Force, and this connects you to the Land as you become what you really are, Land, and Land, you.”

“And how do I raise it?”

“You ask too many unimportant questions. It is your word-hoard that holds you back. Words and descriptions are important, but only to understand and describe your experience. You must forget about words, forget about language, and you must know. What is the word “fire” but merely a word. It describes that which you see before you, but it does not describe that which it is. Flames are merely that which you recognize as fire, but flames are not what is fire. Fire is nothing in the description of words, you must forget about words and know that fire is you.”

There was a silence for a moment. They were both motionless.

The traveler then turned to me and asked if he could have a cup of ale. I replied that he certainly could, and it would be on the house. As I went to the bar, the stranger followed me and accepted the ale. He took a long draw from the cup and started back to the Hearth in order to continue his conversation, but the Wild Man had gone. Nobody had left through the entrance, for as you know, the door has been a little loose and so it makes an obvious sound as it knocks against the door jamb.

“Who was that man?” the traveler asked, somewhat confused.

“I have no idea. I’ve never seen him in here before.” I replied, also confused, probably more so.

Then the stranger turned, finished his cup of ale, placed the empty vessel on the counter, and he looked up at me. It was the first time I had seen his face. He had the same weather worn face and wild, fiery spark in his eye as I saw in that of the Wild Man, and he said one thing before leaving, “You are the Fire.”