the flame

Fire is power.

I am equally fascinated by the flame of a tealight or taper as I am with a campfire. For hours I can sit, engrossed in the observance of patterns of light, of figures my imagination conjures from the graceful dance of the flame. Fire has the power to capture my attention and to allow me to move into another state of consciousness.

Sunday nights in my childhood home were bath nights. My sister and I would take our baths together, akin to how my children currently co-bathe, and once dried and jammied, we would sit in front of the fire that Dad had built in the fireplace and let our locks dry. First the back, then the front. I loved doing my front last as I could close my eyes, let the heat melt into my face and transport myself into pre-dreamland, which soon awaited after our hair had dried. Some nights we begged Dad to put a spoonful of chimney cleaner into the fire, which created a colorful dance of light and my sister and I would yell out the different hues we would see, pointing and jumping enthusiastically at this miracle of light.

I was fascinated by how a heavy log could be consumed down to ashes that crumbled in my hand after being licked by the flame for an entire evening. It wasn't until later that I came to realize that fire is alive. It eats, breathes, excretes and, in how humans use it as a representation of ire, passion and warmth, it seems to feel. This realization deepened my fascination into a respect for fire's power.

When in a tiny, cold Catholic church in Sweden, that lacked of electricity and heat, I was given a tiny taper to hold after trudging through two feet of snow to arrive at Mass. Unable to concentrate due to the deep, bone-reaching cold I felt, I chose to stand instead of sit on the cold bench. I removed one glove and warmed my fingertips over the flame of that candle. I don't remember a thing said in Mass that night; I only remember the warmth that tiny flame gave my fingers and I was grateful.

I light a candle in my bedroom almost every night. I rarely have time to sit and simply stare at the show anymore, but somehow the knowledge that this fire burns next to my bed, safely enclosed in a hurricane holder, not only fills my room with the lovely scent of burning candle but also gives me a feeling of power, of capability and of mind force.

When extinguishing this flame before sleeping, I used to feel a sadness, almost that I took the life of this powerful energy source. I now revel in the smell of the trail of smoke that is left behind, remembering all I felt thanks to that flame and allowing my night to end and my dreams to begin.

What does the flame mean for you?