I walked on fire again last night.
Surrounded by women I may have never met.
Except for our shared searching in the dark
for the light of fire,
still burning in our bellies.
We’ve always gathered in circles,
cycling back through ages.
But every time feels new
as I stare into the shimmering, crackling coals.
I try to tap into that ancient wisdom,
the retelling of stories
until each woman’s voice blends into one.
And we toss them all into the flame
through tears and laughter and pounding drum.
Burning the illusions and agreements
that no longer serve us,
wondering if we too
will be consumed by heat.
But a funny thing happens
as I step out the other side,
as my foot touches the cool, moisture of grass.
The sensation of heat and cold lose their meaning.
And all that is left is a sense of tingling with life.
The old fears, sadness and pain rise like smoke,
leaving me giddy and light and
ready to face whatever comes next.