Fire and Ashes…
The first time the fire burnt my fingers was a mistake… just a mistake. They’d been too close to the naked, lambent flame that licked up from time to time. Woodsy and warm, what was once only a tiny matchstick bright, had suddenly bloomed and burgeoned into a night light bonfire that fervently sputtered and crackled and sung.
The warmth had become something a little too delicious under the cold night sky, and in a bid to huddle closer to its warmth — in a bid to more closely spread myself above it for more, it’d burnt…
The first time the fire licked my hands, I’d drawn them back sharply, to see that my fingers had turned a bright shade of pink; it’d stung and I knew it’d soon bruise and blister… I soliloquized in chastening. Why so close?
So, I put my fingers in my mouth and gently sucked on them, one after the other; as if by sucking, the pain could dissipate…
The second time the fire burnt my fingers was a mistake; but not a mistake like the first, for I’d been burnt before. For I knew this pain; it stung a little less than the first and bruised a little less than the first. I still sucked on it; but not as intently as before.
The third time the fire burnt my fingers, I could hardly call it a surprise. For it roared and devoured. Each one of its underlying twigs and sprigs gasped and rasped to the fueling strength of the whooshing wind. It felt more like the fire licked up to caress my fingers more than burn it. This was familiar. It didn’t scorch me; I didn’t suck my fingers like before. I settled in and sat still by the fire, and let its flames fan my face.
The last time the fire burnt, it didn’t burn only my fingers; it engulfed my entirety until I was one with it; altogether charred. It ate me up from within until all there was left was the ashes to tell the story…
So do not play with fire, my darling. Do not engage it in a dance. Do not swish, swash and savour it like a wine tasting. Do not court it like a lover, neither lie with it. Do not hasten to its cooing, coaxing and cajoling. Do not let it butter you up like a slice of garlic bread…
Whatever is fire for you, my darling, do not do it; do not entertain it; do not ever embrace it’s embers…
Don’t play with fire; there will be ashes…
#robbiewrites #radiantrobbie 10.4.24
PS: I wrote this today, and it felt pretty good that I could actually write it. If you’ve keenly followed my writing/blog, you’d have realized that I haven’t written consistently in a long while. Frankly, I’ve been scared that I’d lost my creativity or mojo or whatever they call it. Creativity is after all, a muscle and the less I used it, the less of it I thought I had. I’ve fought a mental writer’s block for almost a year now, and I’d questioned the potency of my gift in the wilderness moments when my mind couldn’t conceive anything remotely breathtaking. I’d lost my voice and along with it, a little bit of confidence in my ability to compellingly write free-form again. It’s been tough — life’s paths have been a little nebulous — so thank you for sticking it out with me.
I originally wrote “Ashes” in 2020, and today it somehow came to mind, and so I thought about writing something more long-form. A few of the scriptures that inspired this piece are Psalm 1:1; 1 Corinthians 15:33; Matthew 26:41; 1 Peter 5:8
I hope you liked this piece… I hope my writing stays…
Lots of love and kisses,
Forever your Radiant Robbie… 🤍🤍🤍
