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Sunday, September 15, 2013

Becoming Flame

[For the HearthKeepers, all]

Rooted finally in
who you’ve always been,
Mother is Home.
Finding you have wings,
you soar in migration,
sisters newly met.
Cradled, buoyant, energized,
you rest in the gracious embrace
of the ocean surf, the river’s flow,
the lake’s glassy surface.

Yet Old Faithful erupts, and
you rest on the crest of its spray.
As the water recedes below you,
will you be held?
What wings you have,
will they be too wet to fly?
What roots you’ve grown,
Will they lose hold?

Our sacred fire crackles
gentling in its hearth,
warming hands, toasting s’mores,
welcoming us home.

Then like wildfire,
it races in front of us
from home to home to office.
Dry kindling,
carelessly strewn for centuries,
catches fire.
Steady flames or
abundant conflagration?

Devotion fires like this,
its underground, molten wisdom
Creates planets when it cools,
moves earth when it flows.
It upholds all structure,
stability in flux held firm.
It can erupt too,
without much warning,
when a crack in the firmament
appears beneath our feet.
Fear of this harm erupts, in kind,
Grounded in flight, the Circle holds.

Circle fire and earth fire
connect in the human heart
welcomed to the hearth,
upheld by sacred ground.

Fire is fire, we learn,
it speaks, sings, moves
in many tongues,
Multiple forms that
burn, inspire, lighten
all the faces in a room.

Devotion reflects now in my face,
In everything I am,
Because of this Hearth,
Because of you and our circle-fire.
This hearth brings devotion’s wild-fire
Through me, into the room.
I will tend it, Keep it.

We hear, oddly, the church fathers.
Abba Lot went to see Abba Joseph,
“As far as I can, I pray, fast, live in peace,
purifying my thoughts and actions.
What else can I do?”

The Old Woman in Abba Joseph
stands up, stretching her hands open
To invite embrace. “If you will,”
She whispers, “You can become


All flame.”

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