Soul Fires

I love a good metaphor. There is nothing like understanding something complex for the first time in the midst of some simple little phrase or story. Big questions are pondered in small ways. Is life a box of chocolates, or is it a highway? If you are like me, it depends on the day. Metaphors often reflect nature or the animal world, speaking to us in bold comparison, bringing us out of ourselves to connect over shared ideas and emotions. A ship sails for a horizon that can never be reached, and my soul is heavy and restless with unmet desire. But the ant climbing that rubber tree plant? Well, I’m back in the game trying! We never know which metaphors will stick, but when one presents itself with just the right visual, it can become the mantra of a lifetime.

In giving up alcohol I’ve had metaphors running amuck in my head. Some, like the tricky horizon, have make this journey challenging and overwhelming. Others have, like the ant, taken on a more “one-step-at-a-time” feel. The one I keep coming back to is reflective of a song I’ve sung a million times in church and at camp: This Little Light of Mine. It is the simplest of lyrics and yet those words are loaded with purpose and divine connection. I think of a fire burning inside my chest - my life fire, lit when my infant breath sucked in air for the first time. I picture this little pile of logs with its mystic blue flame, centered in my body, knowing and understanding more than the rest of me will ever grasp.

I think about how I have tended my fire over the years. Have I gathered kindling and kept it crackling and warm? Have I thrown log upon log on it, attempting to raise it to epic proportions? Or have I doused it with liquid and listened to it sizzle, fighting to stay alive?

I realize now it’s been a fair share of the latter. I’ve tended my fire with alcohol, acting under the impression that it made me shine brighter, be funnier, act braver, think smarter. Like many artists though the ages who have credited drugs and alcohol as the catalyst for their best work, I too reached for my muse with a glass of wine.

Maybe it worked for a bit, this booze infested fire stoking. I have, in fact, lived with humor and courage and creativity. By all practical measures, I am a success. However, I’ve mostly operated in wildfire mode. Too often my great times have been peppered with embarrassing, fuzzy and regretful stories. My wildfire has burned haphazardly, lapping and flapping, jumping to and fro, burning the edges of my life’s story. Kelsea Balerini reminds me in a poem:

“…all growing older and brushing less shoulders

with what ifs of chances untook

the chapters seems sober

but the story’s not over

so never burn the book…”

So calm down little wildfire, no more running rampant, no more singing page after page. I’m going to try something different.

1. A little gentle blowing as I take time to breath throughout the day.

2. A little gratitude at your warmth, as I give myself some grace and remember my fire was created in love.

3. A little tending you with materials that keep you burning properly - nourishing my body with healthy foods and less bad shit.

4. A little compassion in recognizing those beside me are also trying to reign in or reignite their own little “soul fires.”

It’s like we are all sitting around this little campfire, roasting marshmallows singing, “Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.” We just need to make sure nobody is passing around a bottle of Jack Daniels in the dark.

I’m counting on this metaphor sticking.