Winter Fire-glow

Fire is at the heart and hearth of our lives as we approach winter solstice and Matariki here. Matariki is the Maori name for the Pleiades constellation, and when it rises just before dawn in winter it heralds the start of the new year for many Maori and a time to gather to reflect on the past, celebrate the present and plan for the future. This year for the first time in New Zealand we are celebrating Matariki as a public holiday and fire will be a part of that for many of us.

My fire is an aging cast iron chiminea on the deck facing the sea, so I go and sit under the stars to seek out its heat. And sometimes when I sit there on clear winter night, I see the flicker of flames from a beckoning community beach bonfire within easy walking distance. Last night was one of those nights.

Winter fires are comforting. They bring light and heat to the night and they invite us to come close. They signal a time and space to gather to share stories or songs or silence. The constant dance of their flames is mesmerizing, and right before our eyes we see solid wood alchemize into smoke and fluffy ash. So we know we can unload our troubles there if need to and watch them catch the next purifying flame to a lighter place. 

And the waves lap. Fire and water.

Fire-on-Water

I remember being totally captivated the first time I saw fire on water. It was simply a candle with its flame flickering in the dark and dancing in the inky pool beneath it. Something stirred in me. I later learnt that in several cultures, floating little firelights out on rivers or the ocean celebrates and symbolizes one of life's transition or leaving-taking moments. That can be an end of era or the end of a life. So we within our circle of family and friends we adopted that ritual for some of life's passages. There were bananas growing where we lived and we found that the fallen cupped flower petals make perfect boats for candles or for mini twig-fuelled fires. As soon as it was dark we'd wade into the nearest stream or bay, set the cargo alight and gently launch the little craft on their journey to worlds unknown.    

The first winter solstice of this millennium was just a few weeks after my Dad's unexpected death. I was living very close to the sea, so a group of special friends and I gathered our varying little vessels we'd each created and made a wiggly procession behind flute-playing Ben to the beach below. The baby boats struggled to get their cargo fires lit, then were jostled by the sea's restless ripples so I was thigh high in the tide for a while shepherding my own candle and any craft that made false starts until they were on their way to their destiny.

The sea water, the floating flames, the cherished memories of Dad, the friends and the music made magic that night.

The Guiding Light Painting

They also birthed this watercolour painting. It wasn't the painting I thought I would paint. As I struggled to capture the essence of that evening, something more expansive was seeking expression. It seemed that the little light that was floating on the surface of the sea that night, represented something that had finally found its way to the surface and this was its night to shine. A starter spark, hidden in the depths of time, had been evolving for eons to finally surface as a bright baby flame. It passage seems to have been guided. And we celebrated its emergence.

Exactly what the little flame that surfaced in those early months of this millennium might represent, will be different for each of us. We can't know where it has floated since then or what it has become. But it's a comfort to know it's here. We may need it now.

As with stars, fire burns brighter when it's dark.

 

 

                                                                                           

                                                                                                                       

 

"Keep a little fire burning; however small, however hidden." Cormac McCarthy