Rest. I've discovered its good to rest.
I'm spending a lot of time on my new chaise lounge.
Reading, eating oatmeal, listening to nice music thanks to Ennio Morricone.
I build fires. Splitting wood, oh what a soul cleansing experience this is.
First, selecting the piece I want to split. I scan the pile, looking for one that's flat on at least one end.And since I just got a new load, that has bright ivory ends, and is very heavy, and tough to split, I look for the older stuff, that has dark brown ends.
Whack! One swing, it drops into two pieces. Yes sir. Set the small pieces up, and swat them. Flop. Down go the pieces on the cement. One becomes two, then four, and sometimes six or eight. I gather them and carry them under my arms. I grab a small piece of fatlighter and head back inside.
Crumpling a small piece of newspaper, I toss it in first. Next, I carefully arrange each piece of wood, like I'm constructing a house of logs. Making sure there are plenty of empty places, so oxygen can flow through and around the wood.
I place a small, dense, magical pine piece in the middle of the stove, resting it on the wadded up paper, like I am putting it to bed and the paper is it's pillow. One match. Strike, touch, blaze begins. I sit on the brick hearth. Watching. The paper turns yellow, in a quick flash. As it nears the fatlighter, black smoke begins to emerge, along with a scent of gasoline. Short orange and red flames begin licking the split wood. Soon, it looks like long yellow fingers are wrapping around the whole pile of wood.
The fire moves from the back to the front, then around the ends. The fire begins sending its heat out to me. I notice a log has slipped off the fire-dog, so I grab my poker. I lift it, twist it, support it, heave it back on to the support. My plan is to get this fire going really well, and then do my devotion.
I begin thinking about how it used to be, BEFORE fathlighter.
I used to go out into my yard, early in the morning, collect dried limbs and branches, break them up and use them to start my fires. The fight lighter almost makes me feel guilty, like I'm cheating. It's so easy this way. Almost no work....
Suddenly, I see a metaphor. As I used to walk in my pajamas in the yard, at 5 am or midnight sometimes, traipsing alone, feeling alone, feeling angry...and taking an hour to build a fire.. I was doing it all alone, and I was sad, and miserable, and cold.
Two and a half years ago, I made a new commitment...that I would hold God's hand, and walk with him, wherever He took me. I surrendered all. Really and truly. All. I began by spending early mornings talking to him, mostly, sometimes listening with purpose. And reading, lots of reading. And writing down what was really causing me pain. I'd sit on my porch, as it was warmer then, fall. And watch the birds and trees. Whenever I'd see something beautiful, I'd write it down.
Now, I've moved my morning devotion inside. So I build fires first. And eat, then I start. I don't listen very well, but lately, I've just opened up to however God wants to talk to me. But not concentrating on it...just letting it happen. And usually, while I look at the fire, I see God is working things out. Easy. Fatlighter is easy. With God, it is easier. Not without heart-break, or heart-ache, but easier to bear. The pain of life doesn't go away, but I don't run from it anymore. I sit beside the fire, watch it burn away everything. What is left, are all the jewels. They don't burn. I can see them sparkle now. A simple exhale, and the ashes lift up, and I see what was laying beneath....diamonds, created by tears and ache, and love....and more love...for myself.
Somethings are going to hurt, but God will help me burn it away....
I've been reading about prayer and meditation lately. Some people say I am supposed to do something, a chant maybe, to clear my mind. Well, I realize, that building fires, clears my mind, and softens my soul, and enlarges my heart. I don't need a chant. I study the flames, and feel the warmth God gives me, by the destruction of a tree. It's the sacrifice. But God wants me to be warm. And I thank Him for creating trees for me to burn. I thank him for the matches on my hearth, and my bedroom slippers, and fat lighter.
I'm spending a lot of time on my new chaise lounge.
Reading, eating oatmeal, listening to nice music thanks to Ennio Morricone.
I build fires. Splitting wood, oh what a soul cleansing experience this is.
First, selecting the piece I want to split. I scan the pile, looking for one that's flat on at least one end.And since I just got a new load, that has bright ivory ends, and is very heavy, and tough to split, I look for the older stuff, that has dark brown ends.
Whack! One swing, it drops into two pieces. Yes sir. Set the small pieces up, and swat them. Flop. Down go the pieces on the cement. One becomes two, then four, and sometimes six or eight. I gather them and carry them under my arms. I grab a small piece of fatlighter and head back inside.
Crumpling a small piece of newspaper, I toss it in first. Next, I carefully arrange each piece of wood, like I'm constructing a house of logs. Making sure there are plenty of empty places, so oxygen can flow through and around the wood.
I place a small, dense, magical pine piece in the middle of the stove, resting it on the wadded up paper, like I am putting it to bed and the paper is it's pillow. One match. Strike, touch, blaze begins. I sit on the brick hearth. Watching. The paper turns yellow, in a quick flash. As it nears the fatlighter, black smoke begins to emerge, along with a scent of gasoline. Short orange and red flames begin licking the split wood. Soon, it looks like long yellow fingers are wrapping around the whole pile of wood.
The fire moves from the back to the front, then around the ends. The fire begins sending its heat out to me. I notice a log has slipped off the fire-dog, so I grab my poker. I lift it, twist it, support it, heave it back on to the support. My plan is to get this fire going really well, and then do my devotion.
I begin thinking about how it used to be, BEFORE fathlighter.
I used to go out into my yard, early in the morning, collect dried limbs and branches, break them up and use them to start my fires. The fight lighter almost makes me feel guilty, like I'm cheating. It's so easy this way. Almost no work....
Suddenly, I see a metaphor. As I used to walk in my pajamas in the yard, at 5 am or midnight sometimes, traipsing alone, feeling alone, feeling angry...and taking an hour to build a fire.. I was doing it all alone, and I was sad, and miserable, and cold.
Two and a half years ago, I made a new commitment...that I would hold God's hand, and walk with him, wherever He took me. I surrendered all. Really and truly. All. I began by spending early mornings talking to him, mostly, sometimes listening with purpose. And reading, lots of reading. And writing down what was really causing me pain. I'd sit on my porch, as it was warmer then, fall. And watch the birds and trees. Whenever I'd see something beautiful, I'd write it down.
Now, I've moved my morning devotion inside. So I build fires first. And eat, then I start. I don't listen very well, but lately, I've just opened up to however God wants to talk to me. But not concentrating on it...just letting it happen. And usually, while I look at the fire, I see God is working things out. Easy. Fatlighter is easy. With God, it is easier. Not without heart-break, or heart-ache, but easier to bear. The pain of life doesn't go away, but I don't run from it anymore. I sit beside the fire, watch it burn away everything. What is left, are all the jewels. They don't burn. I can see them sparkle now. A simple exhale, and the ashes lift up, and I see what was laying beneath....diamonds, created by tears and ache, and love....and more love...for myself.
Somethings are going to hurt, but God will help me burn it away....
I've been reading about prayer and meditation lately. Some people say I am supposed to do something, a chant maybe, to clear my mind. Well, I realize, that building fires, clears my mind, and softens my soul, and enlarges my heart. I don't need a chant. I study the flames, and feel the warmth God gives me, by the destruction of a tree. It's the sacrifice. But God wants me to be warm. And I thank Him for creating trees for me to burn. I thank him for the matches on my hearth, and my bedroom slippers, and fat lighter.
No comments:
Post a Comment