November is a month of possibilities. I will admit, the themes appeal to me. Gratitude. Abundance. Reciprocity. I meant all last week to start writing on the autumnal jumble in my head. I meant to.
I wasn’t prepared for Montecito to burn. No one is ever ready, prepared for disaster. Wild fires, in particular, are unpredictable even if expected. Ask any Californian what they really fear and they will tell you that the fear of earthquakes pale in the presence of fire. And as predictable as it might be considering the dry conditions and the mighty Santa Ana’s, it still came as a sudden bolt of panic to discover early Friday morning that my heartland was on fire. Instead of writing, I found myself sleepless, nauseated, and instinctively refreshing 6 pages of news feeds desperately searching for information.
It is not just Southern California in flames. My past has also been set ablaze and I am watching it burn down with spectacular speed. Not nearly the arsonist I could be, I’m witnessing my world be consumed. I’m not fanning flames, but I’m not throwing water either. I am resigned to this burning. It’s a mourning process that’s long over-due. And I have faith that this grief which burns so intensely will not consume me completely.
In the midst of the flames, I am finding that I have a lot to say. Words are coming; words that will not be swallowed. Words that have me stepping into a future that refuses to be bogged down by an insurmountable grief. Into a future that has no place for the horror I have known in the past. No place for the past at all.
In the midst of the flames, I am finding I have a lot to say. In the embers of my past I am discovering that what remains is the voice I’ve been seeking. I am finding that I cannot be silenced.
Words are coming, words that cannot be swallowed. And I’m going to speak them until I get it right.
Horrible fires and I can’t imagine how I’d feel if they were burning up my past.
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It’s been horrifying to watch– even as it provides ample metaphors for my life at the moment. ~W
I think I know how you feel…the fires are personal and burn the edges of your past. Even though I left California in 1982, I agonize over every flame as if it creeps toward my own feet.
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I don’t think you ever shake it. Not really. ~W
Fires are intensely destructive and painful to watch and experience. Beyond the destruction, watching an active wildfire brings up hell and damnation imagery that is hard to ignore. Lastly, for me, the random nature of fires can be hard to take. Whole neighborhoods destroyed except that one house still standing. Fires aren’t logical and understandable.
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It’s amazing to me that this particular fire was created out of negligence and stupidity. That anyone would light a bonfire during these conditions makes me despair for humanity. Truly illogical. ~W
Oh, good words, Friend. Well written.
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Katie, thank you for being present and reading them. ~W
Tell me more.
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I’m working on it, darlin’. ~W
Speaking those words is the healthiest thing you can do for yourself.
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Ah yes, and the truth that gaining health is hard work and typically painful does not escape me, either! And thanks, Heidi! ~W
my grandma lost her house in sylmar. my cousin fought those fires and said he ended up running for his life.
sad and scary. sifting through the ashes in your 70’s a a whole lifetime is reduced to memories only. stuff from my long gone grandfather, her long gone father. it really boggles the mind.
But in the end. it’s stuff. and the people are okay.