So I’ve done it. I booked a beach home for us, my small family. The ocean has won. As it should. My husband was sitting on the front porch, and our conversation went from maybe taking a camping trip, to me searching and finding the place for us. A beach bungalow. During a pandemic. Not sure of either of our future. We bought the insurance. It is during peak hurricane season. Off season. I will be spending my 42nd birthday staring into the ocean. Planetary alignments can explain my draw to this water. As can hormonal imbalance. But I feel the fire of the world is the reason. The year started with an entire continent on fire. I saw pictures of animals burning and the earth scorched. People igniting it again and again. The map with flames indicating the damage. Next is the virus. Inflaming the chest and lungs. A struggle for breath. Fever. The burnt and chaffed skin of the hospitals workers from the friction from masks. Heated arguments of the truth of the disease. Fear is added as fuel. Next the raging fire of humans. Enough spark to release these bombs. The confusion and hate and passion and outrage. The meaning of a movement of humans, black human beings wanting change, being burned to the ground. Overshadowed by smoke and images of structure fires. A man murdered on video feeling the burn in his chest, the burning of human hate, much like the virus, unable to breathe. It spread. More fear. The passion and the hate. Fiery words and accusations. And then the cities burned. Hot tears not enough to extinguish this blaze. The call from that body water. I need to feel the cleansing waves. I need to see its majesty and mystery. It is so much greater than you and I. So much deeper. It doesn’t see color. It will take you if it wants to. It is humbling. It is an escape from the dysfunction. A reset. A meeting with the power of the mother earth.
My child has been having fiery burst of anger. At the drop of a hat he will stomp and drop to the ground. Screaming in 4 year old tongues and clenching fists. As a mother, my initial thought is to question my parenting. Lack of parenting. Hippy dippy parenting. Mikes passive way of saying “buddy.” His mountain of toys. Food allergies. So many options. But is he really feeling the fire? I have tried to protect him from it. I am trying to teach love and respect. I try to understand his reason for this rage. Can he feel the pain and burn and passion and love and not know how to process it? An empath like mom. Can we as humans learn to use this collectively for the good. Can we learn to harness that fire to warm us from the cold? To fuel us and move us toward the burning heat of the human heart?
Image taken from the Mystic Sisters Oracle Deck by Emily Balivet.