Fire

There is something in the fire that carries me to distant dimensions... within my chest. If you look closely at a bonfire, you’ll see the wood transform into ashes, like cracking kisses exchanged between young lovers intoxicated by their recently faded virginity, until it becomes a hearty chuckle, filling the air with a sensual taste that lingers.

I remember that night when, amid our collective insomnia, a chill breeze entered from the very core of the Earth, piercing the floor beneath our feet, and sending a shiver down our spines. Yet, the fire always prevailed, wrapping those who approached in its warm embrace, like a grandmother reminding you that, even if you don’t believe it, you are a soul immune to evil. You were born in the heart of the volcano, the forest, the sea. You’ve come only to be loved, and even if they kill your body, and dissolve your flesh, you will rise again from love to love.

“Carry your heart through this world like a life-giving sun” — Hafiz

I also remember how the fire carried away traumas, guilt, and fears, devouring the feathers of fallen angels, especially those who struggled at the beginning of the night against their owl-like darkness. I could see their sorrow leave their bodies, like serpents of clay shedding from their muscles. Serpents that had long grown accustomed to living inside them.

The fire doesn’t wait for permission from anything to follow its path. It bites the tobacco that begs to be lit, standing before your face, saying, "Here I am, whenever you wish to rewrite a story, whenever you long to put your fears to rest, I will always be here, waiting to ignite your spirit anew."

The fire settles on its throne, surrounded by stones, witnesses to the universe from the very first spark of light, that has rolled down from other eras. Its golden crown is lit by the wind, heavy with poems, inspiring both grandeur and sweetness. Like a wild river that ends in dew, and in your dim eyes that become one with mine.

Thank you for being here with me, Mi Sol.