We Forget to Remember
An ode to fires and those that fight and survive them.
It is already too late for some.
The air is filled with particles of the dead.
They float peacefully
to the ground
like flakes of snow.
Snow would be a welcome miracle right now.
In my mind and mouth,
I churn
the words of James Baldwin’s book
titled,
the fire next time.
The bible may be right about a few things.
Is it the next time now?
Remember to love your neighbor.
In times of crisis,
we remember to love our neighbor
as ourselves.
Aided by the common ground of possible loss
and collective survival.
Why does it take conflict and strife to bring us together?
Lightning strikes and
forests burn.
Before assets — structures and people, in that order,
the forest would burn
in fact, forests were burnt
by ancestors
who lived in harmony and reciprocity
with the land
and knew how to tend that which was in their care.
Without their guidance and wisdom,
we are at the peril of
Kali — the Indian deity of inescapable destruction,
takes life not with glee or ruthlessness,
but with a knowing
that life is not to be held onto.
It is a gift to be valued,
honored, and appreciated.
And still,
it is hard to watch.
The barely perceptible
orange glow
over the darkening hillside
and across the river
is a portent.
A raging reminder that
this moment
the now
these people
are really
the only guarantee.
Still, my heart breaks in pre-grief
as the fire
consumes the forest
around our home.
The orange reddens and deepens,
the ground literally shakes.
The power of the
procession is felt
hot and loud
with brush as fuel
and wind as partner.
A pressurized train without track
headed in the direction of its choosing
unflinching to what stands in its way.
We can shape the future,
we cannot control it.
Get out now.
Repeated like a mantra
until embodied
with the futile realization that
our desire to protect
what had never been ours to begin with
has no ground.
We watch in awe and horror
as the hungry inferno
moves through the valley.
What are you hungry for?
The fire will help you remember.
A stream of organisms
pour in,
a village formed from our
collective desire
to survive destruction,
connected through deep meaning and purpose
a dependable vocation,
built around the inevitable
trajectory of our daily choices,
policies, and cultural practices.
Struggling to protect the assets
with dignity.
Other organisms flooded out.
They did not hear the mantra.
But they heeded the warning.
They knew how to read the signs.
Distracted about what is real
attached to constant illumination
and externally sourced knowledge
we have lost our ability to listen
in ways that
protect and preserve
that which is in our care
but not ours.
The vigils for protection
began at the perimeter
between green and red.
Sentinels,
spanning age and color,
stand watch
with courage
and devotion
to meet the wild with the intentional.
To hold the line and
say
stop here.
You have had enough.
We protect this place.
And the
– wild
– fire
listened.
Abated. Redirected. Until…
May the animals find sanctuary.
The line held and moved.
The wall of smoke stayed and thickened.
Descending and lifting.
Creating its own weather.
A white out on a clear day.
A red sun.
Don’t breathe deep.
That pleasure is months away.
Each day spent waiting to know.
Predicting the unknown.
Yet never knowing
Will the line hold?
Uncertainty makes moments last longer.
In the space between the moments,
there is a message,
from inside.
A soft voice,
that reminds you to remember when you forget.
Do you know how to listen?
Do you open
long enough
to feel the breath of the unknown on your neck?
With the chill that travels
down your spine to the bone.
You don’t know,
will never know,
and possibly
this
is
the
truth.
No matter how certain you become
there is always the unknown
lurking around
deafeningly loud in its silence
waiting for you
to choose to listen.
Ready to consume
all that you have known and loved,
so you or even we
become
the phoenix through the flames
and ascend
from the blackened landscape
knowing and unknowing
and walk into the future
with a new resolve
not to miss one moment.
because you never know when the message will come.
To all those that give their time and risk their lives to fight fires and to those who support them — thank you.
