The Fire

 

Fire is the pulse of life itself —

the intelligence that burns behind breath. 

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It is older than language, older than thought. 

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It is what crawled out of the ocean and learned to sing. 

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It is what beats in your chest when you remember you are alive. 

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The Fire is not good or evil. 

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It does not care what flag you wave or what creed you chant. 

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It only asks questions:

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 Will you let me live in you? 

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Will you learn to face the darkness I was born from?

Will you feel me?

Will you carry me?

Will you honor me?

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When honored, it gives warmth — love, art, courage, laughter, song. 

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When forgotten, it becomes hunger — addiction, violence, domination, despair.

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 It is the same energy, the same force — only misplaced. 

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It is the ache that refuses to die,

the longing to become that won’t stop clawing at the walls.

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 It’s the voice in your dreams saying, 

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“There’s more to you than this.” 

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Religion tried to describe it.

 Science tried to dissect it.

 Society tried to regulate it. 

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But the Fire can’t be explained, studied, or controlled.

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 It can only be felt.

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Embodied.

 Tended.

 Fed. 

Lived.

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 To walk with the Fire is to remember what the body already knows

— that ecstasy and agony are not opposites,

but different temperatures of the same light. 

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That is why it is sacred. 

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Because it does not lie.

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It reveals.

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 It burns away illusion until only what’s real remains.

It is the center of life itself.

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The architecture of our galaxy is Fire.

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The architecture of Earth is Fire.

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The architecture of our ancestors’ villages was Fire.

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The architecture of the body — pulse, desire, grief, hunger —is Fire.

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Without Mystery, life collapses into boredom.

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Without Fire, we never become.

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The Fire does not compromise its needs.

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It builds.

It destroys.

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Man is either shaped by it.

Or learns to shape with it.

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It simply burns to become.

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What is the shape of your fire?

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