Fire in the Earth
All of us at one time or another, in even the most ordinary life, experience a radical taking away, the loss of something seemingly foundational: a loved one, a friend, a vista of opportunity, a prized ability of our youth, or even the loss of a home: to divorce, to fire, to earthquake or even, in present day Ukraine, to war. To begin with, the ground we fall toward in that loss and suffering does not seem to exist or if it does exist, to be able to bear our weight. We sense a fiery burning away of something that seemed irreplaceably precious and at the same time, an invitation we do not wish at first to except. The voice from the burning bush gave Moses, not the Ten Commandments but the invitation to take off his shoes and to stand fully on the holy ground of his own life. The revelation for Moses, I do believe, was that he had, after all, always been standing on the holy ground of his life every step of the way, even before he reached the burning bush; even when he could take that step only by falling toward something he could not fully comprehend.
FIRE IN THE EARTH And we know, when Moses was told, in the way he was told, "Take off your shoes!" He grew pale from that simple reminder of fire in the dusty earth. He never recovered his complicated way of loving again and was free to love in the same way he felt the fire licking at his heels loved him. As if the lion earth could roar and take him in one movement. Every step he took from there was carefully placed. Everything he said mattered as if he knew the constant witness of the ground and remembered his own face in the dust the moment before revelation. Since then thousands have felt the same immobile tongue with which he tried to speak. Like the moment you too saw, for the first time, your own house turned to ashes. Everything consumed so the road could open again. Your entire presence in your eyes and the world turning slowly into a single branch of flame. -from Fire in the Earth and River Flow: New & Selected Poems
I’ve read (and heard you read) this poem before…but this day, this line feels most immediate: “He never recovered / his complicated way of loving again / and was free to love in the same way / he felt the fire licking at his heels loved him.”
I’ve spent most of my adult life making love a little too complicated. Most especially, the love for my parents. The hour is growing late now. To love freely and simply is more than enough.
“ an invitation we do not wish at first to except. ” double intendre? “Except?” “Accept?”