The Gift of Fire

Our world is on fire, standing in collective horror at our deepest darkness exposed.
Part of me can't comprehend it.
How can this be real?

As I watch the videos and listen to the narratives, some part of me grows numb.
It's too much to process.

Another part of me wrestles with something I believe.
That fire can be a gift.
That darkness can be beautiful.
But if this is what the inferno of extreme darkness looks like,
how can any fire be a gift?
How can any darkness be beautiful?
Or am I deluded?
Am I deceived?

Like many of you, I recently saw Avatar: Fire and Ash. Perhaps you, like me, recoiled as the Mangkwan clan brutally massacred the Na'vi in ritualistic sacrifice. Maybe like me, you dropped your jaw as Varang, their leader and Tsahik, watched with sadistic pleasure.

But, uncomfortable as it is to admit it, I also found her beautiful.

Something about Varang hypnotized me.
Something dark and magical.
Sensual and Seductive.
At times, almost sexual.
Both spiritual and animal.
Both creative and destructive.
Powerful and rebellious.
Wild and untamable.

Fire.

Fire that could reduce a man to ash while he pines for her.
Fire personified.
Fire unleashed.

In what I'm creating now, whether writing or podcasting,
I'm led by curiosity. A suspicion. Even a belief
that perhaps many women,
certainly, some women
possess such a fire.

Not the same. But not entirely different.
A fire uniquely their own.
Maybe they've learned to deny it, even to themselves.
They were trained to do so.
Shamed to do so.
Or perhaps they kindle it in secret,
hiding it from the world,
fearing discovery.

Why do I suspect this?

Because of conversations I've had with women.
And because of the precious gift they gave me
when they shared their filthy little secrets.

That's why I'm fascinated with the adulteress.
Or the woman who enjoys sex with married men.
Or sex with many men.
Or sex in public places.
Or sex with her lover that, in some way, breaks rules about what she should or shouldn't do.

I see fire unleashed in her.

Uncontainable.
Wild.
Free.

In my early twenties, I attended a sexaholics anonymous meeting. The group leader said sex was like fire. Contained in a hearth, it could warm your home, but unleashed, it could burn that home to the ground.

Of course, he meant sexual fire unleashed is destructive, bad and wrong. So control it. Restrain it. Fear it.

Back then, I agreed, but now?
Now, it's complicated.

A Course in Miracles teaches "nothing real can be threatened." What does that mean? I think it means we're eternal beings having a human experience. That the "reality" we perceive with our senses is a thin veil hiding our true, indestructible nature.

Fire cannot harm that true nature.
Fire can only burn away illusions of "reality" we cling to.
It drives us to look past the veil and remember who we really are.

If that's true, then even a raging inferno in our lives, though painful, can be the greatest gift. An "act of God". And maybe that home burning to the ground can be our catalyst for divine liberation.

I also believe we're all in this together.
The "villains" and the "heroes".
If that's true, then aren't we partners in a divine dance? It looks messy to the human eye, but haven't you experienced dark nights that preceded the brightest days? Rock bottoms that led to mountain tops?

I have.

Look up at the sky on a clear night. Away from the flood of so much light from the city. Stand in the pitch black and look up. Have you ever? Doesn't the magic of starlight shine brightest against a canopy of thickest darkness?

In Avatar: Fire and Ash, we see Jake, Neytiri, and their children transform in Varang's fire. They evolve.

The same miraculous ascension and heroism happens in real life. My dear friend, Kyera Kacey, is a living example of what's possible after the fires of infidelity engulf a person. What can happen when a woman alchemizes pain into power.

That made her the perfect first guest in my podcast series on the Eroticism of Infidelity. It's, by far, my most viewed episode. https://www.youtube.com/watch?... 

I recently witnessed another example of this reading Spiritual Smackdown by Jaclyn Shaw. Jaclyn pulled no punches in telling of her passing through the fires of her husband's infidelity. It's a gripping, grueling, moving true story. If you read it, I think you'll see a sparkling diamond. 

I did. 

Through the fires of her experience, Jaclyn emerged as a whole new version of herself. A powerful expression of divine love through her human form. The book: https://www.amazon.com/Spiritu...

"That still doesn't justify the darkness." 
It doesn't.
But then darkness doesn't ask to be justified. It doesn't need to be right.

I think we all have darkness.
Some of us bury it. Or hide it.
We only show our presentable parts.
The parts we're not ashamed of.
On social media. In our lives.
In doing so, I think we rob each other of a gift.
The gift of truth.
The gift of fire.

I did that most of my life.
But now, I'm trying to be brave.
Trying to be transparent about my darkness.
To live authentically.

And it's VERY uncomfortable.

Last year, after posts like this, I spiraled into days, even weeks, of depression. My body erupted in the biochemistry of shame. 

But I believe this is the path to peace.
To healing.
And to an experience of our oneness.

Honesty. Nakedness. Surrender.

So, yes. My uncomfortable truth.
I love adulteresses.
Or women who choose sex with married men
or other consenting adults they're not supposed to.
🙈 Their boss.
🙉 Their professor.
🙊 Their pastor.
I fucking love those women.

Their fire. Their darkness. I find them beautiful.

In my youth, I would have raged against an essay like this and called it righteous anger. But my anger wouldn't actually have been about the essay. 

It would've been about me.

About a darkness buried deep inside, like a splinter trying to surface that I desperately wanted to escape. It took decades and many fires in my life before I would look at it. Before I would endeavor to make peace with it. Before I would try to learn to love it. It's hasn't been easy. But if I've learned anything, it's this. 

God sees it all.

My darkness. Your darkness. And God just loves us.

I believe we all signed up for this moment. For the raging fires we're walking through. For the blackest darkness within and without. On the other side, a greater version of us awaits. A greater expression of God's love through us.

So, I'm going to keep trying to hug the cactus. To embrace the fire of my own darkness. As I do, I'm constantly comforted by encounters with the dark feminine. Whenever it manifests and whoever it manifests through. 

If you are reading this, and you know that's you, I love you.
I'm grateful for you. Thank you for being here on this planet right now with me.

And whoever you are, and however you feel about this post, thank you for reading it. Thank you for witnessing me in the place of my highest truth, from the place of your highest truth, whatever that may be. 🙏