I learned something about tending a fire this year. In September my family drove all the way to Maine with two negative Covid tests in hand and spent two weeks camping up the coast. Every scene was breathtaking. But much to our beloved dog Herbie’s dismay, the weather was closer to freezing than anyone had predicted.
“What are we doing outside?!” his big eyes pleaded every morning. At night he disappeared into our tent searching for the warmest spot.
Life was simple in Maine even though we were very cold. We had a few blankets for protection, and we had fire. Building fires had never felt so necessary but that made them all the more compelling. We started each morning and ended each night by a glowing flame.
Two fires a day for two weeks provided much opportunity to learn the mechanics of tending a fire—something I more or less understood but hadn’t practiced enough to master. In Maine, I learned how to collect kindling and create the kind of radiant coals that keep flames going for hours. I figured out how to feed a fire the right amount of wood to sustain it, not too much and not too little.
In the ancient world, tending the community fire was considered sacred work. Firekeepers held a respected role in many cultures, providing a place for people to leave offerings, prayers, and gifts. Their fires also ensured that no matter what wet or trying conditions presented themselves, the people of the village always had hot coals available to build flames of their own, necessary for cooking and warmth.
The firekeeper’s open, eternal flame was both spiritually significant and critical for survival.
Each of us carries an inner flame that is much the same. In many wisdom traditions, fire symbolizes that which carries us from idea to action; from passivity to engaging with the world; from dormant to wakeful. It represents creativity, power, and will. We all hold this element within, but how we use it is up to us.
In her book Eastern Body, Western Mind, Anodea Judith writes:
Friction makes sparks. Fire transforms matter to heat and light, and gives us the ability to see and to act. Fire awakens us from our passive slumber, sparking consciousness into understanding. Understanding tempers the fire, binding raw energy into power, direction, and transformation.
If our inner flame is the place we pull from to offer the world whatever gifts can only come from us, our creative fuel, the eternal spirit that carries us through the longest winters of our lives, then it’s a fire worth tending. It gives us strength to get through the day and fuels our hopes and dreams. Our inner flame keeps us going when the world around us shuts down. It feeds and warms us so we can support ourselves and those we love.
Sometime in January, I noticed my inner flame was growing dim. Not enough companionship, not enough support. Gaps in my life magnified. Too many months of crisis. An incomprehensible death toll. Political turmoil. Practical struggles complicated by opportunities and income lost. Silver linings wearing thin.
I thought about those days in Maine. Early mornings by the fire had felt sacred indeed. It was hard to pull myself away, even with the promise of hiking or a nearby beach. One day when laundry had to be done, I had an excuse to stay. Herbie slept in my lap, wrapped in three blankets like a burrito. I read and he looked up occasionally for a kiss. John bought chowder from a nearby market and warmed it over the flame.
We added wood to the fire to keep it going. As a fire is nourished, so it nourishes others. The same goes for us.
When my inner flame grew small this winter, I knew it needed to be revived. It required tiny pieces of kindling to reinvigorate the flame—entertainment to bring laughter, walks in the sun for vitamin D, and books to provide an escape. It took patience, with me accepting the fire as smaller than usual for a while, allowing it to be where it was.
Once the flame started coming back, a little here and there, it needed bigger logs that could sustain it longterm—like dedicated work to integrate body and mind, addressing bigger challenges with support from my therapist, and reaching out to nurture friendships.
It didn’t happen all at once, but little by little the warm glow I carry within felt illuminated again. My motivation and energy began to return, and my inspiration grew. Now I feel ready to face the spring.
After five years of political and cultural turmoil, and seeing a year-long health crisis grossly mismanaged here in the United States, it’s natural for our internal fires to feel diminished. But just as they were in ancient times, those fires are critical for survival. They require attention and care to be maintained.
How will you tend your inner flame?
Between you and me—
That “January was a long year but I’m glad it’s over” meme felt especially fitting in 2021. But did you catch the full moon this week? It was like a beacon of the luminous, generative energy we need to carry the world forward. I soaked up every second. Thanks so much for being here—take care out there.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. If you’d like to support this newsletter, you can become a sponsor, click the heart, share online, or forward to a friend. It all helps! Many blessings.
Lauren, when we ran into each other on our walk that day in January, I didn't know that I needed that connection that day. I am usually in such a rush, but I stopped myself as my soul sparked at the warmth of the lingering, talking across the social distance, laughing lightly and smiling... even Hazel sat down next to me instead of being impatient on the leash, as if to say "yes, this is going to take a moment." Thank you for that and always for these posts.
EXACTLY what my heart needed to hear in this moment... thank you