THE FIRES I FIGHT

A few years ago, I’m not sure when this was, but it was just after a cold winter and it had been a signifi­cant time for me. It had brought with it several opportu­nities for learning and for reevaluating my life, and I had experi­enced occasions for changing some things about my life that weren't working. I thought while I entered early spring I was doing pretty well. I was, in fact, but inner voices kept ringing in my ears that some of those old fires, those old tragedies and traumas were still kindled and smoldering. I wasn't seeing all of that so clear. I guess I was too close to it. But one morning in March after that awful winter, I finally began to see things a little differ­ent­ly.

I remember the morning. I was sitting in the kitchen by my window. It was still cold, but birds were singing outside and the sun was shining bright­ly. The other sounds and sights of springtime were very nearly centralized around me. I heard not only the birds, but also people conversing outside and the sounds of work being done on yards and houses. I saw the buds on the trees breaking out of their shells now fattening up for all they were worth after that winter's hardships.

Even with all this marvelous springtime about me I was still distracted by those inner voices that wanted to tell me I should be fighting fires instead of enjoying myself. I was being told (and I was almost con­vinced of it) that those fires were still forming and that their flares of intensity must be addressed. The feeling was so strong an influence on me that I was distracted from my moment’s pleasure and this springtime’s budding within my own life.

My voices argued within to tell me that I should continue to go for a win over my inner foes . . . that my plight was not over and that I should drop everything (including my current springtime plea­sure) to fight off this danger. But my other voice finally won out, saying it was okay not to win all the battles; that my journey into a new springtime in my life was even more important. Somehow, though, I knew my plight was far from over; but I also knew I would not be serving myself if I did not continue to enjoy this springtime infusion.

Then calm finally came over me like I had willed it to happen. From where I stood that need to go back and re-hash all I had been through (my fire that wouldn’t go out) looked and felt apart from me. Time was too short to stay behind, to put out every hot spot and stay stuck forever in that place. I realized all that had passed was just a part of learning that came from the battles, from the peace, and from my journeys thereabout. Knowing that the fire would never completely go out, I surrendered to that knowledge and knew by it I had another chance. 

That lesson has stayed with me. Now when a wind strikes up and kindles yet anoth­er spark on those old fires, I know that I can go back . . . I can go back anytime reviewing all that I have made to burn and I will ultimately learn and grow from it.