Being the Flames

Photopher:  Jon Sullivan (public domain photo)

This morning, amongst my emails, there was a poem that arrived and pinned me to the wall.  When we go up in flames, our work is not to be the Phoenix that rises from the ashes, but rather it is our work to open ourselves to being the flames.  Lovely sentiment Galway Kinnel.  There are ways to endure most kinds of pain in my body, but the thing that hurts most and feels like it's just crazymaking pain, is a burn.

The latest crash and burn episode in my life:  leaving massage therapy school, has arisen from a deep, and long ago pain.  And it is crazymaking pain as well.  Opening myself to be the flame feels an impossible thing to do.  What does that mean exactly?  Where does one find the strength to be the flame?  Is it there within?  Or does it come from the outside? Is it some divine grace bestowed when we ask to be open?  Or is there some required period of suffering before we reach that place of abandon?

Many years back there were a total of 7 Buddhist monks that set themselves on fire in Vietnam.  It was in protest of a law which prohibited Buddhists from carrying flags on Buddha's birthday..  At the time, I was stunned that someone could do that to themselves, and then endure it in silence.  Clearly, the image of that act has remained with me all these years.  I couldn't bear to watch the film of it for more than a moment. 

With that specific act, the monks did it in a very public place, and made the reasons for it clear.  And many people bore witness to that act.  The act itself did not bring about the end of the war.  In the bigger picture however, we don't know just how much it influenced things at the time.  Of course, it had no effect whatsoever on some.  There is a photo of a monk going up in flames, and someone in the background is still looking for a light for his cigarette.  That somehow goes beyond the point of ridiculous.

The trouble is, for most of us, going up in flames is a private thing.  We may not light the fire, or perhaps we do on some metaphorical level.  But how does becoming the flames mean anything at all, if no one bears witness to it?  There is such silent suffering in this world.  Suffering that no one ever sees or understands.  And there is courage that we don't witness.  It may be happening to the person next to us on the bus, or the guy who cuts our hair.  They may be enduring the unendurable with silent grace.

And then of course, some of us scream like banshees.