I retired Fire Walking and took up Flight Training after my 7th firewalk. Cut to the chase, we did our vespers as I like to call it. Our host was a truly spiritual man who conducted a solemn meditation... none of the hooting and hollering you se on TV once in a blue moon when broadcast officials decide to put something worthwhile on their channel for a welcome change. He led us through processes and laid out the itinerary as to what we needed to do... and not do, or choose or not choose. I chose to walk, in my lifelong quest to emulate the Master Jesus, performing miracles great and small, and loving all... at least for the early years of this journey... until... well, that's another story.
Our gracious host instructed us to choose one of seven 'stands' for which to walk, i.e.: the betterment of humanity, world peace, save the planet, money, success, and whatever else was on the ticket that day. I always choose humanitarian issues and did actually notice a host of safe and healthy day cares pop up around the community thereafter, but it could just be coincidence.
I recall the first walk. We went through our paces in a large cottage of a member who offered their rural property for the event. We removed our shoes and sox and walked single file out to where the fire was to be built. Reverently, each of us laid some kindling or larger pieces of oak wood in the pit and the host lit it with heartfelt ceremonial care. After we built the fire, we were taught a little song and held hands as we sang our little song about bringing love and light home to our people... prayers around the flames over 1200 degrees it was said. Time escapes us now and I couldn't tell you how long we sang and prayed in earnest around our waning fire under the twinkling stars with Grandmother Moon overseeing our way.
When the fire had died down enough, it was raked out with each of us taking a 'ceremonial' turn with the rake, communing with the glowing embers in our heart-centered, heightened state. When the time was right, the host went forth and walked calmly and slowly through the glowing coals. Being of pure heart, walking for the right reasons, and in a heightened state of mind, he was not burned. Then, the owners of the property who had walked with this host before stepped up, then another and another until almost all members had walked. Some were burned, but not badly. Most were not, so far.
Listening inside, for the Light... for that still, small voice of the Divine in the seat of my heart, I heard or moreso, felt, the command... the impetus to come forward. I stood there bolt upright like a starched paper doll, immobile, frozen. "Walk." It said again. My mind a chatter of all the reasons why... NOT! Even though I spent the day in my usual 'vespers' in the studio, building the soundtrack for this Sacred Day to which I Dansed and Toned... praying for every Master and Deity I could muster to be with me during this ceremony. "Walk." I could not. And I did not. Suddenly, it was as if someone turned up a reostat on a dimmer switch. "Walk!" Something moved every muscle in my body as I watched myself starched stiff walking through the fire, head bolt straight upright looking straight ahead... how I saw this is a mystery to me yet. I did not down at the coals, not off to the side, and not up... eyes the size of tea saucers. Mind dead silent. I was through. I couldn't believe it. I was not burned. I stood in awe. Tears well up even today trying to recall exactly how it was... and I may not have it exactly but this seems quite the way it was, begging allowance for a tweak in the story in future should clearer memories arise.
By the 7th walk... still humble...to be sure... but a bit more confident than that described above... I chose my reason, reveled in the prayers and ceremony, and eagerly took off my shoes and sox, ready to hit the trail of burning embers. And that they were this time. The fire was roaring. Flames seemed to lick the sky. It was 'different' somehow but as mystical as ever with that Divine presence we all called on to carry us through. I don't know why, but we started a bit sooner than the other firewalls. The coals had not burned down enough yet. We each took our turn with the rake but the trail of burning embers was well over 4 inches high. As usual, the final few rakers patted down the burning embers to a solid path.
We took our turns. The host, the owners, members starting through... and all came through as usual. This time, I was early in the walk, not stalling until everyone else had gone. Head up, I took my first step. Then my second... on my third step, my foot when down to the ground. I was in it up over my ankles. The other foot... down. Next step... crushing through.. down, down, and the next... down to the ground covered with burning coals up over my ankles. Coals were sticking to my feet and ankles on the other side of the walkway. I quickly wiped the bottoms of my feet on the grass and stamped a few time as the coals fell from my feet. It was then I heard that still, small voice well up in my hears and say, "don't look at your feet." And I did NOT. I KNEW that if I did, my feet would be burned to smithereens with EMTs standing by in case of emergency. I looked straight ahead. I looked up. I reveled in the stars the the mystery of the universe and all that's in it. I looked side to side. I looked at Evan, the host, and other walkers. But I did NOT even hint at a downward gesture. Some walkers were burned but not badly enough for EMTs on alert. However, they were burned nonetheless, confirming that it was not a hoax, that the coals we nurtured were really there and hot as... well you know.
I stood in awe. I was beside myself with awe, gratitude, blasting with the highest self-esteem or whatever word is better used to describe the sensations of elation radiating forth from such immense victory. The words of my dear Mother echoed while I stood not looking at my feet, "watch your feet," she quipped in her usual loving support on my way out the door. It had that strange ring to it, like a fading digital delay with just a touch of reverb on nit... and I knew it would echo its loving refrains at some point, but not quite this soon. I felt like Mohammed Ali when he won the World Championship boxing match, and Worf in the STTNG episode where he returned from Klingon Games, Champion Standing. I knew it couldn't get any better than this! Triumphant beyond words, that moment was when I retired Fire Walking and took up Flight Training, and that's not in a plane, see StarKamp! for instructions.
Of course, I headed straight for the front dock after a scintillating night's sleep with dreams of universal import. Fully intending to walk on water of our beautiful and pristine Lake Anne, I took my first step off the dock... Kaboom splash... sank like a rock. Then I bobbed back up because I have this floating thing going on... I can't sink. It must be residuals of my Atlantean incarnation, but that's another story. And I have to note that my beloved husband and soul make of 42 years at the time of this writing 2018 also walked these 7 fire walks with me, and was only burned slightly once when he walked for the wrong reasons, which was... helping our granddaughter get through. And that's another story, but I'll let him tell you that. And for me, another demonstration racked up for the StarKamp! StarKid project for the Kidz... See One... Do One... Teach One...
And so it goes, another unbelievably true and amazing tale glowing in the embers of The Stories of Tarajories awaiting your walk through your own self-discovery... for those who know... and you will find yourself there... but only if you know.
Release your mind
See what you find
Bring your love home to your people
repeated over and over in 3/4 time, a more Divine time signature allowing for an easier phase into Divine-Providence
Back to 'Stories' Page
Back to Main Page
Now playing: Foster the Light with 12 tracks of Gregor Rice activational vocals, from the StarKid Project: StarKamp!, since it seems to vaguely resemble the song we sang getting in the right state to walk... Creator/Executive Producer: copyrights 1986 Gregor Rice, Music, Gregor Rice, Lyrics and text, Gregor Rice, all available for full production and marketing. See www.tarajories.com/foster.html for the gist. All music and photos on this website are copyright 1986-2018 Gregor Rice, unless otherwise noted, et al, and available for production/marketing.
See also our Preface to The Stories of Tarajories for the full gist.