The Spirit of Fire

If it moves, it's alive.

If it's alive, it is spirited.

Doesn't everything move? Isn't everything alive, spirited?

I'm sitting in of my fireplace gazing at the fire I made. The flames dance and sing hums and snaps as they feed on the wood at their feet. They move. They're alive. They're spirited like every other living being.

As I watch and tend the fire, I notice that its spirit varies according to the wood and air it feeds on. When I serve it dry wood with a steady flow of of air, its spirit lifts and strengthens. It dances with delight.

When I serve it damp wood or lessen the flow of are, it's spirit calms. Its song modulates to a hiss of displeasure. Fed too much damp wood and too little air, its spirit departs altogether. It dies.

Fire can be smothered to death with water, earth, and either too much or too little air. 

It's mortal.

Like all over living beings, fire consumes and transforms what it feeds on. Ashes are fire's feces. Like all feces, they can be utilized in beneficial ways by other living beings.

In the wild, fire consumes and transforms. It kills, clears, and opens up spaces to allow in more sunlight and wind. New life comes forth. Thus fire affirms life.

For us humans, fire is both friend and foe. It gives warmth, cooks meals, protects, provides light in darkness, purifies, and helps us forge steel. It also destroys material goods and kills.

It's immoral and life-denying when it kills unnecessarily. It is moral and virtuous when it affirms life even in the taking of it.

We do well to acknowledge the spiritedness of fire. We do well to respect and befriend fire. We do well to not interfere with fire's freedom, except when it threatens our life and goods and those  for whom we care.

We do well to befriend fire.