It's Fire

As the Spring Equinox has just passed, it's finally starting to feel like 2026. The fire horse has left 2025 in the dust. New plot lines, goals and seedlings are ready to break from of the dark soil. The surf swell wanes, temperatures subtly climb, familiar flowers bloom. Rainbows dot the sky at all times of the day, a joyful reminder of the both/and as we witness the psychedelic dance of rain and sunshine. It's as if a sticky sleep has finally lifted, a film's been removed and a new landscape revealed with a quenching exuberance of color from places that were just brown and gray. White jasmine petals cling to vines as they climb along our entry steps. Frangipani blossoms delicately litter yards with a sophisticated elegance. A Frenchie neighbor harvests whelk from the rocky ocean floor with just a few more weeks until the season ends.

I find myself within this spring awakening and must nod to some changes I've made since the might and effort of the previous seasons. Knowing I'd taxed my drive, met some edges and needed a reset, I return to daily meditation. With a goal of 20 minutes per day, though it might be 10, sometimes 5, I devote space to quiet and stillness. Like throwing clay to make a vessel, you must set the clay and center it before the walls can hold firm. A few months into the year, with some internal silencing under my belt, I'm able to feel my own anchoring and some purchase as I meet a mêlée of projects.

What is it about settling the mind that settles the pulse? How does focusing on the breath, a mantra, a flame get us to a place of acceptance and peace, even if fleeting? Arriving at a sublime space of not feeling, thinking, doing, imagining. Simply being. The goal of having no goal, of going dark.

Last week I attended the new moon (in Pisces) fire puja. On or around the eve of every new and full moon a friend hosts a fire ceremony where we chant a mantra for an hour. We offer prayers of peace and hope, throwing rice and flowers into the fire, tending the glow with song and firewood, holding our gaze on the the flames. As time passes, the wood shifts between black and white, breathing in the heat before it turns to ash. A dance between oranges and yellows take turns through out the hour; rust, clementine, sunshine, honey and buttercup all reaching for a dark sky. Sitting. Singing. Watching. Cleansing. Praying. Purifying. Transcending. A meditation where your mind is present to this ancient and somewhat primal ritual.

I've been attending these ceremonies on St. Thomas since 2021, learning the mantras as I went. In the beginning I tended to leave curious if I'd "done it right". Had I thrown the rice in at the right time? Did I pronounce the Sanskrit words correctly? What exactly was I saying in Sanskrit? Was my chanting loud enough or too loud? It's a bit unnerving sitting in a circle of 2 to 5 people, singing in an unfamiliar language, staring at a fire. The flames move with the wind and embers pop from the pit, landing on your clothes, your bare feet. Smoke blows into you, burning your eyes and singeing your throat. But, I keep going back, keep returning to this ancient practice. There's a pull, a gravity, not only to the flame but to the practice and its aftermath. My clothes and hair will smell of smoke, I tend to have vivid dreams and my internal organs seems to hum with a bit more vitality post puja.

Over time, I've let go of my insecurities on doing it right. I accept my showing up as right enough. I allow my faults and embrace the grace in the ritual. The burning away, the offering, the presence felt around the flames as I sing to the divine. Each time I leave feeling blessed, a washing of my soul, a dusting off of my heaviness, and, perhaps, a little closer to God and Goddess.

There's always a lot going on in our lives, in the world around us and there's always an excuse to ignore the call to sit and be still. My kids just returned back to school after spring break, the clouds loom close to the dark, indigo ocean and my heart feels a bit weary and woe-y. All I want to do is curl up and watch a sad movie and make some tears fall, to release the back-to-school mope bloat. Instead, I'm going to find my cushion, light a candle, focus my breath and sit into my own stillness (first!).

May you find your pause & fire, too.

With light and love,

St. Sunshine