Burn

It was a cool, clear night. The clouds were few, the wind was low, and, for the briefest of moments, all was still. The horses were off shuffling about in their paddocks, grass firmly in mouth. The flies that so readily afflict every living thing were quiet, having removed themselves to wherever they go. All that was left was the gentle hiss of wet wood and the delicate brush of fire painted against the night.

We don't get moments like we used to; those in-between periods of time from the phone ringing or the mail being delivered. The "don't come home until the streetlights come on" mentality of yesteryear finds itself at odds with the little, handheld boxes of light, information, and society we concern ourselves with.

Our contemplation is rarely about the larger movements of life and society; rather, we tie ourselves to the next breath, the next indictment, the next agitation of change. We live very much in the next five minutes and very rarely with an eye to the future.

As Emma and I sat in our plastic lawn chairs around the fire last night, having spent most of the afternoon burning ragwort and the spare chips of wood lying on our driveway, it struck me that we have lost so much for all of our ostensible progress, technological and otherwise. For every minute of contemplation we're granted, the world feels like it's on fast-forward, a new indictment or social ill being uncovered and brought into the strobing light of social media.?Everything, everywhere, all at once.

It's a pacing problem, to be fair. It's "running just to stand still" or any number of bardic songs that you can think of. We have our social media apps, Bluesky, X/Twitter, Threads, Instagram, Facebook, et al. and we run between them, hoping for that next perspective, that next critique, that next story that...reiterates the same thing we've heard over and over. We revel in the success porn found on LinkedIn, marvel at the "the 6 things you should know about ChatGPT," and wonder why Trump hasn't gone to jail yet.?Everything, everywhere, all at once.

It's our metanarrative, our Gogglebox-about-Gogglebox (if you know, you know). It's laughing about how disgusting society is for exhibiting characteristics that we, in turn, espouse privately. It's a one-upsmanship, a steeplechase to the next social ill that we can find ourselves better than. Ah, dear souls, it's a race to an undignified end and we are all,?each and every one, complicit in it.

Sitting by the fire, I was struck by our complacency, our incessant need to be fed by the next story, the next dopamine hit of social movement, the next punchline. It's all feeding a fire of discontent in our souls, a building inferno that will spill over, one day, into the world we've let slip through our fingers in watching, waiting.?We're seeing this played out in our fascism and nativism and we're wondering why?

Here's my challenge to you:?start a fire. Feed it, tend to it, and let that process be a step of contemplation. Look into the flames, see how the coals reflect back heat, how the fuel you provide it sizzles and crackles. Sit and talk, to others or even yourself if you must; leave your devices behind. Look at the stars above and marvel at the infinite universe that you exist in. Plot a course for your next big adventure, have meaningful or meaningless conversation. Fart, laugh, burp, guffaw...do the things that are human because, my dearest souls, we lose so much of us in the chase.

Burn slow, beloved, burn bright.

May it ever be so.

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