The Fire in Which We Burn

February 9th, 2012

Fire. Fire and trees and running water. I’ve had a headache for almost three weeks now. I’m at the point where I just want to slam my head against solid objects to release the tension. It doesn’t work, of course, just makes the headache worse. Don’t misread, I’m not going around doing it. Though I seem to remember doing so my freshman year of college with my physics and math books. Hoping for osmosis by force, I think. I only hit that point once, a couple days ago, and he pulled me through.

I don’t release stress very well. I carry it. In my shoulders and in my forehead. He asked me the other day, how I was doing. I told him I was waiting. The problems can’t be solved Right Now. They will take time. So, I am waiting. And I’m letting the stress stay and affect me. That can’t be good.

Which brings me back to the fire. I want a fire, a big old campfire. To pour all this negative energy into and let it burn away. I miss getting lit on fire. Used to do that at the old club. Whenever I was stressed, I could get lit on fire. Made me feel better. Nothing is quite as important when you’re on fire. Folk do fire cupping now. It’s alright, good sensation, but that’s not what I want. I want alcohol on my skin and a cotton wand lighting me up. Fear and adrenaline and heat.

Feed the stress into the fire, let it go. I need release. I need it ripped out of me and thrown away. I’m not good at letting go.

Logically, I should. I can only control myself and my reactions. If I’m not in control of those things, than what good am I? But my reaction is wait and see. My reaction is to simmer. It’s my marriage, I can’t just let it go. I need to know why. I need to know how. I need to know it will never happen again. I need to know that I’m safe. I need to know trust. I need to understand.

Can I really let go of the stress with these needs unmet? It doesn’t feel that simple. And yet, I want fire. I want to let it go, I want a focus to feed it all into. I want to empty myself of the stress and the tension and the pain. I keep having small explosions – frustration and anger that turns into tears. A small valve that gives some relief.

It doesn’t have to be fire, but that’s where I always go, mentally. Not fire play, but a real burning fire. I spent many nights as a child, staring into fires. Burning papers with my worries written on them. I have a picture from just after I got married, burning my old angsty journals, of the flames forming a rising phoenix. At least to my eye.

I wonder how big a clothespin zipper it would take to rip the stress away? I wonder how long a flogging, to beat the tension free? I wonder how intense a caning? How much electricity? How much rope? How hot a fire do I need? Or do I just need a candle, burning in the darkness?

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