And what I have learned is that the fire is necessary. The flames, the heat, the burning away of things that no longer serve; it is the fire that encourages life. It is the collection of debris and undergrowth that stems from negligence and the allowing of too much time to pass which creates destruction—an unbalance—when the fire comes at last.

And what I have learned is that when the fire touches my own skin, the flesh bubbles and chars. It is evident that too much is perilous, but the lone burn blisters and scabs over, the dead skin eventually flaking away to reveal something shiny, pink, and new.

And what I have learned is that when the fire touches my own soul the world glows an orange that shrieks, sight painted red from the inside out. Too much, I already know—I already know—threatens to swallow me whole. But the searing licks of fury that alight the outer rings of my many lives, ashen and crumble them to dust. The sheathing cleared to expose memory: a center, a core, a heart.