(c) Ajanta Judd Photo
There is a bushfire in my heart.
A sudden eruption. Spewing forth heat.
It is a force to be reckoned with. A raging, burning inferno.
A smoke driven whirlwind on a sudden rampage.
Billowing pyrocumulus of black, orange and deep crimson obscure my vision.
Copious amounts of tears will not put the fire out.
I am sucked dry of oxygen by the heaviness of grief. I choke and sob.
There is a groan and crack like the sound of lightning striking a dried dead gum tree.
Confusion, smokescreens. Pain and mayhem.
I must not let it get out of control. Containment is essential.
Bring in the reinforcements! The willing volunteers! The brave!
Assemblages of well-honed resources attend to quell the flames.
Assuaging the devastation, the tightness, the scorching.
Is it the result of natural phenomena? Or was it deliberately lit?
Am I the arsonist? Or, was it another?
Was it waiting in the shadows for the right opportunity to ignite?
A spot fire perhaps? Embers, long smouldering? Sneaking down the gully?
Nonetheless, it is here, gutting me.
It renders me into another version of myself.
I guess that’s how it goes. We’re all vulnerable to something or other.
At any given time, crumbling, our existence shattered.
Amusing in a strange kind of way, that I would respond like this.
After all this gaining of wisdom.
Oh, for the greater purpose! And what do I need to learn?
A soul sometimes too weary for more lessons.
And how the mind goes into all the potentialities of the future.
What about me? Where is consideration? Put your matches away!
What is now? What is now is that... I feel this! This is what I feel right now!
Be here now! Be in the centre of the inferno!
I can conjure up any scenario, which takes my fancy, to exacerbate the pain.
To imagine my future. To pre-empt the consequences.
To produce more tears. To prolong the agony and fan the fire.
Maybe not enough precautions were taken.
My boundaries weren’t cleared.
Too much undergrowth, a plethora of dry rot.
Another lesson in the art of live and let live.
Lower the expectations and guard my perimeter.
Clean my gutters on a regular basis and be less combustible.
A cyclic story, the nature of a heartfelt bushfire. A natural law.
Better to let it burn sometimes. Better to let it burn than fight it.
Let it have its merry way until it burns itself out. Like anger.
Nature’s way. To clear the way for regrowth, for new shoots, new horizons.
As per the laws of physics, conditions will change.
The fire will abate of its own accord. Impermanence will reign supreme.
And so to be with, be with, be with. Until then.
Until it is safe to return home to the soul’s healing centre.
Where the heart persists regardless. Resilient and tenacious. Persistent.
With nothing to be uttered but an unspoken acknowledgment.
A self-soothing. A cooling resonance. A comforting embrace.
Oh, to suck in a deep breath of fresh clean air.
The welcome relief of restoration.
© Ajanta Judd 2015