STORYTIME TAPESTRY

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Special Treat ??“ Steve Johnston

Dec 13, 2005

? Spirit of Fire

Steve Johnston

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I sat by the fire, staring into the flickering flames. It was a good fire, burning long and hot.

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"Don't look into the eyes," the old man growled from behind me.

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I jumped back, almost falling over the stump on which I was sitting. He had snuck up on me again. I hated when he did that.

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"What eyes, Pino?" I asked.

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"Fire, like all elements, has a spirit. A central spirit that inhabits it. Gives it form and takes it back. That spirit is Cintua, the great light. It is taught that he who looks into the fire and sees His eyes will be called into the fire to dance for him."

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"Dance?" I asked, eyes opened wide and diverted from the fire. "Then what would happen? Would you die?"

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I was trembling as a bead of sweat began to form along my forehead. I had never heard this story, but I had learned never to doubt the teachings of the elders.

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"Death is but a path to another place. Cintua has his place, just as all the great spirits do. Sometimes, it is not his eyes, but the eyes of the others whom he has called to the dance, that might greet you.?  Some are good, some are evil. That is what gives the flames their colors."

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The old man stared straight into the heart of the fire. I could not understand why he was not unafraid.

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I was nervous, but forced the question, "But what of heat and light? I was taught that the color of a flame is determined by the temperature and the type of object that is burning. My teacher.."

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He interrupted my words by throwing a powder into the fire. The flames flared up and changed to bluish, then a reddish color. All heat seemed to be gone.

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I sat there amazed. My eyes were focused on his as I gazed through the fire. The light seemed to dance in his eyes. Or was it already there?

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"Every object has its own spirit." He said forcefully. "Every tree, every branch, every grain of sand or salt. When you are given flame, Cintua is calling home that spirit to dance, as you see the flames dance in the fire. As the fire burns, a window is opened into Cintua's great hall. And the light that you see and the colors that you see represent the light that each spirit carried within them."

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The old man walked around, sitting on the large rock beside me. He put his hand upon my shoulder and squeezed hard.

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"Every fire has it own spirits. Some are dark, leaving a great smoke and a bitter smell. Some burn clean and leave a sweetness tot he air. These are the spirits of the fire and the spirits of the world around. Every fire has its own story, and can tell the story of the land upon which it is burning."

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"But how can you see that story without looking into the fire, Pino?" I asked. I was afraid, but I could not let my fear show, not in front of Pino. He was my tio. I could not show him fear.

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"You cannot. The fire tells the story. The fire is the window, but windows open both ways. Just as you can see into the fire, spirits can see out."? 

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His grip upon my shoulder remained firm. I refused to tremble beneath him, but the lumps on my skin stood defiantly. The fire still gave off no heat.

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"So can the spirits reach outside of the fire?" I asked, hesitantly.

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"Nino, how is it that you are so sure that you are outside of the fire?"

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I sat quietly. I could not answer. He released his grip upon my shoulder and walked off back into the darkness. I did not sleep that night.

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Steve Johnston

stevenmjohnston@yahoo.com

Steve Johnston has been a professional writer for more than 10 years. His works includes articles for the former Music.com, ghost articles for a number of companies and technology magazines, poetry and prose. A graduate of The College of New Jersey (formerly Trenton State College) He lives in Levittown, Pennsylvania with his wife and dog. For more information and additional pieces visit Steve??™s blog at http://sparksofinspiration.blogspot.com/