The crackling and occasional pops of wood slowly relenting to the heat of the flame have a powerful magnetism. The dancing flames seek to elicit my deepest secrets, the ones that leave me vulnerable, ready to be wounded. In the dark we are drawn to the flame, the moth simile is all too apt.
And as I’m drawn in, so too are the bodies sitting beside me.
Warming hands and feet we divulge our fears, we tell our ghost stories and laugh at the strange natures of ourselves that are now open for all to see.
Surely this tradition was the same all through time. From the beginning, there must have been a fascination with the glow, the heat. Then came the stories.
So now how do we keep that campfire vulnerability? How do we relate to each other as humans, not simply bodies wholly unconnected and irrelevant?
Maybe we need more campfires, or something new to make us see ourselves as human again. A way of reconnecting and staying together, even when we are apart.
Photo by Blaise E. Chatelain