A months-long investigation and communication with fire
What Does the Fire Want?
Are we finally ready to ask the plasma the right questions?
The following was written by Shibboleth regular contributor EX-El.
Fire spoke to me the weekend of November 2020, although “spoke” is a misnomer. Before you imagine this to mean I heard words either verifiably audible or even psychically rendered, know that I only recognized what was happening as speech weeks later.
Like other investigations, this one began as nothing more than impulse. I’d traveled to the woods not necessarily to live deliberately but to at least do drugs in peace.
No mouth materialised in the flames. My own thoughts traveled alone across the hills of my brain. Something unlike sound and thought, something unrecognizable inside my awareness alerted me it had always been in me as it simultaneously felt the fire communicating.
Conspiracies have become cliché and cute. Questioning our reality has always been accepted here, as far back as this publication’s paper days. Earth is approaching almost 25 years of “funspiracies,” as some Shibboleth contributors call them. This isn’t that.
Truth is dangerous. Always. There are close friends who disagree with me here, but truth is latently energetic, a weapon waiting for a hand. Not many Shibboleth contributors believe the truth belongs to darkness and is best lit by a single light.
I believe truth wants to remain hidden. We wound the world when we reveal truths and my investigations into why are ongoing.
Ironic, however, we can’t stop ourselves seeking truth in every imaginable manner. It is comforting, however, to know new routes for attaining truth present themselves more often than we assume they will.
The fire spoke to me every weekend for seven months. I have no way of telling you what it said because, as of yet, I don’t fully understand. If I’m the only person to whom its spoken, translation could take decades.
Or it’s impossible.
A sense of completion passed through me last month, though. Messages from the flames arrived slower.
I needed to respond. There was only one way I could imagine.
My flesh melted, burnt and sizzled. It did hurt, it was anguish above all other pain I have felt. My blisters and crackling veins helped me to comprehend I had finally answered a question, one the flames had been asking since that first November night.
I’m now investigating how to ask the flames what they want. I have an idea how to start. I’ll need to give them more. They have to know more of me.
That’s the simplest way to explain their communication. You have to join the flames. So I plan on going back.
