Through the Glass - March 1 2025

 

Through the Glass

March 1 2025

I watch the dance of flames,

not a sedate waltz

or formal cotillion,

but St. Vitus’ dance

  —  wild, spastic, convulsive.

It would be impolite to gawk

at the ill-fated man

the fever has taken,

the Angel of Death

hovering expectantly;

yet I can’t tear my eyes

from this raging fire.

Can only watch

as my humble stove

stoked to white hot

  —  a cast iron box

in basic black

sitting squatly in the corner  —

is transformed

into something more fantastic than mundane,

more metaphysical

than earthbound.

Can only watch

as the logs, consumed in flame

become a hellscape

that both attracts and repels;

its bewitching beauty

and ungodly heat.

That an exothermic reaction

oxidizing wood

to CO2 and fire

could have such power over me

defies rationality;

chemistry as simple

as a science fair volcano

made with household ingredients.

A bit of froth

and it's over.

But it took a Titan to bring fire

not a school boy;

Prometheus

who stole from the gods

and bestowed on man

the secret of fire  —

  —  accomplices, willing or not

in its cleansing power

and destructive force.

A gift

not of fire itself

but of how to contain it

and make it serve.

A gift

that’s best not explained

lest the magic be drained

the flame sputter out.

Better to have faith

than submit

to the cold rigour of fact.

To look through the glass

and be hypnotized

by the soporific heat

and frantic play of flame.

To look through the glass

with rapt fascination

as fire rages,

losing track of time

and indifferent to place.

To look through the glass

and see the hell that awaits

the weak-willed believer.

And who among us

is free of sin?

If not the Biblical hell

of brimstone and fire,

then the hell on earth

we make for ourselves.