Water Fire

Water Fire

Every Saturday through August and September the city of Providence, Rhode Island has what they call Water Fire. To learn more about this event go to their website at www.waterfire.org . I’m writing here about water fire and what it has come to mean to me. I’ve taken family, friends, and even dates to see it, but rarely do I think they see what I do. Either they are annoyed with the crowd of people, think it’s a bit over played, or want to keep moving. Me? I like to find one of three spots and sit. Sit and watch the fire consume the wood. The warmth is comforting, the flames hypnotic. With the right person with you, you can feel as if you’re in a state of bliss, a state of love. It’s the ambiance, the smell, and the flickering light that is filled with passion.

I’ve been on many dates in my life, loved many people, and only been in love with one. Without the constant stoking of the fire pits, Water Fire would last for half an hour and then die out. The people that volunteer to keep the fire burning wear gloves to protect their hands, and act as a unit filling the pits as the boat floats past each bouquet of flames. The fire with passion licks around their fingers for the wood tasting the bark and splintered trees. The fire grows with each passing, and then eventually dies down. To watch this ritual motion through out the night, and when all the tourists have gone on home is to watch the continual renewal of passion.

I envy at times the logs to be consumed in such a manner by the flames, to know their purpose is to bring light and warmth even but for a moment. I envy the fire for its constant renewal of passion and life. In the passion there is a warm embrace, there is brilliance and a surge of energy that burns until there is no more wood to embrace.

Is love something a kin to the Water Fires? Is love nothing more than a feeding frenzy until one source or the other is consumed and gone, or is it more than passion, more than the embrace more than something that eventually fades into the embers and water.

There are those around me that would be logs of wood fed to the fire, and then there are those that I would be the wood, being consumed … burnt. I seek the passion that life has to give and long to find one that it would be more than just fire, more than just a moment. More like the water that is constantly in motion, warmed at times by the flames, and constantly in motion, constantly going to yet another place, more lasting than the fire, and easily reflecting the fire with an equal light of its own.