Out of the Ashes: The Truth About Fire
Year Delivered or Published: 2006
Author: Neal Jettpace
Author's Faith: Unitarian Universalist
Date Submitted to Inspiration and Issues: March 9, 2007
Topic: Spirituality
Out of the Ashes: The Truth about Fire
One brightly sunny Saturday morning in March of 1995, I found myself volunteering to work a fire line at a prairie burn in north central Indiana. The Indiana chapter of the Nature Conservancy had located a natural Midwestern prairie about 45 miles Northeast of Lafayette, held in private hands and relatively untouched by humanity. Such discoveries are quite rare, and the Nature Conservancy was working with the elderly owners to transfer the prairie to the Department of Natural Resources as part of their estate. As part of that, the DNR had assigned a team of professional controlled burn experts to conduct such a burn this particular morning. I and my fellow volunteers were to rake clean an 8 foot fire line that had been bush-hogged to contain the fire. As well, we were to spray water on any stray embers that made it out of the area during the burn itself. In reality, our function was more to watch and appreciate than to actually lend needed assistance.
Years ago, forest and prairie fires were held to be catastrophes; something to be eliminated as much as possible. Out west, where the majority of such fires occurred, fire watch stations were set up, manned by volunteers like myself or college students working for the Government as part of summer employment. When any rising smoke was seen, the location was radioed in to the professional fire fighters, who then attempted to put out or at least control as much as possible any fire associated with the sighting. Eventually though, foresters and environmentalists made a quite unexpected discovery: forest and prairie fires are naturally occurring events that are beneficial, even necessary, for the health of the environment. The burn I was attending that bright March morning was being held in exactly that spirit; a natural and necessary event that had been prevented for far too long.
We started early with the DNR professionals teaching us about the history of Midwestern prairies. How the land was laid flat by the receding glaciers, leaving only boulders to mark any unique geography. How before Europeans settled, it was vast, covering most of what we know today as Indiana and the rest of the Midwest. How as part of that settlement, boulders and trees were removed and the land cultivated for corn, soybean and other grains. They explained that coming across an untouched prairie such as this one, small as it was, amounted to a find both rare and precious. A state of nature almost vanished from Indiana today. As I raked the fire line prior to the burn itself, I found myself gazing at the prairie in some wonder and curiosity. It seemed impenetrable to both the body and the eye. A morass of thickets, thorns and weeds, chest high, with the occasional Hawthorn Tree holding its head above the briars. Whatever fertile ground was underneath, nourishing this wild and feral growth was hidden to the eye. Such was the density of what lay before me.
A moment later, the DNR official in charge gave the go ahead for the burn. Two men, each with a drip torch, set out around the edge of the prairie, lighting fires as they went. In this fashion, the fire was to burn from the edges to the middle, extinguishing itself as it ran out of fuel. I was wholly unprepared for both the quickness and ferocity of the flames. In seconds they seemed grow from small embers to raging infernos, consuming more and more of the dry thorns, thickets and weeds. Though we each had on fire retardant suits, we almost immediately had to retreat to a cleared pasture next to the prairie, unable to withstand the intensity of the heat.
And then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over. I was astonished at the image before me. What once was an impenetrable wall of thorns had been transformed to clear bare soil, weeds and briars into smoke and embers. Minutes later, the DNR officials told us that the ground temperature was cool enough to walk on in our boots. The fire revealed 2 large and 1 small boulders as well as several smaller thorn trees, all unbeknownst to us before as they were hidden amidst the weeds. It revealed living things also, as we spied several slightly singed rabbits stick their heads up to take stock of the situation now that the coast was clear. In a moment, decades of overgrowth and chaos had been removed, revealing the permanence of the nourishing soil, the stability of the granite boulders, and the nobility of the standing trees.
As many of you know, this last August my mental health took a turn for the worse. The Zyprexa I had been taking for 9 years stopped working, and elements of my past which I had been running from most of my life caught up with me. This combination proved enough to land me in the hospital for about a week, followed by 6 weeks of disability leave from work. I took that time to examine my life, taking stock of my job, my home life and how I felt about myself and my accomplishments. I didn’t feel good about any of this, especially my work. I had been trained to do mathematical and statistical research, but for the last 11 years had been a computer programmer. This pays well, but is also a daily reminder that my years of hard work and self discipline are going largely unrewarded. None of my co-workers put in nearly the educational effort I did, yet many are paid more. I felt cheated, ripped off that I could not capitalize on 5 ½ years of doctoral work in mathematics due to my schizophrenia.
One morning I could contain my anger and resentment no longer. I was furious that I had to work a well paying job, with little social recognition or authority, so that Lynn could work a lesser paying job in which she is a recognized authority at least among those she teaches. So I picked a fight. Years ago, the mental health community held that fighting between spouses was detrimental to the relationship. It was much better to simply suppress ones feelings for sake of peace and harmony, even if one had to live a life of dishonesty and resentment. We eventually realized however, that much like forest fires, fights are a natural and necessary element of any relationship. Rather than a symptom of disharmony, the existence of anger is a sign that the relationship matters, is something very important. And expressing that anger, in a controlled burn sort of way, is an act of trust: I’m willing to tell you how angry I am at you because I trust you won’t abandon me.
I started our fight by telling Lynn I needed a job in statistical research to help me feel good about myself. That it wasn’t fair that I had a job requiring relatively little formal training or recognized authority, while she had one which required a graduate degree and offered the role of classroom expert on an almost daily basis. Lynn responded by telling me the truth: that my schizophrenia prevented me from taking those types of jobs. That I simply hadn’t the mental or emotional strength to be successful. “That’s easy for you to say; you have a job that makes you feel good about yourself.” I said. “And you get to have it because I’m working my job that does nothing for me.” I continued. “Neal, I don’t do my job because it makes me feel good about myself. I feel good about myself without it. And it’s the truth; you can’t handle mathematical or statistical work. It makes you unstable.” That was it. “I don’t have squat and I never had squat!! I worked so hard to achieve something and haven’t amounted to anything. You have no idea what that feels like!”
There. I’d said it. What I really felt. And just as quickly as my anger exploded, it was over. All I could do was just sit. Sit and think about the painful facts of my professional life and the unfair, unyielding limitations schizophrenia put me under. A few minutes later I quietly said “You’re right. I can’t do statistical work.” The fire of that anger had burned away the illusions that I had let grow unchecked for the last 11 years: that I could still have a career in mathematical or statistical research. But like the prairie fire, it revealed other truths as well. The truth that I did have something: the nourishing soil of a family that loves and values me for who I am. The truth that I have achieved something: the stability that a good income and reliable job provide. The noble truth of living a life that recognizes and respects my limitations, no matter how unfair, while still realizing that I am a person of just as much worth and dignity as Newton himself.
The truth is fire burns. And the ferocity of that inferno often scares us. But not all is consumed, for fire reveals as well. As it burns away the weeds, thorns and thickets of our lives, falsehoods and illusions we have let grow wild, unchecked, our emotional landscape is transformed. Out of the ashes come deeper, more permanent truths, revealed to our vision now cleared. Truths that rather than consume, fire tempers and strengthens. Truths that set us free.
