Coming Together Around The Central Fire

A few weeks ago a fire circle took place, attended in every sense of the word by families in my community, and by myself. Led by a dear friend and mentor to a number of us, the purpose of the circle was to share a night of storytelling and singing,

Each family was given responsibilities, such as to supply wood for the fire, cedar fronds for thanksgiving offerings, or to bring a homemade pie. A couple of the children collected kindling for starting the fire, and those who had them brought their fire kits so that we could build our fire from scratch -- using the friction of their bow drills to spark coals. From the moment of our arrival, I saw how each person was focused on the purpose of the gathering and on that central fire -- from preparing the space for the fire, to providing for each others' comfort with food and blankets and places to sit. And I noticed how that sense of intention and purpose affected everyone -- whether they had a direct role to play just then or not. Older children helped younger children (even siblings who usually squabbled with one another were amazingly patient and kind with each other!).

I had expected the kids to be wound up with excitement, but not so -- a peacefulness, and companionship settled on everyone. Yes, there was excitement, but it was a quiet excitement that wove us together -- parent to child, sibling to sibling, friend to friend. And the rest of the evening unfolded as magically as it began, with each person -- from oldest to youngest -- contributing a colorful fiber to the lively and lovely basket of gathering and shared experience that we wove collectively that evening.

Humans have long gathered around fire. Since early times we have shared food, warmth, story, song, and community around a carefully tended flame. And in fact, the central fire has much to teach us about caretaking and intention. In Wilderness Awareness School, and in making fires in my home for cooking or warmth, I've witnessed again and again how a fire depends upon mindfulness and intention in order to catch -- not just the mindfulness of the firekeeper, but that of others in the space as well. At our fire circle, we sang fire honoring songs and focused our good wishes on the making of the fire as one firekeeper worked the bowdrill, and as another firekeeper (a child) gently blew a coal to life and carefully placed the coal into its bed of kindling. The success or failure of this step is proven again and again to depend on how the intention is held by the community, on how it is witnessed and supported.

From there the fire blazes, new and hot (driving some of us back by its brashness!), but eventually settling into a comfortable glow, one that is easy to care for and one which will provide heat and light for some time. That's when you can move to the other work of the evening: sharing thanksgiving and food, story and song. The fire holds it all together, providing for our basic needs (warmth, light, cooking) while also being beautiful to watch and to enjoy in communion.

Central fires have provided focal points for tribal gatherings, in the home around the hearth, and in villages, from past to present. With the name of our learning community being what it is -- the Village -- I can't help but muse about our own central fire, where it might exist both physically and metaphorically, and how we might more consciously tend it in our gatherings.

Physically, we do right now have a central fire. A lovely stone fireplace rests in the "living room" of the Village's current home. Villagers have created a lovely space of candles and fir cones and other natural objects in the hearth. Whenever you visit the Village, we invite you to tend this central fire by lighting a candle (or pausing to enjoy it if it is already lit) and being still for a moment. You might express a wish you have regarding your time here, or you might say something you are thankful for. We encourage you to take a moment to mentally connect with anyone who might already be in the Village, and also with whomever might join later. You might wonder what new or fun thing you might experience with them. You might make a wish or intention that the time be safe and bountiful.

In a very real way our central fire/candle can represent the magic and adventure we hope to create together when are here. It's a way that we can "bring our minds together as one" (as they say at Wilderness Awareness School) while we are in this space, and also consciously and gently separate our minds when it is time to go.

While the flame is lit, you or a responsible someone else needs to take on the role of firekeeper -- someone who is aware of what is happening with the fire. He or she would make sure no young child comes to play with it, for instance. When you leave the room, or if you no longer wish to focus so much on holding a ring of safety around the fire, blow out the candle but imagine the flame continuing to burn brightly.

At the end of your time at the Village consider how you and your children might caretake the space or leave it even better than when you found it. Could you straighten some books? Put away art supplies or toys? Sweep the floor? Do some dishes? Then return to the Central Fire, to blow out the candle, or imagine blowing it out. You might offer a good bye to the Village, or share a story or thought about something you enjoyed during your time, or give thanks.

My experience with the fire circle also got me thinking about how real work and real contributions that everyone is involved in or makes supports and strengthens focused intention and perhaps weaves an intergenerational or multiage gathering together like nothing else. In my next article, I'll explore this idea a little more, or at least throw out some questions to ponder, as we consider how we might consciously tend the central fire of the Village Learning Community.