There is a device we use on the farm called a flame weeder. It is a pushcart looking thing with a propane tank strapped to it that shoots out five streams of flame. It is the exact width and height necessary to roll it over a 30-inch raised beds, so we use it for weed control when there are no crops sprouted in the bed yet to keep the weed pressure from getting out of control.
Contrary to what might be an initial expectation, the weeds don’t get scorched to ash, and there really shouldn’t be any open burning vegetation after you pass. Instead, what I watch for is wilting. When the heat hits the plants, it causes them to immediately wilt, then they will most likely will wither and die over the next 24 hours. Sometimes they recover, but mostly withering is a good sign that the plant has been terminated.
There are several lessons here that I want to consider. First off, am I the weed or am I the flame in this analogy? Am I wilting away from the heat of the will of others, or am I radiating energy so intense that those around me are getting scorched? There’s really arguments for both.
In the past, I would have said that I identified most with the flame because I lived my life aggressively. I lived with exuberance fed by hubris, which I think turned me into a walking flame burning up most things that got close to me. I’ve burned relationships, situations, opportunities, and on and on. I’ve created a lot of ash in my life.
So does that mean that now I identify more with the weed that has been wilted and must find a will to survive? No, that is not it either. I think today, I identify with exactly who I am in this picture: the one steering the flame.
Fire is a tool with immense power. It can ravage, but it can also heal. I don’t indiscriminately keep my burner turned all the way up and recklessly wave it around anymore. I meter it. I control it with intention. I direct it toward the things that are out of place and unwanted. And when it is not needed, I turn it off.
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