I’ve hidden my fire.
I want you to know that hiding your fire is totally different from not having a fire.
You can immediately sense the difference in those who have their fire and those who have lost it. You can see slow trails of discharged flickerings from an extinguished flame, clouding up their eyes as if the smoke is in mourning from their lost fire.
You’ve seen them; those lifeless smoky eyes on people milling about, moving like zombies among the living. You try your hardest not to touch them, afraid those smoky lost eyes might be contagious.
I remember in my younger days, when my fire was strong. I led with my fire out front for the world to see, and I freely gave of it and allowed others to freely take of it. My fire was in abundance. I was in abundance, but things are totally different now.
Over the years I’ve built a beautiful labyrinth to hide my fire. It’s an assessment, a test of willpower and endurance to be near it. I need to know those who seek my fire are worthy of its presence.
I don’t feel ashamed nor do I feel guilty for hiding it from the unworthy. I have no regret in having shared and maybe even wasted my fire in my youth. In that moment in time, that was me, like in this moment, this is me.
Now I have a picturesque complicated labyrinth, which stretches from as far as the eyes can see to just beneath the horizon. There my labyrinth stands as a testament to time and years I’ve spent. And if you watch closely, not so much with your naked eye, but with a knowing eye, you will see my flame burning high and rich with color for those who wish to see it from a far.
But if you really want to be near it, try my test and enter at your own risk.