Fire

It is said, that prior to the birth of the universe there was only endless unity, silence, broken by a variation upon it, life, birth.

I can't help recalling the first time I saw the stars here. I was a child, maybe 9 or something, and in Sossusvlei, Namibia with my dad for the first time. The desert becomes freezing at night, a cold quiet expansiveness that reaches for infinity, twice as cold as the actual temperature. 

Infinity is broken by our friendly campfire. Fiery illumination dances off the surrounding boulders, breaking conventions of light and darkness stained by the passage of aeons. How long has it been since someone sat in this place and lit a fire? 

"Is that not what being human is? A humble fire in an infinite desert. A temporary existence, an exchange of one form of energy into another". A few minutes on it became clear Dad did not wish to continue philosophizing out loud. 

I don't understand him. 

He added another log, staring into the depths only some men see in the shifting heat, chewing slowly on something dark sticking partially out of his mouth.

I got up and walked behind a near group of rocks to urinate. Staring up as my eyes adjust, the expanse disappears in front of me. Some mountains rings the back of the vista in a dark purple outline, not distinct enough to hold to form when you focus on them. A faint touch of sea drifts in with a soft breeze. Above, the ceiling of the world casts its silvery white light into the valley. A million different lights in different positions and ways, radiantly more than a woman ever could.

The wind turned, gusted and brought a chill. I zipped up, turned to my tent, double checked the its sealed, undressed and got in bed.

Something wakes me. My neck is stiff from the awkward posture taken during my nap in the campfire chair. My body no longer recovers as easily. I stretch. The words come back to me.

I am 30 now.

Im not in the same place as that other time, but it does not matter, it is the same. I add wood, thinking of his words. He is long gone now, it is my turn to gaze into the embers late at night, to see what men see in its depths. To watch the sky for the merciful blessing of a falling star. To keep the fire alive. His fire is out, all that remains for him is the desert.

And I wonder about future generations lighting flames as I carry my ancestors within me.

Like all things come to an end, my camp and my self wrapped up in the morning and gone. The fire was out, the fuel spent, the remains buried. Us, coming and going, are to the desert in and out of existence like mosquitos. Go where we may, do what we will, to the desert it is of no consequence, it will not change. 

It is infinite silence, we are brief a variation.