oh fire,
teach me something about change
there was a time
when we allowed the earth to rest
truly rest
when after the season of planting came to an end, we would burn the land. we would invite the energy to flow subterranean. we allowed fire to bring forth change to the landscape. instead of focusing on more and bigger and faster, we had seasons devoted to cutting back, halting, pausing. we took heed of the fallen leaves. composting ourselves into decay so that we are renewed come spring. fully replenished because our energy went underground. tending to our roots. casting spells within the hearth. retelling stories and sharing words amongst the fire. spilling our words into the spitting flames to call up all that happened in the past year to stir the pot of the dreams we will hold for the seasons to come. our hands weaving and stirring and kneading. the focus shifting from skin to bone. finding deep warmth amongst food and drink and fire and each other.
There are communities that still practice seasonal burns, though the consequence of these burns is now more complex in our man-made climate crisis of ever increasing CO2 circulating the atmosphere, embedding in the soil, and warming the ocean.
This article talks about the “domestication of fire”, and how for millennia humans have worked with fire for various purposes: ritual, cooking, pottery/tool making, tending the land, keeping our blood warm. The industrial age brought forth a shift in our relationship with fire. Our fires went from slow and controlled and intentional to bigger and faster and hotter in order to make more products, create more fuel, and clear more land for larger scale farming. The more we suppressed intentional seasonal fires to thin out vegetation and dried brush for a healthier ecosystem, the more we set up the land to have more devastating burns. A cascading of events - as more forests are burned, more CO2 is created leading to warmer temps making it harder for the ocean to sequester carbon - and with less trees photosynthesizing carbon, we get stuck in a loop that further exacerbates the cycle. We stopped allowing the earth to rest.
We live in an age where our species’ population has far exceeded what it used to be, which means we rely more heavily on fuel and materials to sustain our livelihoods. But what would it look like if we took the teachings of seasonal fires and brought its intention back to basics? If we allowed ourselves to listen to autumn’s song and burn off the remnants of the harvest now past. Answering the call to return to the land and really think about the health of our soils. To allow ourselves to be fallow. To surrender to rest instead of burning ourselves out into embers. What would that look like? How would that feel in our bodies? Now, most of us do not have jobs that slow down for the winter season, and we are still required to work even when our bodies are asking for a break. With the complexities of the current system (and not planning on quitting my job any time soon), I am contemplating somewhat simple ways that I can do a proper clearing to lighten the heaviness that I carry in order to bring forth proper rest. What are ways that help you turn your gaze inward to your innermost landscape to see what it is that your body truly needs in order to rest?
I keep thinking about this connection of the suppression of proper rest and clearing coinciding with our suppression of fire use for ritual and land stewarding, and how suppressing and ignoring often leads to a more devastating outcome. Where instead of intentionally calling in rest, often something happens where you are forced to rest. I have experienced this in a physical capacity when I would go through bouts of heavy activity which would often result in some sort of overuse injury. And I have found that it is much easier to rest when there is a physical overuse injury than it is when I feel mentally or emotionally overextended.
I myself have been feeling like my internal garden is full of overgrown tomato stalks, unfulfilled cucumbers, wilting leaves. My soil feels tired. My skin has been itching for change and to pursue projects that have been dreams for a long time, though what my bones need first is rest. Because in order for me to actually give my dreams the space they need to sustain, I need to clear the garden first. I think about what it would feel like to set fire to all that I am still holding onto, all that is preventing me from moving forward. All of the dead brush and wilting leaves and spent growth. With eyes closed, I envision letting go so that I can sink deep into earth to breathe new life into my soil and hibernate so that come spring I am fresh. So that come spring, the path is more clear for my readying steps. So that come spring, my inner landscape will be ready for new seeds.
This poem was written a few weeks, inspired (as always) by the elements and the lessons they share with me.
December 3rd, 2025 oh fire, teach me something about change that timeless way of alchemizing pain and turning it into beauty flames licking at wounds until all decay is consumed and what remains is nothing but the truth oh wind, teach me something about love not just about the soft tendrils of air silently shifting my hair but the bellowing blows that come to knock on the door of my flesh to find out who is home oh water, teach me something of surrender the way you sift through my fingers lift me up and sway with the strength of waves how the cliffside gives way to your tides and dissolves into sand oh earth, teach me something of letting go when fingertips grip tight may my grasp loosen so that dirt can fall from palms to cover the seeds as i give up control walls crumble shoulders drop to give what has been planted space to grow - katie shakira
all images from this post were shot on film
An invitation: Here are some practices and journal prompts for you to wander through ~
Is there a particular landscape where being in its presence feels like the world stands still for a moment? When you close your eyes and think of this landscape, is there a specific scenery, colorscape, weather pattern, scent that arrives in your periphery that feels most restorative? Is it the beach? On your porch? The sound of rain? The feel of wind? The immense green of forest? Is this landscape easily accessible to you? If so, can you dedicate time to sit with it (truly sit with it) and allow your self to be fully immersed in its presence? If it isn’t accessible, find time to sit with the envisioning of the landscape, allowing yourself to receive its medicine even from afar. If you feel called to, share in the comments which landscape characteristics came to you first. For me, it’s laying by the river with the sound of moving water and rustling leaves with a gentle breeze and a warm sun with nothing but my devotion to the river and the river’s devotion to its path.
What I’m reading: This article discusses the nuances of the complex relationship of fire in our current climate/ecosystem.
I just finished reading Goliath’s Curse by Luke Kemp ~ a thorough account on societal collapses throughout human history, analyzing what makes a society vulnerable to collapse, how the path of our species from our beginnings as hunter-gatherer Homo Erectus led to eventual settlements, predisposing colonies to form hierarchies and empires. Goliath’s Curse takes anthropological evidence to glimpse into what our futures could look like, highlighting the effects that various times of climate change had on our species and how we adapted through each one. Kemp also provides propositions on how we can prevent further devastation in the Anthropocene. I really enjoyed the depth and expanse that this book has, as Kemp touches on many aspects that impacts collapse: environmental, cultural, economic inequality, effects of war, hunter gatherer vs agricultural societies, migration, technology, and the importance of community. At 592 pages this book is no light reading, but it made a great audiobook to listen to while driving, cooking, knitting. I’ll leave you with a couple of quotes from the book that I loved that touches on the beauty and importance of human connection following a devastating event/collapse.
“The world crumbles away often revealing the best in us.”
“Where the fabric of our reality split open and revealed not chaos, but the possibility of a more intimate and meaningful community”.
What I’m listening to: At the end of the day, each one of us is Mother Nature’s bitch.
Community resources:
The beautiful land in the Santa Cruz mountains that I get to call my home is stewarded by the Amah Mutsun Land Tribe, which consists of the different tribal villages and communities who have called this land home for thousands of years. Find out more about the efforts they are making to restore the land here, and find out how you can donate to the tribal band or make recurring land tax payments if you also live on this land. Unsure of who the land stewards are where you live? You can find that out here and see if your traditional land stewards have similar efforts.
The Tribal Marine Stewards Network. From their website, they “provide support for programs dedicated to cultural practice, land and water stewardship, and education.” They have lots of great resources and information on their website, and have ways for people to support their mission for those who are called. They are doing amazing things!
sending love from where I reside as the cutting December air invites me into presence,
katie shakira
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