When I carried the weight, another opponent appeared. Heat, no longer the pressure pushing me down, but fire trying to break out.
The first steps taught me to be silent and endure. But carrying isn’t enough. Fire is a different trial. Weight crushes you, fire forces you to explode. One bends you, the other burns you. Yet you need both. Without heat, there is no shape. The fourth step is the art of holding the flame without disappearing in it.
Musashi: “There is more than one path to the top of the mountain.”
Lao-tzu whispers that water wins by yielding.
The Coiled Serpent warns: “When conquered, the serpent becomes a means of life.”
All say the same. Fire must be led. Without a path, it destroys. With a path, it reshapes you into what you could not imagine.
I learned this the hard way. Years in factories where faster work meant the same pay but more effort. Days in Holland walking twenty-five kilometers as order-picker with emptiness in my chest. Hours lost in games that drained time and attention. Everywhere I heard the voice: This is a waste of life. Sometimes a whisper, sometimes a blade. That was my fire, trapped and rotting.
Now it is different. After eight hours under the welding helmet I feel relief when I come home. My partner is already there the kids too. Homework awaits, then we have time for creating, play NHL, or watch series, traveling, spending time at our cabin in nature. I love these moments, because they are ours.
Sometimes, though, fire rises inside. Not because I don’t want to be home, but because I long for silence. To sit, let thoughts flow, and release something from within. When it can’t happen right away, the fire presses like restlessness.
I used to let it burst or swallow it whole. Now I close the door and write. Sometimes just a question, sometimes a sentence that burns. Once it’s out, the flame turns into fuel. Into calm. Then I return grateful that my family is near.
Writing is my sword. Not an axe for heads, but a tool that cuts excess from my mind. When fire stays inside, it destroys. On the page, it creates. Creation is not a hobby. It is necessity.
But fire has its dark side. I fear it may consume me. Drive me too fast. Burn the relationship I have built for barely a year and a half. That I could burn and take with me what is most precious my family.
And still, fire holds me up. I know words aren’t for everyone. They are for those who are meant to find them. And they will. That gives me strength. I don’t push, don’t hide. I just create. And I trust the right ones will see the flame meant to guide them.
The hardest is nervousness. Raw fire in my hands and mouth. It pushes me to react before I think. Sometimes I win. Three deep breaths and the flame retreats. Sometimes I lose. But even that is a lesson. Name your fire, admit it, and lead it again.
Musashi wrote: “The true Way is not in one thing, but in everything.”
Now I understand. Welder, photographer, programmer, reader of philosophy all belong on one path. Every piece of life is a chance to lead the flame. And when I meet someone who feels small, I tell him hey! We are the same. Everyone has their fire. Everyone can lift it.
Fire is not the enemy. It is power. It will burn you. Or forge you.
Some steps can be walked alone. But there comes a time when the fire is too fierce and the weight too heavy. A man who finds brothers finds a forge, where trials turn into strength. If you feel this path is not just words but a calling, then you already know where to look. A brotherhood that keeps silence, yet burns with fire, is waiting.
Task for this week
You must feel fire on your own skin. Only then will you understand it.
Journal: Each day, write down one moment when you felt your inner fire. Nervousness, anger, stubbornness. Describe what happened, how you reacted, and whether fire burned you or strengthened you.
Practical test: When the next impulse comes, stop. Take three deep breaths. Cold water in shower on your legs or even further if you dare. Anything that brings you back into the body. Then decide what to do with the fire. Don’t suppress it. Transform it.
Ritual of fire: Choose one weakness. Write it on paper and burn it. Watch it vanish. Remember that fire can destroy, but also purify.
Reflection questions for the journal
What is your fire? When was the last time you felt nervousness, anger, stubbornness, or restlessness rise inside?
What do you do with it? Do you swallow it, let it burst, or lead it?
What is your sword? What helps you turn fire into creation writing, sport, music, working with your hands?
When did fire burn you and when did it forge you? Recall one recent moment when it destroyed, and another when it shaped you stronger.
Who is your anchor? Who keeps you grounded when fire rises family, a friend, a brotherhood, presence itself? How do you return to them?
This really hit me. I’ve always felt that same tension between fire that destroys and fire that creates. I know what it’s like to swallow it down until it eats at me, and I know the relief of letting it out on the page. Writing feels like the only place I can carry my fire without it burning me.