Light the Fire

Please forgive any hindrance in updated posts. The atmosphere of life has internalized many moments of public expression, instead replacing candid blogging with the ever portable on-the-go journal entry or thought fragment.

Recently, the fourth of July lit ablaze the tranquil evening skies with brilliance as patriotism burst open the countryside. Families and friends reunited to enjoy communities of love, grilled to perfection, well rung in the annual clatter of horse shoes. A bashful sun retreats from the playful banter of homemade karaoke proclaiming "God Bless the USA", echoing the stoops into further celebration.
In the realm of Mr. Rogers, twas a "beautiful day in the neighborhood."

Upon the conclusion of a recent Cincinnati field trip, seated aboard the magic school bus sponsored by Rochester college and piloted by two characters whose wit of humor rival that of Mrs. Frizzle, a friend from the fine institute graciously offered a paper plate toward his kins Olympian feast. With food and friends in abundance, lawn chairs concreted securely just beyond the front door, and an impromptu adventure around the world in basketball safely posted behind the gated backyard, the cast nested cozily in the front freshly trimmed lawn now a deep shade of forest green due to a settling of shadow.

Impulsive explosions had skirted the day periodically yet nothing in comparison with what was yet to be unleashed. While still a little tyke, sudden noises would commonly cause me to startle. Twas fairly common to witness hand-made earplugs emerge from sheathing closed eyes in many monster movies when jumpy moments were to be expected. This was not to say the term 'fraidy cat' necessarily applied. For some 'men', the only kitty experienced while maturing is found in euchre, but here and then, I was yet a boy. Now, as fire scorched the twilight anew, recoiling was far from instinctive. Though expecting remains inequivalent with experience, the two salute one finite moment, the bang. Benched upon a slightly moist snow white summer seat, the saltless breeze brought waves of oceanic imaginings reflecting eons of tradition and vibrant culture. Anticipation accumulated in sparks whirling aimlessly away from the patch of earth from whence were sent. Frantic and fierce, spraying glimmers of twinkling gems into the translucent heavens. The captivating aroma of familiarity encouraged a whiff of fresh air, suddenly followed by a pinch from a long lost mosquito destined for a sliver of euphoria or at least to share a uniform bloodline with this less flightful host.
The dazzling array of Roman candles could barely hold torch to the brilliance displayed by a once barren culdesac now emanating the glow of innocence. Bottle rockets popped as planned, screeching praise enough to unsettle the black cats into frenzy. Snappers danced between the crowds, gawking mystically but for a second before withering to littered shavings of time.
Such rousing began to ignite a wick much less than safe within my playful perspective.

To what purpose is such an event with no strength in memory other than radioed coos of the star spangled banner or the dawns ensuing release from such shadowed enlightenment?
(With more passion, and less gibberish)

What are we commemorating?

The standard retort is designed to pay tribute a country valiantly prevailing through such shadowed night. Stories of victory surging the mires of defeat, inspiring a nation to cast colored flame into shaded azure blue wells, saturating the stiff westerly wind with warmth and firelight in this illumination of hope.

In the childish questioning of reality, I mentally erupted the thought of 'Why.' Why am I not a firework? Strange derailment from the mature 'oohs' and 'ahhs' gathering around my earthen location but, once again, tinkering with ideas created its own fascinations.

The story of creation, as iterated within the biblical sense yields Adam and Eve spawning from dust and dude respectively. God constructs man from grains of sand beneath his feet and later models eve from Adam's rib. Eventually, sin separates potter from clay, releasing these mortals to wrestle such issues as prescribed today. If a more intimate relationship with our creator is on the to-do-list of Christians, why were we not created as lesser beings, unable to stray, perse fireworks.

Questioning purpose abstains from bias. Culturally, as well as historically, mankind has scoured the galaxy of thought and daydream in search of a greater being. If God created us, or humans merely evolved from Darwin principles, what were we created to do? What is purpose, in the mortal sense? The recent holiday renowned as "the fourth of July", celebrates the memory of America obtaining freedom. Groovy. Dig it. Fireworks have become an established trademark of the event, rightfully so given the aw instilled within onlookers. For some estranged reason, my glazed eyes caught an ember sluggishly fading before breathing its last. The environment fountained jubilation across every syllable of the term, yet the lost ash spurred further contemplation, bordering mourning.

Christianity embraces symbolism, the cross, the Eucharist (the Lord's supper), baptism etc. The list is quite extensive, yet purpose remains chambered, having done as such for centuries. Luke 22:19 quotes Jesus before his disciples in preparation for the 'Last Supper.' Tis fairly common to hear recounted during communion ceremonies to revisit these moments. "Do this in remembrance of me." It seemed rather curious to parallel the symbols. While America smoke bombs, and flares its way through tradition, Christian's subtly nibble crackers and wine due respect given to both parties. Though toward Christ's continuity, upon first bestowing miracles, Jesus embodied a more discrete persona, purpose lacing each breath.

Anywho...

To accompany such a rant, a story deserves spinning having occurred at a recently adventured camp. The moonlit fire pit offset campers swimming warmly back and forth between the epic tale breathing from a friend's passion and the flames inspiring stare. Lessons of life revealed that which may have been aware yet much less known. A social club to which he selflessly pledged had reputably fashioned a t-shirt for each member's memory. As nightfall began devouring nearby trees rooted amidst the gathered, the garment was tossed to a gluttonous flame echoing a voice "When the symbol becomes an idol, it has exceeded its worth."
The above mentioned servant spent the fourth seated in a neighboring chair.

To salvage anything from the ashes of this post, let alone the evening, may be begging more than is worthy. God created humanity is his image, which, through scientific safety goggles, would truly depict God as the 'Big Bang' if such explosives were his nature or he willed his children to be as such; yet if we are to be a "light to this world" perhaps life as a firework would serve as unfulfilled comparatively with the service these present vessels offer in meager recompense.

Maybe we over think life.

[How curious the thoughts of men, flickering but to fade lest they be saved from inevitable burnout by the extinguish of death itself.]

"When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."
:: John 8:12 ::

~Deus fortuno