Deborah Lipp

I haven’t seen any movies this week, and, while I could review movies I’ve seen but not reviewed, I’d rather not. I just got back from Wic-Can Fest and talking about movies is just not where I am today.

I want to talk about firewalking.

I cannot say for sure why I signed up for the firewalk. I saw it was offered, and I guess that I wanted to make a chink in my own armor. I am such a cynic, after all. I mean, I’m a witch, and a psychic, and I know this isn’t other people’s definition of cynicism, but within the context of the magical community I am high on the snark side of things, and have great disdain for people I perceive as too credulous. And firewalking? That’s crazy. That’s impossible.

Somewhere in there I thought “But.”

But they’re offering it here. But people here have done it and report being blown away by it. But what have I got to lose (burnt feet!)? But what if I’m wrong? Well, my friend assured me that you don’t have to walk the fire if you attend, so I signed up.

So we meet around 6:30 pm. The teacher, Zsuzsa, is amazing. We build our own fire, and she talks with us about the power of this experience. We lay each log in balance; concentrating on negatives to release, then on positives to gain. Later, we write down a list of positives and negatives, and give it to the now-burning fire. There is sharing and there are offerings. The seven directions (north, east, south, west, above, below, within) are invoked.

Zsuzsa talks about only walking when it is right to walk, and not walking for ego. Don’t walk because others do it, don’t walk to look good in front of people, or because you think you should, or for any other reason than it is now, at this moment, time to walk. She said her first walk was amazing and life-changing. The second time, she went with arrogance; she was cocky, knowing this was something she’d done. That second time, she burned herself. This was good for me to hear! I knew then that my ego was not allowed to be in charge of this experience.

So, let me step out a moment to tell you what did not happen: We were not given special instructions as to how or where to walk in order not to be burned, no special path or way of placing the foot. The only instruction was to be in the right moment. There was no special salve or anything else on our bare feet. There was no special ingredients added to the coals. We were told quite clearly that we might be burnt, and not only had Zsuzsa been burn, others had as well. I was told that at a past Wic-Can Fest, someone who had walked drunk, after instructions to be sober, had been burnt. (The fact that it is possible to be burnt certainly seems to disprove some theories of how firewalking works.) We were not hypnotized or subject to any mind-altering austerities or ecstasies, and we did not ingest any substances.

Anyway, building the fire, being in the space, undergoing the ritual, at no time had I yet decided whether or not I would walk. I felt that a purely open mind was best, and I was swift to release any preconception or decision.

Then the coals were raked out. I was scared.

Scared. Hot coals are scary.

After a break, we ritually entered the sacred space, and began a little drumming and dancing around the coals. I imagined this would go on for a while, and people would walk in a frenzy or trance, but within two or three minutes, someone walked, with firm strides that landed square on the coals. Then another. Then another.

Watching someone walk on fire is terrifying and amazing. There was a “This must be CGI” quality to it.

As people walked, others whooped and hollered and cheered. I thought, I’m going to be the last one. I let the thought go. I thought, I’m going to be the only one who doesn’t walk. I let the thought go. I thought, here I am again in my head while others have an authentic experience. I let the thought go. I thought, people will see that I didn’t. I let the thought go. I cried, not knowing why. Many people had now walked, and perhaps I was last. The only thing I knew was that I had to let ego-thoughts go.

I thought that Zsuzsa hadn’t yet walked, and I didn’t allow myself to focus on that. But then she did walk, and I realized I’d been right, that I hadn’t seen her walk before, and I moved right behind her and I saw a clear path where she had stepped, like a color change over those coals (nothing that I thought was “real,” but an aura thing). Without deciding to, I stepped onto that path.

About halfway across I could no longer see the path and my feet tingled and felt sore, and I thought maybe I was burnt. (Of course, today I know, if you’re burnt, you don’t think maybe. You KNOW.) My friend hugged me. I was shocked, and still afraid: I had to sit down and touch my feet to be sure there were no blisters. And suddenly I wept, deep wracking sobs from my belly, with no thought as to why or what it meant. Just a full, cathartic release. People continued to cheer. I continued for several minutes to weep, and my friend Carol held me, and there was cheering, and I was weeping.

It was over way too soon. I’d have had it last all night. And I loved, loved, everyone who walked. We walked a fire together!

So, tomorrow, or later this week, I’ll get into what it means for me, because this is truly long enough.