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LJ Idol Minor+ - Prompt 6
Dec. 7th, 2021 12:27 am(Prompt 6 - "Keep the Fire Burning")
For as Long as it Takes
“This is boring.”
Kaui had been tending the fire for nearly fifteen minutes, a lifetime in the eyes of a ten-year-old. He poked his metal spear into the ground, making small holes in the shape of inverted pyramids, then kicked the sand with his bare feet, spraying the fire with a soft rain of fine particulates.
“Your job is to keep the fire burning, not bury it in sand. This is important work, and it is time for you to do your part. Are you not a part of this family?”
“Of course, papa. But how is this important? Hunting, that’s important. Or even gardening,” he shivered at the word. “We don’t even use this fire. Why can’t we just make another one when we need it?”
The boy’s words struck at Vaman, and he well understood the question, having asked ones like it more than once himself as a child. The answers he had been given never really satisfied him. He hoped he would do better for his son.
“Come stand by me, son. We can tend the fire together while I tell you why what we do is so important.”
--
Every culture has a story of a miracle, or a resurrection, or a reincarnation. They are the wonders that provide something more than the everyday life that we lead. They are what make us believe in something more. We have these stories as well. And they help make us who we are.
--
There was despair in the family that summer. The youngest daughter of the family’s leader pair had fallen ill. No power, natural or human-made, was able to slow the disease that ravaged her body. While her mind held strong, she became too weak to walk, and eventually to move anything but her head. In the span of less than three months, she went from a family treasure to a funeral pyre.
Her parents were heartbroken, and desperate. In their sorrow, they could not bear to let the light that was their child go out. And in her honor, they kept the pyre burning day and night. On the tenth night, the available stocks of wood began to dwindle, and with winter fast approaching, there were concerns about the potential of being unprepared for a bad storm. While the family mourned the girl, they did not wish to mourn others as well. After a great deal of compassionate discussion, the family agreed to build one last set of wood to add to the pyre, enough to last one more day in which the entire family would mourn together, and then move forward.
On that day, there were songs a-plenty, and crying, and storytelling. And dancing as well. But eventually, the day came to an end, and the fire dwindled down. One by one the family members said their final condolences and goodbyes, and went home to sleep. The parents stayed, laying together arm in arm, finally falling asleep in the fading light of the pyre.
In the morning, they awoke to discover the pyre still burning, though no new logs had been added to the pile. Another day of celebration and storytelling ensued.
And another night passed without the fire going out.
And another.
And another.
The miracle of the persisting fire.
Finally, after ten more days, during another day of celebration, the couple’s oldest daughter went into labor, and a new girl was born into the family. Almost as soon as the cries of the baby could be heard, the fire went out.
And so, a tradition was born.
--
As you know, a person’s soul is released when a body is burned away, visiting those in attendance briefly, and then leaving once the fire burns out. In the case of a soul at peace, the family takes turns pouring sand or water on the fire to sever that connection to the body. It is our way of saying thanks, and of setting them free. However, it is our custom, when a soul is bound to a body that passes too soon, that we entreat that soul to remain with us, to return anew. To do so, we must keep the fire alight until the soul finds a new home. As such, we keep the fire going until a new life joins our family, a newborn whose body becomes the vessel for this soul.
It has been nearly three years since we lost your sister. Three years and not a single newborn to our tribe.
So you see, we must keep the fire lit. For to do otherwise is to allow her soul to depart without fulfilling its role in this world. We cannot lose her forever.
And so, we must keep the fire burning, for as long as it takes.
For as Long as it Takes
“This is boring.”
Kaui had been tending the fire for nearly fifteen minutes, a lifetime in the eyes of a ten-year-old. He poked his metal spear into the ground, making small holes in the shape of inverted pyramids, then kicked the sand with his bare feet, spraying the fire with a soft rain of fine particulates.
“Your job is to keep the fire burning, not bury it in sand. This is important work, and it is time for you to do your part. Are you not a part of this family?”
“Of course, papa. But how is this important? Hunting, that’s important. Or even gardening,” he shivered at the word. “We don’t even use this fire. Why can’t we just make another one when we need it?”
The boy’s words struck at Vaman, and he well understood the question, having asked ones like it more than once himself as a child. The answers he had been given never really satisfied him. He hoped he would do better for his son.
“Come stand by me, son. We can tend the fire together while I tell you why what we do is so important.”
--
Every culture has a story of a miracle, or a resurrection, or a reincarnation. They are the wonders that provide something more than the everyday life that we lead. They are what make us believe in something more. We have these stories as well. And they help make us who we are.
--
There was despair in the family that summer. The youngest daughter of the family’s leader pair had fallen ill. No power, natural or human-made, was able to slow the disease that ravaged her body. While her mind held strong, she became too weak to walk, and eventually to move anything but her head. In the span of less than three months, she went from a family treasure to a funeral pyre.
Her parents were heartbroken, and desperate. In their sorrow, they could not bear to let the light that was their child go out. And in her honor, they kept the pyre burning day and night. On the tenth night, the available stocks of wood began to dwindle, and with winter fast approaching, there were concerns about the potential of being unprepared for a bad storm. While the family mourned the girl, they did not wish to mourn others as well. After a great deal of compassionate discussion, the family agreed to build one last set of wood to add to the pyre, enough to last one more day in which the entire family would mourn together, and then move forward.
On that day, there were songs a-plenty, and crying, and storytelling. And dancing as well. But eventually, the day came to an end, and the fire dwindled down. One by one the family members said their final condolences and goodbyes, and went home to sleep. The parents stayed, laying together arm in arm, finally falling asleep in the fading light of the pyre.
In the morning, they awoke to discover the pyre still burning, though no new logs had been added to the pile. Another day of celebration and storytelling ensued.
And another night passed without the fire going out.
And another.
And another.
The miracle of the persisting fire.
Finally, after ten more days, during another day of celebration, the couple’s oldest daughter went into labor, and a new girl was born into the family. Almost as soon as the cries of the baby could be heard, the fire went out.
And so, a tradition was born.
--
As you know, a person’s soul is released when a body is burned away, visiting those in attendance briefly, and then leaving once the fire burns out. In the case of a soul at peace, the family takes turns pouring sand or water on the fire to sever that connection to the body. It is our way of saying thanks, and of setting them free. However, it is our custom, when a soul is bound to a body that passes too soon, that we entreat that soul to remain with us, to return anew. To do so, we must keep the fire alight until the soul finds a new home. As such, we keep the fire going until a new life joins our family, a newborn whose body becomes the vessel for this soul.
It has been nearly three years since we lost your sister. Three years and not a single newborn to our tribe.
So you see, we must keep the fire lit. For to do otherwise is to allow her soul to depart without fulfilling its role in this world. We cannot lose her forever.
And so, we must keep the fire burning, for as long as it takes.
