Baptism by sweat.
Precious metals are forged in heat.
As I am.
When time is stretched
A fountain descends.
Of salt and water,
Mind and body,
Movement and thought.
Most of us spend our days in frigid boxes.
We go from cold house, to frigid car, to frigid building for work. Back into our cars. Back to our houses. Like vampires running from coffin to coffin, we go from cold box to cold box, hiding from the sun. Hiding from the world's warmth.
Maybe you're one of the lucky ones who gets to work outside all day, or who gets to enjoy the cozy summer air. You get to experience; you get to feel; you get to connect. You're living reality.
I am so jealous of you.
When I picture you working in the heat, I say to myself: Here is Athena. Here is Demeter. Here is Hephaestus.
Here is Arjuna. Here is Buddha. Here is Abraham...
Here you are, sweating as they did; beads dripping; the body's jewels.
Here you are, as my Forbearers were.
By the sweat of their brow they ate their bread.
As all who came before that fateful year in 1902, when Willis Carrier installed that wretched box.
Where is the romance in that?
There is no romance in comfort. There is no heroism in leisure.
Heroism requires challenge; sacrifice; uncomfortableness.
Will you take the path of meaning? What will you sacrifice?
What might you learn? What might you gain?
This is what I've learned from the heat:
Become a poet. Be reborn. See with different eyes. Feel with different skin.
Then, I found a way to love what is. Rather than always wishing for something else.