Flames and Forgiveness

Last night we had a fire at home. Luckily it was in the external fuse box and not inside. When the acrid stench of smoke assaulted me after the power was wavering alarmingly, I ran downstairs. Meanwhile the power had quit entirely. Smoke was seeping out of the metal circuit breaker box. I told the kids to run outside and get a torch from a neighbour’s house which was a few houses away from my own.  S is away in Melbourne for a month but I was used to being alone during a crisis. I went out in the feeble light of my BlackBerry and was shocked to see flames in the fuse box outside. Black smoke was billowing out of the top of the box. I knew I couldn’t douse an electrical fire with water so I called for help. Nothing happened for fifteen minutes as one neighbour after another stopped by to check after seeing the smoke. They all helped in locating an electrician. Finally a fire extinguisher was brought and the flames were doused.

I thanked my friends who had rushed over and who offered very graciously the hospitality of their homes for the night. They didn’t want me sleeping in a smoke-scented house or having problems later in the night. I was very touched by their kindness but declined anyway. It was nine o’clock after all the hoopla. The kids and I were invited to a friend’s place for dinner so I sent them ahead and walked upstairs. As I sat at my dressing table by the candlelight brushing my hair,I pondered on my reaction at the sight of the flames. I was oddly unmoved after the initial shock. I had nothing of value in the house once I had rushed the children out. The rest could be handled. Off I went to the neighbour’s house for dinner where I joined the party feeling grateful to have had help when I needed it most. 

Late at night while I was lying in bed, the image of the flames danced vividly in my mind. In that hazy state between sleeping and wakefulness, I recalled clearly the little exploding noises as the fuses gave out, the loud intense knocking sounds as the metal of the fuse box began to warp and the light of the flames on my hands as I tried to figure out what was happening. I also saw the immediate extinguishing that came from a blast of cool foam and the blackened debris that was left behind in the aftermath of the fire. 

The blackened mess looked to me very much like the depiction of a writhing tortured mind. The kind of mind that is paranoid and doubtful and looks only for signs of wrongdoing. A mind on fire with unhappiness. A mind that is incapable of compassion, understanding or forgiveness. For forgiveness is like that cool foam which douses destructive rage. The act of forgiveness redeems the giver and the receiver. I slid into sleep with a prayer in my heart that there would be more forgiveness and less dissension in this world of ours and consequently less fires of rage to put out…