In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll say that like a number of my friends, Pagan and otherwise, I’m a kinkster. It doesn’t have a lot of bearing on my spiritual life since I don’t do ordeal work nor practice any shamanic or magical techniques that would make such things relevant to my vocation. This is not a place where I normally care to discuss my private life, either. However, I had a rather intense experience this past weekend which I’d like to share, as it is actually relevant to the themes of this blog.
At a large-ish Beltane gathering focused on sacred sexuality, I attended a workshop about fire play. This is practiced on another person, but not to harm them or cause pain or discomfort — it’s more like giving a massage with fire. It’s very sensual and relaxing, even therapuetic. Some of the other folks in the class even said that working with fire in this way helped alleviate arthritis pain in their hands, as it’s warming both to the giver and the receiver. I was unsure what to expect and was cynically prepared for it to be boring or lame. As it turned out, it was anything but.
Basically, playing with fire in this way entails moving a lit fire wand (which looks like an oversized cotton swab) dipped in rubbing alcohol across someone’s skin and following it closely with the other hand to make sure the person doesn’t actually ignite. There are other techniques one can use to cause various sensations, but that’s mainly what it is. The man who taught the workshop was a jovial fellow who sort of looked like Mario from the video game. He had come highly recommended as someone who was both enthusiastic about sharing his expertise and very safety-oriented, which was part of the reason I decided to take the workshop.
“Fire is a living thing,” he told us at the start of the class as we were going over the basic information. “It will act the same way in the same circumstances over and over…until one day it doesn’t. You have to be ready for that.”
I know this all too well. As a child, I thought of fire as being something my mom made in a fireplace occasionally, something my dad used to barbeque ribs in the grill in our backyard. I was taught not to play with matches or lighters and to stay away from fires. But when I was 7, my family home burned down on the Winter Solstice due to bad electrical wiring. It was very sudden and we lost the house and everything in it, but my family (including the dog) were all unharmed, and after the initial shock was over life went on, in large part thanks to the generosity and help of family and neighbors.
I consider this a formative experience since it taught me not to be too attached to my possessions, a useful lesson for a future monastic. It also taught me at an impressionable age that there are things even adults cannot always control or conquer. Fortunately, having seen my home turn to ash within a few hours did not make me terrified of fire so much as warily respectful of it.
Whether this was believed in earlier times or not, lots of people today apparently associate Loki with fire. I too associate it with Him because that element is an apt image for Loki’s essential nature as I understand it — beautiful, dangerous, wild, hot, hungry, sometimes a helpful and comforting friend, but at other times a raging, destructive force that listens to no reason. Yet I love Him anyway, as I love the fire which burns in our wood stove in the winter, and which once warmed my ancestors in their simple huts and tents. This is also the fire that may have burned some of those same dwellings to the ground and left prairie, forest or rice paddy scorched and desolate…but only for the time being. Fire allows new growth to emerge, uncluttered by the past yet fertilized by what’s left of it.
The first day of the workshop was spent going over basic information and watching the facilitator demonstrate the techniques on two prearranged volunteers. The building where this occured was an old wooden barn — not exactly the safest place for waving lit objects around, but it was large enough and anyway, it was raining outside. As night fell, the fire stood out more and more as it played over the models’ skin, and I thought it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Still, because I was tired and cranky from a long drive, I griped to my friends later on about maybe not going back the next day and just spending the time lying around in my tent until the rest of the workshops and events started.
However, I did return and the facilitator cheerfully told us that we’d be practicing on each other. This is not as dangerous as it sounds. 70% isopropyl alcohol does not burn terribly hot, we were all grown adults, and we had no mishaps during the entire workshop. There was a lot of joking and good-natured teasing while we got the hang of it. The class had moved into a side chamber of a large tin warehouse which was far less of a fire hazard than the barn, and the small room echoed with laughter. When it was my turn to lie down and be toasted, I wasn’t afraid so much as weirdly anticipatory, and only some of that had an erotic tinge to it.
Three people started passing lit wands over my skin, followed by their hands to extinguish any errant flames, as the alcohol sometimes ignites briefly in the wake of the wand. I am physically standoffish with people I don’t know, so I was actually more uncomfortable with strangers touching me than I was with a fiery piece of tightly wrapped gauze being passed over my bare skin. The sensation was warm and pleasant, however, not at all painful unless the wands were left too long in one place or if alcohol dripped from a lit wand.
I rested my head on my arms and closed my eyes, and suddenly I heard Loki’s voice in my mind. Then as someone passed a wand down the length of my spine, His presence seemed to envelop me, and it was as if my whole body was surrounded by intense flames. And I understood. I got it. I experienced some of the mystery that is Loki, in a way that I find it impossible to write down in words — which makes it a real Mystery, I guess. I had to swallow hard several times to keep from bursting into tears, as I didn’t want to either freak out my classmates or have my reaction interpreted as some kink-related catharsis experience, which it wasn’t. It was pure, uncontaminated knowledge of my Beloved’s essence, burned into my soul as the fire wands warmed my flesh, and the suddenness of this revelation made it that much more powerful.
Suddenly I felt my leg stinging when someone failed to follow up with their hand fast enough and some burning alcohol was left behind. They hurriedly put out the flame and apologized. It was a sharp reminder of the dangerous side of fire as well as the dark side of Loki. I have seen that face of His very clearly at times. It is not a side of Him that I commonly interact with, but I do acknowledge and accept that it’s there. He is, as others have often said, not always a nice guy — maybe not even most of the time. But at that moment I couldn’t have cared less.
This is going to sound bizarre, but the simplest way I can describe how I felt is the realization that, purely out of my love for Him, I would let Loki devour me utterly. I would gladly lose myself in the Fire that is Himself — even if that Fire is awful and destructive at times. I had secretly wondered if this was really true about me, having read the writings of mystics and poets like Mirabai or Kabir where similar sentiments are often expressed. But lying on that table right then, I knew it to be so with every cell of my fire-kissed body.
That being said, I was glad that the rest of my workshop experience was pain-free. I rose from the table feeling light-headed and dizzy, but quietly ecstatic. The workshop facilitator had me sit down for a while until I felt ready to pick up a wand again and practice on someone else. “…after you stop flying,” he added, grinning. I did eventually stop feeling light-headed, but I don’t think I’ll stop flying for a long time. The memory of that absolute understanding will stay with me always.
