Gift retreat guiding booklet by my mentor, Bruce Anderson of the Core Gift Institute
Yesterday, reflecting on water, I wondered how to gather the many streams of my life into a clearer channel. Today, reflecting on fire, I am recognising something of how those streams begin: A spark. An idea. A glimpse of what might be possible.
Inspiration often comes to me in small sparks… daily. Just ask my husband (« Another idea! ») All my family and friends will confirm that my ideas arrive plentifully. I love the magic of bringing different things into possibility and discovering what might unfold.
The seed of fire is spark. It is the igniter of the flame of desire that drives us with the courage and passion to pursue new territory. Without spark, there is no fire. When fire is extinguished there is loss of enthusiasm and clarity of purpose.
— Bruce Anderson
Sometimes my ideas draw people together. Sometimes they open pathways I could not have imagined beforehand. Sometimes they create trouble, for me and for others. Fire can do all of these things.
But what I love most about fire is its warmth and gathering power. People coming into a circle to share stories, music, food, laughter and tears. The way a fire draws us closer and invites us to linger. It is a kind of homecoming, even far from home.
My Core Gift is helping others shine golden in the tapestry of being.
I give this by looking deeply to see who is truly there, remembering our inviolable equality and walking into the unknown with an open heart so possibility can sing.
Today I recognised fire as another element in this gift. Even with my tendency to hide and keep myself small and relatively invisible, I often find myself initiating circles of meaning-making: writing circles, storytelling, gatherings where people can feel seen and valued… where their voices are heard and they find their own words for what matters to them.
I have never been the fire in the middle of the circle. But I help light the fires that gather people together in community. And this asks something of me beyond having an idea.
When a possibility involves other people, my enthusiasm is only part of the story. Their needs and wishes matter. Their reservations matter. A shared dream needs room to become different from the one I first imagined. I’m learning to pause and check: is this something we all actually want to create together?
There is another danger I recognise. An idea arrives, and almost immediately I feel responsible for making it happen. Too many tabs open. Too many unfinished projects. Too many small fires to feed, and not enough energy for them all.
I can become so occupied with kindling possibilities that I exhaust the person (me! and sometimes others too!) who needs to tend them. Yet I don’t want to lose my love of multiplicity. I would miss the surprise of different things crossing and combining, the unexpected connections, the little sparks that turn into shared fires.
Perhaps I need more space between inspiration and commitment. Space to write an idea down without promising to deliver it. To let it rest. To share it with someone who can help me sense its worth and the next meaningful step. To notice what I have the capacity to tend.
Some sparks may become lasting sources of warmth and nourishment. Others may belong to someone else. Some may simply illuminate a moment.
I am fire: a gatherer, an inspirer, an initiator of ritual and meaning.
I gather people in dark places to share our sparks and light fires together, helping us all feel that we belong, that we are seen, valued and loved. I want to learn to tend this fire in ways that nourish and sustain me too.
What helps you recognise which sparks are yours to tend?