Before the flame

Before the Flame

There are days I ask myself: What’s the one thing that makes everything else easier today?

Not how to tick off my to-dos. Not what performs on Instagram. Not how to grow reach, visibility, or any other ego prosthetics.

Just one question: What burns?

Because when it burns — it shines. And when it shines — I see. And when I see — I can choose whether to sit down, blow gently, add wood, or simply warm my hands.

What Is “At Fire”?

Imagine sitting somewhere in the wild. No power. No Wi-Fi. No Google, no ChatGPT, no coffee. If there’s no fire — things get uncomfortable fast. No light, no heat, no cooking, no safe place for the soul. That’s the raw truth of every survival course: Without fire, there’s nothing.

And what’s true outside is even truer inside.

Because inside this thing called “me,” fire isn’t a tool or a trick. It’s the state before all states. Before anything appears — fire appears. Like the bow hovering right before the first tone. Like that split second before you open your eyes and know you’re awake.

I close my eyes. I rest in the energy of the moment. There’s nothing to see. No sound. Just this frequency. A primal vibration. Not esoteric — simple. The inner state before thought. That’s what “at fire” means to me.

The Place Everything Begins

I didn’t invent it. It just arrived. Since May, maybe earlier, but then it became clear. I sit at my table — four hours of work ahead. I have no idea what to start with. No plan. No outline. So I sit down at the fire.

And I mean that literally, not as a metaphor. I see it. Feel it. I am the fire. And I sit before it at the same time. Fire watches the fire sitting by the fire.

Sounds strange? Sure. But try it. Close your eyes. Ask yourself: Where is the fire right now? Maybe there’s only ember. Maybe the flame’s already dancing. Or maybe — damn — there’s no wood at all. But you’ll find something.

That fire inside us — it’s a place. A real one. A state where everything shifts. Not because tasks melt away, but because you remember what you are: warmth, light, strength, presence.

Why It Matters

Everything else grows from there: my book, my website, my writings, my offers, my posts, my laughter, my silence, my decisions. It always begins there. Otherwise it’s nothing.

If I start from anywhere else, it gets tight, forced, hollow. Then I’m producing instead of meeting. Business instead of connection. But when I start at fire, everything unfolds by itself. Like dry wood catching flame — sudden, effortless, alive.

What Wants to Appear Today?

Maybe nothing. Maybe just tending the embers. Maybe one line. One image. One conversation with a friend. Not every ember wants to become a torch. Sometimes it just wants to keep you warm.

That’s where my version of minimalism begins. I don’t really like the word — it sounds like Pinterest beige with avocado on toast. For me it means: Everything unnecessary goes. Only what burns remains.

Life’s short. In a hundred years, nobody will care what you did or didn’t do today. No one will scroll and whisper, “That one Instagram post in 2025 — game changer.” Completely irrelevant. Utterly fleeting. And still — beautiful. Because that’s when only this moment matters. What shows up. What wants to appear.

The Fire That Creates Everything

Fire is the origin of all appearance. It’s not what appears that counts — but how. How is this text forming right now? How does it feel while I write? Not for whom. Not why. Not how many will read. Only this: How does it burn?

Buddhism uses a simple image: the film projector. A reel, a beam of light, a screen. We mistake the movie for reality. But it exists only because of light. Without light — no film. And even that’s incomplete. Because even in darkness, in dreams, in nothingness — something still burns. Something that makes everything possible.

Some Call It Consciousness

Others call it soul. I call it fire. Because fire transforms. It boils water. Shapes metal. Warms cold rooms. It wakes me up.

And sometimes it asks me: “Is anything missing?” I listen. Look into the glow. And almost always answer: “No. Nothing’s missing.” Then the fire smiles and says: “Good. Stay a little longer.”

Questions for the Fire

I’ve built a few questions for myself — and maybe for you. Take them with you, if you like. Sit by your fire:

• What’s burning right now?
• Where’s still ember?
• Do you have wood — or do you need to make some first?
• How big or small may your fire be?
• How close or far feels right?
• Are you sitting or lying down?
• On a chair, a stool, a sheepskin?
• What do you feel when it only glows?

And the most important one:
What happens when you just sit there — and nothing happens?

When the Thought Appears

Maybe then a thought like this arises: “Elon Musk doesn’t have more impact than a butterfly in Papua New Guinea.” Sounds absurd? Maybe. But think about it. Both change worlds. One visibly. One invisibly. Both fleeting. Both following the same law: something appears, something fades, something stays — but we never know what.

Let It Burn

That’s why life is meant to be played. No need to take it too seriously. No need to measure, monetize, or missionize it. Just: Let it burn. Marvel. And if it fits — hold a piece of bread in the flame and laugh when it turns black.

Home

Fire isn’t just a metaphor. It’s home. A state. A friend. And if you ever get lost — in lists, plans, doubts, metrics, or marketing — sit down by the fire. Inside. Still. Eyes closed. Listen. Feel.

Ask yourself: What wants to appear today?
Or, shorter: Is there fire?

If yes — add wood. If no — rest. The ember will return. Because the fire in you was never gone. It was just waiting.

“When you sit at fire, there’s nothing to achieve. Only warmth to remember.”

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