Simple Therapy for the Tattered Spirit

Truth be known, we all probably need a little therapy now and again. Not therapy that focuses on strengthening repaired knees or stretched shoulders, though this is essential in various situations. The therapy we often need is that which weaves back into place spirits that have been tattered. This tattering can come quickly, as in times of sudden loss. But it can also creep in subtly after extended periods of excessive demands on our time and abilities. However it arrives, arrive it will.

While I didn’t fully realize it then, I know now that I discovered in childhood a powerful entity that never failed to work its therapeutic magic. This marvelous little thing was a campfire, and its efficacy remains.

In those early years, a campfire was a near constant for country boys such as I. We camped regularly, perhaps two or three nights a week – out in the pasture or down by the creek after chores were completed in the afternoon. Simple affairs, these camps. More times than not just a quilt spread out on the ground. But there was always a campfire.

Let it be firmly established here that a fire is not some curious addition to an outdoor experience. It is mandatory, vital. True, there are times when a fire is not permitted because of prevailing restraints, but if these are not factors a fire simply must be. It becomes the centerpiece, not an ornament. Why? That likely varies from individual to individual, from circumstance to circumstance.

A campfire – even if there is no literal camp – is the point of gathering. Participants yield to its lure. Someone may do a bit of rudimentary cooking, but more than likely everyone will just sit and stare, those stares broken by jovial or somber conversation. There will be laughter, perhaps even tears.

Sitting around a campfire permits one to become transformed, almost as if the world outside that gentle glow of light does not exist. Maybe that is the primary therapeutic element, this transformation that for the moment shuts out all else and bandages those ragged edges of the heart so that they may more quickly heal.

A campfire’s coals are mesmerizing. Their enchantment allows the silent observer to probe distant depths of his or her mind, depths that are seldom explored. Those varying hues of orange, blue, yellow; that little spot that jets flame out to the side; the hiss and crackle; an orchestrated yet spontaneous dance; the warmth on your face that at times approaches too much but pulls you close just the same:  All are present there in the coals. All are hypnotic. All are healing.

The smell: It is unmistakable. The modern world may tell us to avoid such odors as those emitted by a campfire. And perhaps these are ill placed if we are dressed for the office or business conference. But taken for what it is and in its proper setting, the smell of a campfire is a primal badge of honor. There was a time in the not-too-distant history of humanity when that smell meant comfort, safety. My perspective is that it still does. The smell represents a basic ingredient for life and should not be dismissed as antiquated.

And consider the process of a campfire. It mimics life. One form of matter is placed onto the coals to be in large measure used up, to provide its heat and light. Another form of that matter is not consumed and spirals skyward toward freedom. That in itself prompts contemplation. And all these can be found in a campfire.

Tony Kinton is a native Mississippian, where he grew up on a small farm. Hunting and fishing were regular parts of his life, and these pursuits produced much of the food found on his family’s table. Read more here…