The First Altar was Fire

Group of prehistoric people sitting around a campfire in a cave with animal paintings on walls

Before there was a temple, there was a fire.

Before there was a priesthood, there was someone awake in the darkness, watching the coals.

Before there were written prayers, there were hands held toward warmth, faces glowing in the light, and human beings looking into a flame as though something on the other side might be looking back.

That may be where religion began.

Not necessarily with a god descending from the sky. Not with a book. Not with a building. Perhaps it began with a small circle of frightened, hungry people gathered around something they did not completely understand.

Fire gave warmth, but it also burned.

Fire protected, but it could also escape.

Fire cooked food, hardened tools, frightened predators and pushed back the darkness. Yet it demanded attention. It could not simply be possessed. It had to be fed, watched and respected.

In other words, fire entered into a relationship with us.

And we have never been the same.

Before Fire Belonged to Us

We will never know the name of the first human ancestor who carried a living ember away from a natural fire.

I sometimes wonder what that moment looked like.

Was it a branch still burning after lightning struck a tree? Was it a smouldering root dug from the edge of a grass fire? Did one person recognize that the glowing thing could be carried while everyone else backed away from it?

There is no written history of that moment. There could not be. It happened long before writing, long before cities and possibly long before our own species appeared.

In June 2026, researchers studying South Africa’s Wonderwerk Cave published evidence of repeated burning deep inside the cave in deposits that may be between approximately 1.07 and 1.79 million years old. Burned small-animal bones were found far enough inside the cave that an ordinary grass fire could not reasonably have reached them. The researchers were careful with their language: this suggests that early human ancestors were bringing or using fire inside the cave, but it does not necessarily prove that they could make fire whenever they wanted.^[1]

That distinction matters.

There may have been a long period when humans could use fire but could not reliably create it.

Imagine the responsibility that would place upon the person tending the coals.

If the fire went out, there was no match. There was no lighter. There was no propane torch tucked into a shed. Someone might have to find another natural fire, travel to another group or wait for the sky to provide lightning.

The firekeeper was not performing a decorative role.

The firekeeper was keeping warmth alive.

The firekeeper was keeping cooked food possible.

The firekeeper was maintaining a wall between the people and whatever moved beyond the edge of the light.

Archaeological evidence for recognizable hearths becomes clearer later. The Smithsonian Human Origins Program notes hearths at least 790,000 years old and describes how fire allowed early humans to cook, gather, share food, exchange information and seek safety together.^[2]

That gathering may be one of the most important parts of the story.

Fire did not only change what humans ate. It changed where humans looked.

Without a fire, everyone watches the darkness.

With a fire, people begin looking at one another.

Fire did not make us human by itself. But learning to live beside it may have taught us how to become human together.

The First Circle

We Pagans talk a great deal about circles.

We cast circles. We sit in circles. We speak of sacred circles, ritual circles and the turning circle of the year.

But the first sacred circle may simply have been the edge of firelight.

Inside the circle was warmth, food, kinship and relative safety.

Outside it was cold, uncertainty and the eyes of animals that could see better in the darkness than we could.

The fire became a centre.

People arranged themselves around it. Food was passed across it. Stories were told beside it. Children fell asleep within its protection. The dead were remembered there. Arguments were settled there—or perhaps started there. Plans were made there. Warnings were given there.

Long before humans built temples for their gods, they built places for their fires.

Eventually the fire pit became the hearth. The hearth became the centre of the home. The home became the centre of the family. From there, the sacred fire could become the symbolic centre of an entire settlement, city or people.

This is why hearth deities are rarely concerned with flashy displays of divine power.

The hearth is not spectacle.

The hearth is continuity.

It is the meal that is cooked again tomorrow. It is the lamp that remains lit when someone comes home late. It is the place where a traveller is warmed before being questioned. It is the promise that there will still be something here when the darkness passes.

Why So Many Myths Say Fire Was Stolen

One of the strangest things about the mythology of fire is how often humanity was not originally meant to have it.

Fire is stolen, hidden, guarded, bargained for or won through trickery.

In Greek myth, Prometheus steals fire from the divine realm and gives it to humanity. For this act he suffers a terrible punishment. The story is often reduced to a simple tale about human progress, but there is more going on than that. Prometheus does not merely give people warmth. He gives them access to craft, technology and the power to alter the world.^[3]

Once humanity has fire, it can no longer return to complete innocence.

Fire makes civilization possible, but it also makes weapons possible.

It bakes bread and burns cities.

It warms the child and powers the forge that makes the sword.

Prometheus gives humanity a gift that carries consequences.

Across Polynesian traditions, the culture hero Māui is also connected with obtaining fire. In one Māori account, Māui receives or seizes the secret of fire from his ancestress Mahuika and causes fire to be hidden within certain trees, explaining why friction between pieces of wood can release it.^[4]

Different cultures tell these stories in their own ways, and those differences should be respected. They are not interchangeable pieces of a single generic mythology.

Yet there is a pattern worth noticing.

Fire is not usually presented as a toy handed casually to humanity.

It has to be sought.

It has to be carried.

It has to be earned.

And once obtained, it creates an obligation.

That may be the deeper message behind the old fire myths: power without responsibility becomes destruction.

The Gods Within the Flame

There is no single Pagan god of fire.

There are many divine beings associated with different kinds of fire because fire itself has many personalities.

There is the cooking fire.

There is the forge.

There is lightning.

There is wildfire.

There is the sacrificial flame.

There is the lamp kept burning for the dead.

There is the fire of poetry, anger, passion, fever, courage and inspiration.

These are not all the same fire.

Brigid: The Fire That Creates

For me, any discussion of sacred fire eventually arrives at Brigid.

The historical sources do not hand us the tidy modern description of Brigid that appears on many websites and devotional cards. Ancient religion was rarely that tidy.

Brigit appears in Irish tradition as a goddess of poetry, wisdom, craft, prophecy and divination. Other figures bearing her name are connected with healing and smithcraft.^[5]

That gives us three fires.

The fire in the head is inspiration.

The fire in the hearth is healing and nourishment.

The fire in the forge is transformation through work.

I am not claiming that an ancient Irish manuscript lays those exact three phrases out for us. That is a modern devotional way of understanding the pattern. But it is a pattern that makes sense.

The poet takes experience and turns it into words.

The healer takes suffering and works toward restoration.

The smith takes raw metal, places it into unbearable heat and reshapes it into something useful.

All three are acts of transformation.

All three require discipline.

All three can fail when rushed.

All three demand that someone remain close to the heat.

The long association between Brigid and sacred flame is also preserved in the traditions of Kildare. Stories tell of a perpetual flame tended there by women. The history of the goddess, the saint and the Kildare flame has become intertwined over the centuries, making it difficult to draw a clean line between pre-Christian practice, Christian devotion and later reconstruction. The flame has nevertheless remained a powerful symbol of continuity, hospitality and spiritual light.^[6]

That blending does not weaken Brigid.

If anything, it demonstrates her endurance.

Empires changed. Religions changed. Languages changed. Yet someone continued carrying the name, tending the stories and, eventually, relighting the flame.

That is what sacred fire does.

It survives by being passed from hand to hand.

Hestia and Vesta: The Fire That Holds the Home Together

In Greek religion, Hestia is the goddess of the hearth. She is not usually portrayed charging across battlefields or hurling thunderbolts. Her place is at the centre.

She presides over the hearth and receives honour in sacrifice. Her apparent quietness should not be mistaken for insignificance. The centre does not need to shout to remain the centre.^[7]

The Romans knew a related sacred presence as Vesta.

In Rome, the public flame of Vesta was tended by the Vestal Virgins. Its continued burning represented more than one household. It was tied to the well-being and continuity of Rome itself. If the flame went out unexpectedly, it was treated as a serious warning.^[8]

There is something here worth remembering.

A community can have armies, walls, politicians and wealth, but still understand that its true life is represented by a tended hearth.

Not by the biggest fire.

By the fire that does not go out.

Agni: The Fire That Carries the Offering

In the Vedic tradition, Agni is not merely a god who happens to be associated with fire. Agni is the divine fire of sacrifice, the fire of the hearth, the fire of lightning and the fire of the sun.

Agni receives offerings and carries them between the human and divine worlds. He is described as a messenger and as the mouth through which the gods receive what is offered.^[9]

This expresses something many fire rituals understand intuitively.

What enters a flame does not remain what it was.

Wood becomes heat, light, smoke and ash.

An offering disappears from the hand but does not simply vanish. It changes form.

Fire therefore becomes a messenger because transformation is its language.

I can honour what the Vedic tradition teaches about sacred fire without pretending that its ceremonies belong to me. Respect does not require imitation.

Sometimes respect means standing at the edge of another tradition and saying, “I see the wisdom here, but I will not claim its rites as my own.”

Hephaestus and the Forge

Hephaestus represents another face of fire: fire under discipline.

A wildfire consumes whatever it reaches. A forge concentrates heat toward a purpose.

The smith does not defeat fire. The smith learns its temperament.

Too little heat and the metal will not move.

Too much heat and the work may be ruined.

Strike too early and nothing happens.

Strike carelessly and the material may crack.

This is spiritual work as much as metalwork.

Transformation is not accomplished by heat alone. It requires timing, tools, patience and a willingness to return the unfinished piece to the flame.

Fire as Sacred Presence, Not a Simplistic “Fire God”

Not every tradition that treats fire as sacred believes the fire itself is a god.

Zoroastrianism, for example, has often been inaccurately described as “fire worship.” Sacred fire instead serves as a focus for prayer and contemplation and as a visible expression of purity, truth, light and the presence of Ahura Mazda. The flame is deeply honoured, but it is not simply worshipped as though the physical fire were the totality of God.^[10]

This is an important distinction for Pagans as well.

A flame may be a deity.

It may represent a deity.

It may carry an offering.

It may open a ritual.

It may serve as a witness.

It may simply be a fire around which sacred things happen.

We do not need to force every flame into the same theology.

Fire as Purification

People often say that fire purifies.

That statement sounds pleasant until we remember how fire actually purifies.

It does not gently explain why something should change.

It burns away what cannot withstand it.

That is why I am cautious when people romanticize the idea of being “forged in fire.”

The forge is not comfortable.

It is not supposed to be.

Fire can remove contamination. It can sterilize tools, boil unsafe water and reduce the dead to ash. Symbolically, it can represent the destruction of falsehood, corruption, illness or an old identity.

But purification can become a dangerous idea when people use it against others.

History is filled with those who decided that another person, another faith or another community needed to be “cleansed.” Sacred language was then used to justify cruelty.

A healthy fire practice begins with oneself.

What within me is ready to be released?

What resentment am I feeding because I enjoy the heat?

What belief has become dead wood?

What am I trying to burn in someone else because I refuse to confront it within myself?

Fire is a poor excuse for vengeance.

It is an excellent mirror.

Fire as Protection

Fire has long stood between human beings and danger.

That physical protection naturally became spiritual protection.

Bonfires were lit at seasonal turning points. Hearths were renewed. Livestock, homes and communities were blessed or protected through proximity to sacred flames.

At Beltane, historical accounts describe cattle being driven between two fires before entering summer pastures. The rite was associated with protection from disease and harm.^[11]

Whether one interprets that spiritually, practically or as a mixture of both, the symbolism is clear.

To pass between fires is to cross a threshold.

You enter in one condition and emerge in another.

But we should not confuse protection with aggression.

A protective fire does not need to burn the whole forest.

It only needs to maintain a boundary.

The strongest boundaries are often like a well-kept hearth: visible, warm to those welcomed near it and dangerous only when deliberately violated.

Fire as Witness

Fire has also been called upon to witness promises.

This makes sense to me.

A flame does not care how impressive your words sound.

It responds to what you actually feed it.

You may promise to tend a fire forever, but if you stop bringing wood, the truth becomes visible.

There is no public relations strategy for a cold hearth.

This may be why fire belongs beside vows, marriages, initiations and oaths. It reminds everyone present that words must eventually become action.

A promise is not kept because it was spoken beautifully.

It is kept because someone returns tomorrow.

And the day after that.

Fire and the Dead

Fire stands at both ends of life.

It warms the newborn and consumes the funeral pyre.

In cremation, the body passes rapidly through the transformation that burial performs slowly. Flesh becomes ash. Form becomes memory. What could once be touched becomes something that must be carried differently.

Even in traditions that bury their dead, candles, lamps and vigil fires often remain part of mourning.

We light a flame because grief needs somewhere to look.

We light a flame because darkness feels too complete without it.

We light a flame because the small persistence of light resembles memory.

The person is gone, but something remains.

The flame is not the person.

Yet it gives our love a temporary body.

Now, About the Word “Shamanism”

This is where I need to slow down.

The word shamanism gets used far too casually in modern Pagan spaces.

Someone drums, enters a meditation or looks into a fire and suddenly the practice is advertised as “ancient shamanism.” That may sound mystical, but it can flatten many distinct cultures into one spiritual marketplace.

Historically, the word shaman is particularly associated with the religious traditions of northern Asia, although scholars have also used it more broadly when discussing practitioners who enter trance or communicate with spirits for purposes such as healing or divination.^[12]

Not every spirit worker is a shaman.

Not every trance is shamanic.

Not every Indigenous fire ceremony is available for public adoption.

That does not mean fire has no place in trance, spirit work or altered states of awareness. Quite the opposite.

Sit beside a fire long enough and ordinary attention begins to change.

The repeated movement of the flame draws the eyes.

The crackling creates an irregular rhythm.

The heat pushes against the skin while the night remains cool behind you.

The world beyond the fire becomes less distinct.

Conversation slows.

Thoughts that were hiding beneath the day’s noise begin rising toward the surface.

Some people experience images in the coals. Some receive memories. Some feel the presence of ancestors, land spirits or gods. Some simply become quiet for the first time in weeks.

We do not need to exaggerate that experience.

The fire does not have to produce a vision to be sacred.

Silence is enough.

Attention is enough.

Being fully present beside one living flame is enough.

Fire as a Threshold

In spiritual practice, fire often functions as a threshold.

It is matter becoming energy.

It is darkness becoming visibility.

It is cold becoming warmth.

It is an offering becoming smoke.

It is wood becoming ash.

Fire exists while changing everything that sustains it.

That makes it a natural companion when we ourselves are changing.

When a life has ended but the next one has not fully begun.

When an old identity no longer fits.

When grief has burned away the future we expected.

When we are standing between who we were and who we may become.

Fire understands thresholds because fire is never still.

Even when it appears steady, it is consuming, releasing, rising and transforming.

What a Firekeeper Actually Does

There is a romantic image of the firekeeper sitting dramatically beside a roaring blaze while everyone admires the flames.

That is usually not the work.

The work is gathering wood before anyone else arrives.

The work is checking the wind.

The work is clearing dry grass from the perimeter.

The work is noticing when a log has rolled too close to the edge.

The work is remaining sober enough to make decisions.

The work is staying after everyone else has gone to make certain the coals are dead.

Many people want to dance around the fire.

Far fewer want to deal with the ash bucket the next morning.

That is true spiritually as well.

People enjoy inspiration. They enjoy the brilliant idea, the powerful ritual, the emotional declaration and the great moment of revelation.

Firekeeping begins after the revelation.

It asks what you will do with the light you received.

Will you feed it?

Will you use it to warm others?

Will you turn it into craft, healing or honest words?

Or will you keep demanding another dramatic experience while neglecting the ember already placed in your care?

The Firekeeper Does Not Own the Fire

This may be the most important lesson.

The firekeeper is not the owner of the fire.

The firekeeper is its temporary steward.

A sacred flame is not a throne. It is not proof that the person tending it is more important than everyone else.

The firekeeper does not become sacred by standing closest to the flames.

The role becomes sacred through service.

A good firekeeper makes warmth possible without demanding ownership of everyone who gathers near it.

A good firekeeper does not use access to the hearth as a tool of control.

A good firekeeper remembers that the wood came from the land, the oxygen came from the air, the spark came from somewhere else and the stories carried away from the circle belong to those who lived them.

Firekeeping is authority, but it is authority bound to responsibility.

The moment the keeper believes the fire exists solely because of them, the fire has already begun to teach a harsher lesson.

A Pagan Fire Without Performance

Modern Paganism sometimes suffers from the belief that ritual must look impressive to be real.

The robes must be right. The words must be archaic. The fire must be enormous. Everyone must know where to stand. Someone must sound as though they have been speaking with the gods since breakfast.

I no longer believe any of that is necessary.

A ritual fire can be a candle on a kitchen table.

It can be a wood stove opened for a moment while another log is added.

It can be a small outdoor fire tended carefully beneath the stars.

It can even be an electric candle during a fire ban, in a hospital room, in rented housing or anywhere an open flame would be unsafe.

The sacred part is not the size of the flame.

The sacred part is the relationship.

Are you paying attention?

Are you honest about why you lit it?

Are you prepared to remain with it?

Will you close the ritual as carefully as you opened it?

A Simple Unplugged Pagan Firekeeping Rite

This is not an ancient ceremony. It is not borrowed from an Indigenous sacred fire, a Vedic fire rite or any closed tradition.

It is simply a framework for approaching fire with respect.

Prepare the Place

Before lighting anything, check the law, local fire restrictions, weather, wind and condition of the land.

Keep water nearby. Use a proper fire pit or fireproof container. Do not burn during a fire ban. Do not assume that spiritual intention makes unsafe behaviour acceptable.

Never burn plastic, garbage, pressure-treated wood, painted wood or anything that releases toxic fumes.

Do not pour gasoline, alcohol, essential oils or other accelerants into a living flame.

A sober and attentive person should remain responsible for the fire from lighting to final extinguishing.

Ask Permission

Stand quietly for a moment.

Acknowledge the land beneath you and the beings—human and otherwise—who may be affected by what you are about to do.

You might say:

Spirits of this place, landvættir and good neighbours seen and unseen, I ask leave to kindle this fire. May it cause no harm. May it bring warmth, clarity and right relationship.

Then listen.

Permission is not always a booming voice from the forest. Sometimes permission looks like noticing that the wind has become too strong and deciding not to light the fire.

Name the Purpose

Do not light a ritual fire without knowing why you are lighting it.

The purpose can be simple.

Gratitude.

Mourning.

Healing.

Welcoming a season.

Releasing something that has ended.

Sitting with a question.

Honouring Brigid.

Remembering kith, kin or ancestors.

You do not need to make a speech. One honest sentence is better than twenty impressive ones.

Light the Flame

As the flame catches, you might say:

From spark to flame, from flame to light, from light to understanding. May this fire be tended in honour and closed in safety.

If Brigid is part of your practice, you might add:

Brigid of the inspired word, Brigid of the healing hand, Brigid of the shaping forge, be welcome beside this flame. Teach me what must be warmed, what must be healed and what must be remade.

Feed the Fire Carefully

Add one piece of wood at a time.

Let each piece represent something you are willing to contribute.

Patience.

Work.

Honesty.

Courage.

Restraint.

Do not make promises you have no intention of keeping.

Fire has heard enough dramatic declarations.

Sit and Listen

This is the part many people rush past.

Stop talking.

Watch the flame without demanding an omen.

Let thoughts rise and pass.

Notice where your mind resists silence.

If words come, speak them.

If grief comes, let it sit beside you.

If nothing comes, tend the fire.

Nothing more may be required.

Offer Without Polluting

A physical offering is not necessary.

Your attention, labour and honest words may already be the offering.

Do not throw coins, glass, plastic, large amounts of food or unknown substances into a fire.

If you use a small symbolic offering, make certain it is safe, natural, locally appropriate and unlikely to create sparks, toxic smoke or harm wildlife.

The gods do not require us to poison the land in their honour.

Close the Fire

Thank the deity, spirits, ancestors and land you addressed.

You might say:

The words have been spoken. The warmth has been received. What was carried here may now return in peace. The rite is closed, but the lesson remains.

Then extinguish the fire completely.

Pour water over the coals. Stir them. Add more water. Continue until everything is cold enough to touch.

A fire ritual is not complete while a hidden coal can still escape into dry grass.

The Inner Fire

Not every fire burns outside us.

We speak of burning desire, burning anger, the fire of inspiration and the fire in the belly.

These are not accidental expressions.

Emotion produces heat. Creativity can feel like pressure seeking release. Anger can illuminate an injustice or consume every relationship around it.

The inner fire needs tending just as surely as an outdoor flame.

Starve it completely and something within us grows cold.

Feed it recklessly and it begins consuming things we never intended to sacrifice.

The goal is not to extinguish passion.

The goal is to give it a hearth.

Anger needs boundaries.

Creativity needs craft.

Desire needs wisdom.

Grief needs somewhere safe to burn without taking the whole house with it.

This may be one of Brigid’s greatest lessons.

The inspired word, the healing hand and the disciplined forge belong together.

Inspiration without healing can become cruelty dressed as truth.

Healing without fire can become avoidance.

Fire without craft becomes destruction.

The Firekeeper Without a Community

I have described myself before as a Pagan firekeeper without a Pagan community.

There is loneliness in that sentence, but perhaps there is also a lesson.

A firekeeper does not stop being a firekeeper because the crowd has gone home.

In fact, that may be when the real work begins.

Anyone can stand near a fire when the drums are playing, the stories are flowing and the night feels magical.

Who remains when the wood is wet?

Who protects the ember through the coldest hours?

Who returns in daylight to clean the site?

Who remembers what the fire was originally lit to serve?

Community is not measured only by the number of bodies gathered around a blaze.

Community is revealed by who helps carry the wood, who shares the warmth, who respects the boundary and who remains responsible when the spectacle is over.

Sometimes keeping the fire means holding a small flame alone until others find their way back.

Sometimes it means recognizing that the old gathering has ended and carrying one clean ember elsewhere.

Sometimes it means refusing to let bitterness become the only fire left inside you.

Fire, Kith and Kin

A hearth was never meant to be merely decorative.

It fed people.

It warmed wet clothing.

It made space for travellers.

It allowed elders to speak and children to listen.

It belonged to relationship.

Gold and silver may purchase wood, land or an elaborate fire pit.

They cannot purchase the trust that allows people to sit together without fear.

They cannot purchase the story told at the right moment.

They cannot purchase the hand that quietly adds another log while someone else is grieving.

A wealthy house can still have a cold hearth.

A poor camp can still contain sacred warmth.

The worth of a fire is not measured by how high the flames rise.

It is measured by what survives because someone tended it.

What Fire Finally Teaches

Fire teaches that everything requires fuel.

Fire teaches that warmth must be shared carefully.

Fire teaches that light creates shadows as surely as it pushes back darkness.

Fire teaches that destruction and creation are sometimes separated only by discipline.

Fire teaches that power needs a boundary.

Fire teaches that a small ember, protected properly, can outlive a roaring blaze.

Fire teaches that no keeper tends the same flame forever.

Eventually the responsibility passes to another pair of hands.

Perhaps this is why fire feels older than any one religion.

Gods have been named within it. Offerings have passed through it. Empires have guarded it. Families have gathered around it. The living have warmed themselves beside it, and the dead have been entrusted to it.

Yet the flame itself continues its simple work.

It consumes.

It changes.

It rises.

It gives light.

It leaves ash.

And then it waits for someone to begin again.

A Firekeeper’s Prayer

Brigid of the bright word,
keep the fire in my mind clear enough to speak truth without cruelty.

Brigid of the healing hearth,
keep the fire in my home warm enough to welcome what comes in peace.

Brigid of the ringing forge,
keep the fire in my hands disciplined enough to shape rather than destroy.

Spirits of the land,
teach me to take no more wood than I require
and to leave no living coal behind me.

Ancestors who carried flame through darker nights than mine,
remind me that I did not kindle this light alone.

May I know when to feed the fire.

May I know when to let it settle.

May I know what belongs within the flame
and what must never be burned.

May those who approach in peace find warmth.

May those who approach in grief find room.

May those who approach in honesty find light.

And when my own watch is finished,
may I pass one clean ember into trustworthy hands.

So may the fire be tended.

Godspeed, and tend the fire.

Sources and Further Reading

Marin-Monfort, M. D., et al. “New Evidence for Early Pleistocene Use of Fire at Wonderwerk Cave (South Africa).” PLOS ONE, June 1, 2026. Read the study.
Smithsonian Human Origins Program. “Hearths and Shelters.” Smithsonian Institution.
Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Prometheus.” Read the reference.
Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Maui.” Read the reference.
Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Brigit.” Read the reference.
Solas Bhríde Centre and Hermitages. “The Perpetual Flame.” Read about the Kildare flame.
Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Hestia.” Read the reference.
Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Vesta.” Read the reference.
Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Agni.” Read the reference.
The Long Now Foundation. “The Fire That Never Goes Out.” Read the article.
Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Beltane.” Read the reference.
Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Shamanism: Rituals, Beliefs and Practices.” Read the reference.

Navigating Festival Changes and Personal Loss

I have been debating this post for a few days, not sure how to put into words my feelings. As this festival season was ramping up and looking to be in the clear and a strong possibility of happening I was myself getting amped. Pulling out the drums, checking fest gear, getting set to book holidays. Looking forward to seeing old friends and planning. This would be my second year on staff of a long running festival. Albeit there were many who believed I was staff since around 2011ish this was not the case.

The last three years have been tough with the suicide of a friend, moving, quitting a job of seven years. Moving in with friends for a year and having that friendship go sideways after i moved out continuing my journey. Dealing with the fall out of that. Then the unexpected death of an old friend. And fucking Covid for the last two damn years. All the while doing the “just keep swimming” thing, trying to keep my head above water and just keep moving forward.

So on to a few days ago, the first post regarding staff meeting for the festival. Sweet!!! there was the standard when should we have it poll. I responded to that thinking we possibly should have more than one as the unexpected death I mentioned earlier was a person who for many many years was an integral part of said festival. Two or so hours past no further commentary, then I receive a message advising me that I have been removed from staff, and the staff group by the festival hosts.

No precursor ‘hey how are you doing’ … ‘what have you been up to?’ First time I have heard from them in months (November to be exact). Apparently I was deemed “not a team player” and “not a good fit.” And this is hilarious as the last time I was there they were having electrical issues, at which time I offered knowledge on the source of said issue, as well as provided answers and suggestions on others.

So for those who may look for me in that familiar role as a fire keeper this year, sadly, that will not be. I wish all the staff there the best, exit stage left.

The Story of Brighid

This is the story of Brighid as told to me years ago in a ritual to her. It is here in the telling of this story and in the ritual that followed thereafter that I found my path.

*———————————————————————————————————–*

Centuries ago, the people of Ireland discovered a special place in what is now known as Kildare, which in Irish is Cill Dara: the Church of the Oak. In this sacred landscape there was a natural spring and many great oak trees grew around it. The folk began to gather there and found that the spring had healing properties. Here they made offerings, meditated, prayed and found comfort. Eventually it became a site sacred to the Celtic goddess Brighid.

Legend says that one day a priestess, or Druid, was given a vision by the goddess Brighid while meditating beside the spring. Inspired by her vision, she gathered around her a group of women and together they built a small, stone temple. Within this temple they lit the sacred flame of Brighid. This flame was never permitted to go out. Each priestess took her turn to keep vigil over the flame and tend it carefully. Together the women also planted beautiful gardens of healing herbs and sacred flowers. They kept clean the waters of the spring and built around it a scared well. They ministered to the pilgrims who traveled to Kildare for generations.

In the 6th century Christianity came to Kildare. Missionaries on a quest to convert the people of Ireland arrived at the temple and demanded that the priestesses atone for their sins. The women stood steadfast against those who would harm the sacred flame of their goddess. Bravely blocking the doorway to the temple and guarding the flame with their own bodies. Though fierce in their defense of the flame, they were overwhelmed and dragged from the temple. It is said that they died fighting to protect that which had not been extinguished for hundreds of years.
The fire was put out. The walls and roof of the temple pulled down. The gardens were destroyed and the waters of the sacred well fouled.

In place of the old temple was built a monastery. A nun who took up the name Brighid helped to establish the monastery, bringing other nuns with her to the new building. Together they replanted the gardens. Together they cleaned the scared well. Under Brighid’s guidance, a new flame was lit in the chapel of the monastery. She and her nuns tended the flame and kept vigil over it, dedicating it to their Lord God. Brighid performed many miracles through her long life and after her death, her story became mixed up with the myths of the goddess whose name she shared. Brighid was declared a saint by the Catholic church and for generations, the nuns of St. Brighid tended her flame. Over the centuries, attempts were made by church officials to douse the flame, but none prevailed. In the 13th century a new Cathedral was built and the flame was moved there.

In the 16th century the Reformation came to Kildare. The newly reformed Church did not approve of Catholic practices that were clearly inspired by pagan folk traditions. Men were sent to the monastery and they demanded that the nuns forsake their ways. The Brigidine Sisters stood steadfast against those who would harm the sacred flame. Bravely blocking the doorway to the cathedral and guarding the flame with their own bodies. Though fierce in their defense of the flame, they were overwhelmed and dragged from the cathedral. It is said that they died fighting to protect that which had not been extinguished for hundreds of years.
The fire was put out. The cathedral and monastery stripped of all its wealth. The gardens were destroyed and the waters of the sacred well fouled.

Some 200 years later, in the 18th century, the monastery and the cathedral were rebuilt. The Brigidine Sisters returned to Kildare. They replanted the gardens, cleaned the well, put up new statues of St. Brigid and made the place holy once again. During the reclaiming and rebuilding of the site, the old, original pagan temple was discovered. It is now referred to as the Fire Temple. Its foundation has been restored and it can be visited, being slightly behind the new cathedral. In 1993 the Eternal Flame of Brighid was relit, both in the cathedral and in the town square of Kildare.

The Brigidine Sisters are unique in the fact that they acknowledge both goddess and saint in Brighid and in her flame. They also allow people of any faith to visit and to take a “piece” of Brghid’s flame with them. Many people come to Kildare and light a candle from the flame. They then trap the flame within the candle when it is snuffed so that they can carry it with them. So that Brighid’s flame can never truly be put out again. Many groups also hold vigil over the Flame according to their own tradition, be they Christian or Pagan.

Today all over the world, Pagans and Christians alike tend the flame of Brighid. Candles of every description sit upon mantle pieces, above modern stoves, on altars, in dorm rooms and apartments. The flame has spread to the four corners of the Earth. With so many keepers of the flame pledged to protect her fire, Brighid’s flame can never again be extinguished. Each Imbolg thousands of flames are lit all over the world.

We learn many important lessons from the story of Brighid’s flame:

From this we learn that we are not alone. We can light the flame and connect with the many other keepers of the flame. Even in our darkest hours, we can light the flame and be part of a history that spans millennia. We all are part of a great myth, the act of a goddess that is still in motion. A story that has not finished, a story that may never end.

From this we learn courage and to stand up for what we believe in. To defend that which we hold most dear. But we also must choose our battles wisely, while the sacred flame of Brighid was worth dying for, not all things are.

From this we learn to never give up hope … but also to be flexible and accepting of change. Metamorphosis is a part of life and all things grow, adapt and change with time. What remains is the inspiration we receive from the divine in all it’s forms.

From this we learn that history will inevitably repeat itself, especially when those with power do not accept the lessons that the past can teach us. Always we must move forward, but also look back upon that which has come before.

From this we learn perseverance. We learn the power of goddess, woman and saint. The strength of the divine cannot be extinguished by mere mortal men. That which is most sacred will rise again.

From this we learn tolerance and hope for the future. Progress towards a greater understanding of different paths can be achieved. We learn to offer the olive branch and keep an open mind.

From this we learn to always seek the sacred. To look for places that gives us comfort. When life gets crazy, we all need somewhere that offers us solace, a chance to reflect upon the divine and to silence a racing mind. We must make the time to nourish our souls and grow as spiritual beings.

From this we learn that there will not always be an established temple and sisterhood waiting to embrace us with open arms. But within each of us is the strength and skill to seek out and surround ourselves with like minded people. And together, build something that will create warmth, light, joy and healing for all.

From this we learn the fortitude of womanhood. The power and strength that can be found in every woman’s determined heart. With this strength, passed on from generation to generation, nothing can stop us. Not men on horses. Not a new religion. Not the threat of rape and murder. Not the darkness of a flame snuffed out or a temple destroyed. Always, we will rise from the ashes.

Dedication to Brigid

Years ago I had the opportunity to do an opening ritual for a one night event. I had planned on a full on ritual to Brigid, my patron saint. The mother of my chosen Pagan path. I had planned on a full ritual for this opening with proper corners being called, and a full proper invocation to request her to join us on that evening. This event was happening on Pagan owned land and it led into a large scale 5 day Pagan event. I was not allowed to do the full on ritual. The event co-ordinators of the one small scale one night event felt it was to “pagan” and because I was a solo practitioner and not a full recognized “priest” on a Wiccan path or part of the ADF that I should not do a full ritual for fear that I might insult those on those paths. Since that event I have spoken to many people and their response has always been there is no 100 percent correct way to do this, and for the most part there may be some scripting but a lot of times there is a lot of adlibbing and I should have done what I wanted to do. Heck I even had a custom robe made for this one night just so I could be in the right frame of mind.

For this night we had myself plus two other fire keepers, neither of whom had partaken in performing a ritual, I asked one to speak on the healing aspects of Brig, the other to speak on the Smith craft of Brig, and I spoke on the hearth/fire aspect. The fire pit where the ritual took place is approximately 15 feet in diameter. Each fire keeper had his own fire within that pit to tend to. So three separate fires that at the conclusion of my portion were brought to one fire.

SO here is my portion of this ritual that was approved, I was the last to speak and unfortunately do not have the words spoken by the other keepers as they winged it. I wrote mine down.

Brigid Bright goddess who is three within one.

Brigid the healer, Brigid the Smith, Brigid keeper of the Sacred Flame

You were born with the blaze of the morning sun, Flame from Sky to Earth. Arrow bright

Brigid of the Tuatha Dé Danann, Daughter of Dagda, Mother of Ruadán. Tonite we choose to honor you as we celebrate and gather round these fires and bring the three to one. As you are one, The tribe to is one.

Myth of Ratatoskr

This is a myth of Ratatoskr. For the uninitiated he is the squirrel who runs up and down the world tree Yggdrasil to carry messages between the eagle perched atop Yggdrasil, and the serpent Níðhöggr who dwells beneath one of the three roots of the tree.

This myth does not appear in the Poetic Edda, it like many myths are told mostly by bards. Past down verbally and embellished by each teller as the story gets told again and again. The first time I heard it was at a gathering known as Hail And Horn at Ravens Knoll some time between 2013 and 2015. I credit it to a young man by the name of Scott if my memory serves me correctly. And now on to the story.

Ratatoskr as we do know from the Eddas is a squirrel. He runs up and down Yggdrasil carrying messages between the Eagle perched upon its top, and the serpent Níðhöggr who resides beneath. Ratatoskr would get very hungry and constantly would be gathering food as he ran up and down Yggdrasil. When he reached the top of the tree to deliver messages or latest barb to the eagle from Níðhöggr he would have to open his mouth to speak and in doing so would drop all the acorns and such he had gathered on his way up. These would fall and invariably drop on some unsuspecting travelers head. Ratatoskr would try to apologize but in his excited state all that would come out of his mouth would be chittering. This as you could imagine would be returned by yelling and things being thrown back at poor Ratatoskr by the passersby. Ratatoskr would receive messages from the eagle and begin is trip back down the tree again gathering food as he went. Sometimes his mouth would be full so he would just knock acorns and the like on to the ground and again these would sometimes hit people. He would try to apologize but again with his mouth full all that came out of it would be the contents of his cheeks, and more chittering.

When Ratatoskr reached the ground he would try to gather up what he had dropped, and stash the food in the nearest hole. Usually these holes were Dwarf Mines. He would have so many pine cones, acorns and other seeds he would some times fill these holes to capacity. This would infuriate the Dwarves. As sometimes they would get trapped in the mines under tonnes of seeds, or their mines would be so full they would have to dig them out again so they could resume work. This might seem trivial but all this having to redo work that was all ready done meant the dwarves were delayed in other tasks, such as making weapons, jewelry and the like for the Gods and the realm of man. So now the Gods were furious because they were not getting their trinkets.

In the mean time Ratatoskr would deliver the messages from the eagle to Níðhöggr and the whole process would repeat. If your wondering why the squirrel did this to begin with it may have something to do with an agreement between the eagle and Níðhöggr that allowed Ratatoskr to travel up and down Yggdrasil and not be eaten as he reached the top or the bottom.

So at this point we have the realm of man, and the Aesir, and the Vanir and many others furious with this poor squirrel. They would chase him with brooms, throw rocks at him, empty out his caches of food. So now is he not only running up and down all day to gather food, exchanging messages so he does not get eaten he is having to run for his life to. Well one day he decided to stop and stop he did. The 9 realms rejoiced no longer did they have this insidious fury little creature acosting them on their walks. No longer did the dwarves have to dig themselves out of their holes and dig new ones to get back to their mining. Every one started to get their bobbles and weapons when they were supposed to. Things we great.

The seasons passed, Winter, spring etc. For two passings of the seasons no one saw Ratatoskr and no one cared. Then things started to happen. You see few new trees, few new strawberries and the like were appearing. The forest creatures were now starving because no new plants were growing. The spring rains came and there were mud slides and flooding the likes of which the 9 realms had ever seen. Yggdrasil was heavily laden with seeds, the ground at its roots softened and eroded by flooding. The dwarven mines were pools.

The eagle would perch upon the top of Yggdrasil and Yggdrasil would shake. Níðhöggr would coil around the base of Yggdrasil to try hold it steady but in doing so would clamp around it so tightly that Yggdrasil began to starve for water. Yggdrasil was dying. The eagle would begin to flap his great wings as he held tightly to Yggdrasils top in his attempt to hold Yggdrasil upright. The winds from his flapping were causing remaining trees to topple. No one in the 9 realms understood what was happening and blamed each of the other realms for the current state of affairs. Ragnarok was coming.

The Aesir gathered in preparation they believed as others that Ragnarok had arrived. They went to Odin, all father, the All Knowing and pleaded with him to do something. Yggdrasil is dying they said, the animals are starving, we have nothing to hunt, we cannot gather food. We have no weapons because the dwarves cannot get into their mines. All the realms are hurting.

Odin looked around and he saw the devastation, he travelled the 9 realms and it was the same every where. On his travels he realized something was missing but could not quite figure out what. He went to Yggdrasil and indeed it was dying. He could feel Níðhöggr straining to hold up the great tree, he could see the eagle perched upon its top flapping his wings his attempt to hold the tree upright. Where was Ratatoskr?

Odin sat at the base of Yggdrasil for a day, no Ratatoskr, he sat there for a week, no Ratatoskr. After two weeks he stood up and went to the Aesir and asked if anyone has seen the squirrel and they all replied they had not. But they all had replied they were happy that he was gone. Again he went to the dwarves and asked the same and the response was the same.

Odin asked the eagle and Níðhöggr when they last saw Ratatoskr and their response was we have not seen him for two passing’s of the seasons. It was then Odin realized what was going on. He put out a call to the 9 realms to have Ratatoskr found. Nearly a month went by and indeed it looked like Ragnarok had arrived but finally Ratatoskr was found. Odin went to him and asked why he went away.

Ratatoskr recanted his story, he was tired of being chased, being yelled at, having stones thrown at him, having his food caches destroyed. He was tired of running up and down the tree all day and being loathed by the all the realms. But mostly he was tired and hungry and just wanted to sleep and eat. Odin looked at him and apologized to Ratatoskr. Odin explained to Ratatoskr that the 9 realms cannot survive without him. For even though Ratatoskr was small he did many important jobs that seemed insignificant on the surface, but overall they have a major impact on the welfare of the the 9 worlds. Odin then went on to say he will speak to the dwarves, and all the realms and explain that they need to be kind to Ratatoskr for without him the end would come. Ratatoskr agreed to go back to work, as he truly did miss it. The realms grumbled but the eagle and Níðhöggr were happy they could have their fun poking at each other again, and pass other messages about. The realms slowly returned to normal, Food was plentiful for all. The world tree recovered.

SO the Next time you see a squirrel… Be patient be understanding. For without him Ragnarok will come.

Spirituality of Fire Keeping

This is a subject that I started writing on 3 plus years ago in hopes of doing a workshop/weekend dedicated to Fire Keeping, its spirituality of it, and some histrionics of the subject of fire and its importance to Mankind and the like.

These are my personal notes and research. Some may be inaccurate, but this was a work in progress and never completed. I will do this page-by-page transcribing on a semi-regular basis. Feedback is always welcome, and so we begin with page one.
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Preface

Any person is indeed capable of tending a fire, whether it be large or small. Humankind has used fire for many purposes, to keep themselves warm, to keep away predators, to cook food, and to bring light to the shadows of the night. The reasons are as myriad as the stars in the skies.

Today I wish to touch on the spirituality of fire, the art, and the stagecraft of the sacred fire. For myself, fire keeping is very much a blending of the two. Fire is Sacred; it is a gift. When Chro-magnon man figured out how to use iron pyrite and flint to create a spark and from that spark make fire, the hearth quickly became the central gathering place of the tribe.

Creating fire was probably one of the first feats of Magik performed by Mankind. The Firekeeper/maker was revered and highly esteemed, for he could keep the tribe warm and safe. He was just as crucial as the Hunter. Some may even say more so.

Fire Keepers are considered to be some of the first Shamans. The fire was sacred; it was entrusted to someone believed to have a direct line to the Gods. Fire as an element was considered to be very picky and powerful. One did not provoke the fire spirit or the Fire Keeper, for without fire, the tribe suffered. In some cases, a fire was used as a show of non-aggression to other tribes, wherein fire could be gifted to another tribe. It was also used in some sense as currency, and through its gif,t it could be used to obtain things from other groups, and ye,s it was also fought for and stolen.

Now let’s get back to the “first Shamans” part. As with all things creating fire requires skill and knowledge. Knowledge of what materials could be used to create sparks, where to find these materials, plus the ability to keep these safe. Again the same thing would apply to Tinder and fuel to keep the fire going.

Why did the ability to create fire elevate an otherwise average person to the status of “Shaman?”

Well, let us look at how the fire occurred in nature. Lightning striking the ground can cause a fire. The bright flash of light, accompanied by a thunderous boom, could set a tree or the ground ablaze. Volcanoes erupting, sending volleys of molten lava flying through the air, and rivers of liquid fire rolling downhill, would set things ablaze. In addition, volcanoes erupt toxic gases and ash that could kill and disfigure. Early man, to understand these things, oft attributed them to unseen gods. So it was not a far stretch in early man to believe that any person who could create and contain fire had some link to those unknown gods. Hence he must have been given these powers of nature by these gods.

Since the fire was believed to have originated with the gods and the fire keeper a divine person, it was not long after that fire was used ritualistically to communicate to these gods. Hence the hearth became an altar to the gods simply because it was observed that the smoke, sparks, and ashes would rise up to the skies and, indeed, to the gods themselves. Since objects such as meats or other foods would be consumed by fire, it was believed they went straight to the gods too.

Before man could create fire, he had to learn to capture it by taking advantage of these natural acts. In catching fire, man began to learn how to control his environment. As stated previously, fire became essential to the tribe’s survival. The darkness of the night became less scary and less dangerous. Fire provided not only heat and a way to cook food but also light and kept predators at bay. Some believed that fire also inspired and facilitated early cave paintings. The charcoal from the fire became a writing implement.

I have had many conversations with elders in the Pagan community on fire; those conversations left me dumbstruck. Some elders do not grasp the importance of fire in gatherings; they seem not to understand how fire lends to the overall wholeness of a group or ritual. I personally have filled the role of Fire Keeper since around 2011. At first, doing simple things like tending campfires in the evenings. The warmth of those fires allowed the community to congregate, relax, and unwind. It is at these fires the drums and guitars come out. Storytellers regaled us with stories of past and present times and retold the stories of Gods and men. It is here as well the dancers would get up and dance around the fire accompanied by the drums, as mentioned above, and other instruments. Here, laughter and tears were shared, ideas were born, futures were decided, and the past was learned from.

As time went on and the years passed, I sought my place within the Pagan community. On several occasions, I thought I had it figured out; Druidry and Heathenism seemed to fit, but only loosely. These sorts of work my ancestry but left me wanting. They also did not fit my preconceptions. Meanwhile, I still tended fires, added little knowledge along the way, and began developing my style and fire-keeping craft. Little did I realize the community showed me my path as I plodded along obliviously. I watched, learned, and paid attention to other firekeepers. Soon fire keeping became more than just throwing another log on the fire, but still, I was oblivious. Fire keeping was becoming an art, and I began developing a bit of showmanship. Absorbing bits and pieces bits of lore along the way. As I sat and wrote and researched the subject of fire keeping and spirituality, I was amazed to find not much out there. I could find plenty on drumming and dancing the sacred fire but not much on the aspect of the fire or the fire keeper and their lore. The lore of the Firekeeper seems to be as elusive as that of the Druids of old, or perhaps it is passed on verbally and never recorded in the written word save maybe in personal notes. I found scattered bits mentioned only in passing but nothing in abundance in one place. So I shall begin with what I know, what I believe.

The Art of Fire

So I shall begin with what I know and believe. The art of fire keeping starts long before the fire is lit, with the intent of the fire being a determining factor in preparation. First, One must know the fire’s purpose; is it just being used for warmth? Are you using it to cook food? Is it being used for light for storytelling or the focal point of a drum circle or ritual?

Why is it important to know these things? The reasons are many. The wood you might use for a cooking fire might be maple or oak; you may add hickory to provide flavor. You would not want to use poplar, elm, or cedar as these might give unsavory results. You also may need to dig a pit if you wish to pit cook your food and need to find a suitable pit location. I have seen that Sandy dampish-to-dry soil works best for pit cooking. I will touch on pit cooking and cooking fires later.

For general warming fires, you can almost use any dry wood as it burns well. But I would advise against elm; I have never found the smoke it produces to have an alluring scent. I have also found balancing hardwoods and softwoods works best. Too much pine and you have embers flying out of the fire, potentially landing on people, and it burns very fast; adding cedar can sometimes keep bugs at bay, but again, it too likes to spit out embers. Birch is lovely to add a little brightness but can produce a lot of smoke as the bark burns off. Hardwoods such as oak, maple, ash, and basswood are good for adding longevity to your fire as they tend to burn slower and provide a good bed of coals if someone makes a snack of marshmallows, smores, or hot dogs. Cedar and Pine are often used in ritual fires. Cedar is believed to be a purifying wood. It is believed that its rising smoke can convey messages to the gods, and its aromatic smoke also is good for keeping bugs at bay.

Warming fires generally are less artsy and require less thought. But you can still make the attendees ooohhh and ahh with the simple little things by placing a hollow log in the middle of your fire, and it will act like a chimney drawing flames inward and smoke up through its center, like the image below.

I have done the above on a few occasions. The effect is rather neat and can last for a few hours depending on how dry the wood is; its size will also have a factor. You can vary this and build a fire in the center, but add a few vent/breather holes in the side of the log so your fire gets air. It takes practice, and you probably will never get the same result twice. The above has been referred to as a Swedish fire log. You can use the top as a cooking surface if done correctly.

But the fire is more than just a means for cooking or providing warmth. The spiritual aspect of fire cannot be ignored. Fire is a symbol of transformation and purification. It is believed that burning wood can release trapped energy and emotions, helping to purify oneself and the surrounding environment. Fire is also believed to be a messenger to the gods, allowing one to communicate and ask for guidance or blessings.

The role of the fire keeper is, therefore, not just to tend to the physical fire but also to tend to the spiritual energy that the fire creates. The Firekeeper must be aware of the energy of the space and ensure that it remains clean and pure. They must also be mindful of the attendees’ energy and help facilitate transformation and purification by guiding them through the fire’s energy.

The art of fire keeping involves the physical aspects of tending the fire and the spiritual aspects of working with the fire’s energy. The fire keeper must understand the fire’s intentions and the power it creates and use that to facilitate transformation and healing for themselves and those around them. It truly is an art form that requires attention, focus, and knowledge.

From its origins as a tool for survival to its central role in our spiritual beliefs. Fire keeping requires physical and spiritual preparation, with the knowledge of wood selection, fire implementation, and the awareness of energy and intentions. By embracing the art of fire keeping, we can connect more deeply with our spirituality and harness the transformational power of fire.

As we tend to the flame, we must remember the sacredness of fire and the responsibility that comes with it. We must honor the traditions of our ancestors, who saw fire as a gift from the gods. By understanding the art of fire keeping, we can cultivate a deeper connection with ourselves, others, and the divine. Let us tend to the fire with respect and gratitude; in doing so, may we transform ourselves and our communities for the better.

In conclusion, fire keeping is much more than just tending a flame. It is an art form, a spiritual practice, and a way of connecting with ourselves and the divine. The role of the fire keeper is that of a facilitator, one who guides the attendees through the energy of the fire and helps them to transform and purify. By understanding fire’s physical and spiritual aspects, we can cultivate a deeper connection with our spirituality and create a space of transformation and healing. Let us honor the sacredness of fire and the traditions of our ancestors as we tend to the flame.

The Origins of Fire – An Apache Legend

Long, long ago, animals and trees talked with each other, but there was no fire at that time. Fox was the most clever and he thought of a way to create fire for the world.

One day, he decided to vistit the Geese, te-tl, whose cry he wished to learn how to imitate. The promised to teach him if he would fly with them. So they contrived a way to attach wings to fox, but waned him to never open his eys while flying.

When the Geese arose in flight, fox to flew with them so he may practice their cry. On one such adventure, darkness fell suddenly as they flew over the village of the fireflies, ko-na-tcic-a. The glare of the flickering light from the village caused Fox to forget his warning and he opened his eyes – instantly his wings gave out and he fell unable to regain control. He landed within the walls of the village, it so happened a fire constantly burned in its center.

Two fireflies approached fallen Fox, who gave each one a necklace of juniper berries, katl-te-i-tse.

Fox pursuaded the two fireflies to tell him how he could get over the wall to the outside. They led him to a cedar tree, which they explained to him would bend down upon command and catapult him over the wall if he so desired.

That evening, Fox found the spring from which the fireflies drew their water. There also, he discovered coloured Earth, which when mixed with the spring water made paint. He decided to give himself a coat of white. Upon returning to the village, Fox suggested to the fireflies to have a festival where they could dance to music made by himself.

They agreed this would be fine and fun. They gathered wood to build up a great fire. In secret Fox tied a piece of cedar bark to his tail. Afterwards he made a drum, probably the first one ever made. He beat it vigourously with a stick for the dancing fireflies. Gradually as the night progressed he moved closer and closer to the fire.

Fox pretended to tire from playing the drum. He gave it to some fireflies who wanted to help make music. At that moment he quickly thrust his tail into the fire, Lighting the bark, and exclaimed, “it is too warm here for me, I must find a cooler place.”

Fox ran straight to the cedar tree, calling, “Bend down to me, my cedar tree, bend down!”

Down bent the cedar, then up it carried him launching him far over the wall. On and on he ran, the fireflies in pursuit.

As he ran brush and wood on either side of him were ignited by the embers dropping from the bark tied to his tail.

After a great distance Fox tired and gave the burning bark to Hawk, i-tsari-tsu-i, who carried it to brown crane, tsi-nes-tso-l. He flew far southward, sparks flying everywhere. This is how fire spread across the Earth.

Fireflies still pursued Fox. They followed him all the way back to his burrow and declared, “For ever after, Wily-Fox, your punishment for stealing our fire will be that you can never make uses of it yourself.”

For the Apache nation, this too was the beginning of fire for them. Soon they learned to use it for cooking and for keeping themselves warm in cold weather.