Friday, January 8, 2016

Combustion


Being born, as is our leading pyromaniac, with my Sun in Aries, I share that Cardinal Fire Sign attitude when it comes to burning shit up: hotter, faster, bigger, yes, of course.

But there’s something to said for a slow—or least slower—burn, especially when it enables you to keep burning all the way down.

Last year we were shown a counterexample to the well-worn phrase “too big to fail,” as shared aspirations were so large that success was not an option.  This year, by contrast, by setting our sights lower, we were actually able to rise higher, (and by “we” I mean the flames, which lit up the night sky and illuminated loopy grins all around the cheery conflagration, and the firepit, as well—cue rimshot.)

Sure, there was that charming gut-tingling moment where it really seemed like the hook-and-ladder truck was giving us an escort, but that just added to the excitement and made the eventual carbon release that much sweeter.  Plus, it’s nice to know that were one ever really able to ignite sand, our city’s first responders would be on the job.

What’s amazing, and should never be lost against the backdrop of several story-high examples of chemical combustion, is how impressive are the remains: coals easily hot enough to melt aluminum and with enough radiance to warm dozens lit similarly from the inside by the eponymous juice of choice.

Vulcan to the Romans, Hephaestus to the Greeks, Agni in the Vedic tradition, and the internet tells me there’s many more I’ve never even heard of.  Point being: pretty much every culture has some sort of fire god it worships; and it’s easy enough to see why.  Nothing brings human beings together like the sacred combination of heat, oxygen, and fuel—and it’s even better when you throw in bikes, alcohol, and music.

So thanks, Fire God, in every form you take, especially our local deity, attired in silver with snorkel, as well.

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