Ash

You’re standing at the mouth of a volcano. The ground bulges and you see signs that tell you it’s going to erupt. You feel frustration and stress. You imagine being swallowed and charred by the liquid hot magma. What rivers will flow from the fire below? Standing on the cracking molten rock, you feel tremors from within. Suddenly, gigantic smokestacks shoot into clouds as from a burning building. They expand until you are lost and blinded by the poisonous grey. You shut your eyes and hold your breath as much as possible, awaiting the hellish avalanche. But it never comes. You open your eyes to the smoke as it dilutes and clears. Once it does, you finally notice the blue sky above and the open pasture beyond the volcanic rocks. And you see other people, too, waking up to the illusion of imminent death. You feel drawn to them and lose focus of everything but the people: Asian monks, European laymen, African priests and priestesses. They are all your brothers and sisters. They, too, remain unburned by the magma you so feared. You forget your wants and needs in fascination with your fellow human beings. You care for them, and the pressure of your hollow eruption fades away.