Sacred fires

Sacred fires

Each morning, the eldest in the village adds wood to the sacred fire. A fire that never goes out. Their offering of scarce firewood makes the fire the center of society. A fire that connects the family to their ancestors. They gather around the fire to pray to their ancestors for guidance. They gather to grieve and to celebrate. The fire smolders through the night as the stars in the sky above mirror the collective fires across the landscape. Thousands of fires. Billions of stars.

Five hundred years ago a little bushman climbed a kopje and spent the evening scratching the outline of a giraffe on the sandstone. When he was finished, he laid down on the warm rock and watched stars fall in the sky. As the moon rose, his fire died and he fell asleep.

Two thousand years ago a group of bushmen gathered under a rock and began to paint. Maybe they were describing a dream or recording a great hunt. As they ate their evening meal, the sun set over the Brandberg. The smoke from their fire made black streaks on the rocks. The Milky Way swirled above them.

Four to five million years ago the climate changed in southern Africa. Forests disappeared, and grasslands expanded. Paleontologists tell us that this is the event that spawned the incredible diversity of antelope. Grassland expansion may have also responsible for the dramatic evolutionary event which resulted in several species of hominids, standing erect to efficiently carry food across the plains. We can imagine an evening somewhere in an African grassland when a group of Australopithecus afarensis sat watching a group of Australopithecus africanus pass over the crest of a nearby hill. Both groups spent the night under the stars. Both groups used the full moon to find food.

Today, we look at the stars around our campfire, and they seem to suck the breath from our hearts into the heavens to mix with the souls who have viewed the skies before us. Eyes glistening, reflecting some inner satisfaction.

Maybe satisfaction comes from feeling closer to the stars. From having stripped away all that doesn’t matter. Now there is less between you and the sky.

Maybe the feeling is realization of how small we are in the space of history. A realization that sacredness has a vast history on the African plains. We share whatever is sacred, whatever makes us whole, with these bushmen and Australopithecus.

Gravity works slowly on thoughts sent starwards. But gravity is gravity, and as you stare at the skies, the weight of previous celestial conversations pulls images into your memory.

Eons of star gazers. Souls bare. All under a well-watched sky. A sky full of sacred fires.

Good night.

--L. Powell
After many conversations with many people about the stars and sacred fires in Namibia