Who Moved Moved My Cheese?
Spencer Johnson, MD
The bed of coals burned a vibrant
red-orange life in front of me. A short
wall of flames, ten inches high, licked the air lining the edges of
the bed. Escaping heat warmed the cool
autumn air. Thirty seekers of truth or
thrills encircled the controlled inferno.
Our intention was to walk over the bed of burning coals, six feet
across. The temperature of the fire, we
were told, was approximately 1200 degrees Fahrenheit.
Fear held me back. I had decided weeks ago that I would take
these steps. After all, it was only six
feet between me and my destiny as a firewalker.
I knew it was possible. I talked
to people who had done it. I had seen
pictures. I believed walking over the
fire without being burned would help me conquer fears in other areas of my
life. I knew it wouldn’t kill me. But I was afraid of burning my feet.
The first person stepped bravely across
the coals surrounded by applause and cheers.
The part of me that wanted to go first was disappointed. Seeing the sizzling flakes of red-hot coal
sticking to his feet didn’t improve my state of mind either. The second and third person walked without
visible anguish.
Finally I was ready. I ratcheted up my courage, took a breath, a
step and confronted my fear. My first
contact with the coals was liberating.
One small step for man, one giant leap for my mind. I was walking across a bed of hot coals! I knew if I breathed and stayed focused I
would not be burned. Each step was fully
conscious. My body felt like a lightning
rod hit with a burst of electricity. Tremendous
energy circulated through me, yet I was safely grounded in the earth. I reached the other side of the burning coals
safe! It felt so good that I turned
around and did it again.
The Firewalk Seminar began two and a half
hours earlier when Dan Brule, the seminar leader, came out of his house a few
minutes past 7 pm and called us together.
Dan’s one of the original therapists from the American breathwork
revival of the 1970s. He’s been teaching
spiritual breathing techniques for 20 years and firewalking almost as
long. The group made a circle around an
unlit pyre six feet high and introduced ourselves by stating our name and
intent in coming to the firewalk.
People spoke of how crossing the fire
would help them overcome fear in other areas of their life. A joker said, “Firewalk? I’m here for the
smores.” One young man said he wanted to
add substance to his life. I said my
intent was to “experience a miracle and write an article about it.” Then, focusing on our intent, each of us lit
one of the thirty wicks, twirled pieces of newspaper, inching out of the pyre.
The human circle widened as we stepped back to avoid the roaring blaze.
A discussion of walking over hot coals
began. Dan told us many cultures around
the world engage in the practice and said the number one rule was to remember
to breathe. He described several
theories about why people are able to walk over fire. There’s the sweaty feet theory, that the
moisture on the bottom of the feet prevents burns. The low conductivity theory, the idea that
wood is a poor conductor of heat so walking over wood coals doesn’t burn a
person. This theory was dispelled when
people at the Firewalk Institute for Research and Education (FIRE) placed metal
grills over the coals and walked on them, leaving footprints in the malleable
metal.
Dan was obviously disdainful of these
incomplete theories. He believes most
scientists disregard the element of consciousness when studying
firewalkers. Consciously using the
breath to relax turns fear into excitement and positive energy. He said achieving the appropriate
psycho-physiological state allows an individual to surpass many previous
expectations including being able to walk on fire.
On a recent firewalk Dan led, several
people burned their feet. He attributed
this to their state of mind as they crossed the fire. He claimed that even folks who were burned
received valuable lessons from the experience.
One woman was burned so badly the blisters kept her off her feet and out
of work for two weeks. But, during those
two weeks she had the time to reflect and decided to pursue a long desired move
to another part of the country.
Possibly, one where firewalks aren’t so common.
I felt a morbid satisfaction at the fact
that people had been burned in previous walks.
If no one ever got burned it would seem less heroic to get across
unscathed. I marveled at the fact that
no releases indemnifying Dan were signed in preparation for the walk. In our litigious society, all it would take
is one person to think, “Damn, I like this yard . . .” and linger on the coals
a bit too long.
Four others in attendance had done
firewalks before and were asked to talk about their experiences. Louise completed multiple walks safely, but
picking up Dan’s thread said the walk when she burned her feet “was the most
powerful experience” of her life. She
had the realization that the fire wasn’t burning her. She was burning her. At that moment, she jettisoned a large chunk
of victim mentality.
In order not to be burned, she suggested
we surrender and become one with the fire.
Her belief that all life is made from the same basic elements and fire
is simply energy vibrating at a higher frequency than flesh has kept her safe
walking over 1200 degree coals on several other occasions. Dan added we could consciously vibrate our
bodies at a higher frequency by using our breath to match the vibration of the
fire.
At this point the sharing was momentarily
interrupted as emergency vehicle sirens blared in the vicinity. The fire had grown at a good clip and was
periodically throwing off majestic clusters of sparks in the hundreds that
floated 10 to 20 feet high. I thought
the fire department was going to interrupt our walk. Dan looked uncomfortable. Then, as if to prepare us, asked aloud, “I
wonder if they’re coming for us again?”
He explained, “Sometimes the neighbors
call when the see the fire through the trees and think someone has set a fire
in the woods. Last time the fire
department couldn’t find us and had to come through the woods.” Fortunately, the sirens moved out of our
vicinity in about a minute. However, the
frightened part of me regretted that the fire department hadn’t ended the walk.
We were invited to share our fears about
walking over the fire. Obviously the fear of getting burned was high on most
people’s list. One man wanted to know
where the nearest hospital was. A woman
questioned what was the procedure if we did get burned. Dan suggested treating the wound with the
opposite of fire: cold water.
I was concerned about the conflict between
seriousness and silliness. On one level,
firewalking is a dramatic self-improvement technique; in another way, it seems
an egotistic waste of time and money. I
wondered, “How is this going to help me with my problems?” Unless you’re a firefighter, the experience
doesn’t seem to have a lot of practical value.
A middle-aged man captured the mood when he said, “You gotta be fucking
nuts to do this.”
Need I mention that my friend
who accompanied me to take pictures and I were the only Black people in attendance? Not that Black people don't do crazy shit, but it's usually not so deliberate.
Being burned was a horrible thought, but
there was also fear of emotional pain from not walking. The potential embarrassment of coming this
far and chickening out was real to me.
Although Dan said several times that it was a valid choice not to walk
the coals, there was a tacit agreement among the group that we had come to
firewalk. I think all but two of us
did. I felt like I would be a coward if
I didn’t do it, but I was very aware of the razor thin line between bravery and
stupidity.
Many of us feared the emotional fall-out
from walking and being burned. Dan told
us the teenaged son of the woman who was out of work for two weeks after the
last walk humbled her by asking, “Jeez, mom, what did you expect?”
Finally, as darkness engulfed the sky and
the nearly full moon could be glimpsed through the trees participants were
encouraged to complete the sentence, “I am going to walk because . . .”
Rejoinders included: to prove it to
myself; because it’s possible; to be a catalyst for moving forward in other
areas; to prove I am worthy of the experience; because I’m scared to death; to
understand that level of consciousness, to show other people what is possible;
because I am greater than it (whoa, I felt sorry for that guy’s feet).
All too soon, Dan broke down the raging
shoulder high fire with a shovel. He
spread the glowing coals over the ground, about an inch or two deep and
six-feet across. The scared part of me
thought, “Hey this is too soon. Can’t we
talk some more?”
A man brought out a large drum to keep the
rhythm and a woman started chanting songs in praise of the fire. Most of us clapped, swayed and sang to
release more energy and speed up our vibrations. A few danced a joyous circle around the
perimeter of the coals.
My friend who came to take pictures stood
on the other side of the circle with camera poised. A thought arose to give her an indication
that I was about to walk, but I decided it was unimportant. I was full of a more serious thought. I was communing with the fire. My consciousness had merged, to some degree,
with the flames.
Looking at pictures taken during the
evening I was pleased to have photographic documentation of myself going into a
trance. Make no mistake; this was a
self-induced state of altered consciousness capable of producing miracles. Later, telling the story to others, my friend
who took pictures aptly reported that I was “in the zone.”
I was disappointed that coals were spread
only six feet across. It seemed too
easy. I’ve seen photos and read stories
of people walking on coals up to 20 or more feet across. I’m told the record firewalk is 320
feet. Although I felt great fear before
walking over six-feet of flames, I had to prove to myself that I could handle a
greater challenge. So as soon as I hit
one end of the coals, I immediately turned around and walked back across the
fire to where I started in the circle.
My feet felt the heat as I passed. I even felt the chips of burning wood
sticking to the bottom of my feet like the tip of a match that gets stuck to
your finger. It felt delicious to reach
the end of the coals and step into the dew moistened grass. Examining my feet after the firewalk I saw no
indication of blisters or burns.
Rare are the states I’ve enjoyed that
matched the satisfaction and pleasure I derived from walking over the
coals. Various experiences with saints,
skydiving and sex (not at the same time) are analogous, but firewalking was
different. This was simply me and one of
the elements in deep communion. It was
definitely a peak experience.
Once I walked over the fire, I felt relief
and excitement. It was easier than I
thought. I realized most activities that
help us grow are scary when we start, but taking action is seldom as painful as
the failure of frightened resistance. I
feel a good amount of personal power – juice, as we say in the hood – from
walking over the coals.
Sometimes I look at the photos and marvel
that I had the courage to walk on burning hot coals. Then whatever challenge I’m facing, whatever
fear I’m confronting, I think, “I walked over fire. I can handle this.”
