Burn

 

We live near the Konza Prairie, one of the last remaining preserves of native tallgrass prairie in the country. Every spring, as ice thaws and the flowers open their buds, the horizon becomes thick with hazy smoke from the prescribed burning on the Konza Prairie.

Prescribed burning is a very effective tool for land management. It also comes at a high cost: the thick smoke in the air makes the surrounding town very hazy. Allergies and respiratory problems flair up. The ground becomes charred, blackened, dead.

But in several weeks, something amazing happens: The once-dead ground becomes a vibrant green, teeming with newly erupting prairie grass. The native tallgrass species push their way through the rich soil, preserving the ecosystem. The ground that had been blackened with death becomes teeming with life. Prairie burning offers a powerful message: To achieve new life and rebirth, we often must burn away what is old.

This time of spring, there are so many old patterns we may cling to: Guilt. Shame. Toxicity. To burn them away comes at a high price, a time of uncertainty, a period where we worry that killing off these old patterns may cause our soul to turn to ash. This spring, I would advise you to have faith. Faith you can burn away what needs to be stripped bare, so that the emerging new life flourishes. Faith that new life will follow death. Faith that the worst thing is never the last thing.

It is tempting to want a metamorphosis without a fire. But the ensuring growth after we allow ourselves to burn is more beautiful than we can imagine.

[Photo is from a K-State news article.]