Firewalking

Long ago, and not so far away, I was a professional speaker,
had a perm, and led firewalks (see the photo). 
I didn’t intend to be a firewalk facilitator.  In fact, I never intended to walk on fire.  But stuff happens.  During my years as a professional speaker, my
ex and I conducted workshops all over the U.S., Canada, Mexico, and few exotic
places, like Tahiti.  In response to many
requests, we decided that it was time to do a few workshops at home –
specifically at Desoto State Park, Mentone, Alabama. 

The first one was so successful, we decided to conduct one
every six months.  One of the first
participants suggested that we should have a firewalk at the Mentone workshops.  Since neither of us knew how to do that, we
began searching for someone who did.  We
asked a lot of people for recommendations and the name Parisha, a Cherokee
medicine woman, kept coming up.  I contacted
her and she agreed to do an afternoon session at our next workshop and lead a
firewalk in the evening.

Parisha’s seminar and firewalk were a roaring success, no
pun intended.  I told her I wanted to
learn how to lead a firewalk.  She agreed
to teach me.  Six months later, at our
next seminar, Parisha allowed me to assist in all of the outside things that
are necessary.  At various points in the
outside preparation, she would leave me and go back in the cabin where the
participants were gathered.  The final
step of the fire preparation is raking the coals out.  Keep in mind, the temperature of the firewalk
path is 1,200 – 1,400 degrees.  It’s hot
work.  I had been at it for a few minutes
when Parisha came up beside me.  I
stopped raking when she put her arm around my shoulders, and indicated she
wanted to whisper something in my ear.  I
will never forget thinking, this is
it.  I’m about to learn the secret of
firewalking.

I leaned over as she stood on her tip toes and whispered, “Bert,
If you don’t straighten up some, you’re going to blister your face.” 

“Thanks,” I said, and we both laughed.

Before she left, I gave her the date of the next firewalk,
and she agreed to come and give me my final instructions.  A couple of weeks before the appointed time,
I called her. and she assured me she would be there.  Two days before the firewalk, she called and
said that she had an ear infection, and her doctor would not let her fly.  Then she said the words I did not want to
hear, “You can do it, Bert.  You know all
there is to know about leading a firewalk.”

I was nervous until I began laying up the wood.  At that point, I knew Parisha had been
right.  I could do it.  And, I did do it.  Later, I called Parisha to report my
success.  When she answered, I said, “How’s
the ear infection. 

She laughed and said, “What ear infection.”  Then we both laughed, and I knew she had
taught me the ultimate firewalking secret.

I’ve facilitated dozens of firewalks since that night.  Probably the most memorable one I’ve led was
the one I facilitated alone.  My ex was
leading a tour in England and took that opportunity to lead a firewalk for the members
of Vietnam Veterans Southern Command and their spouses and children.   There
was no one to take the group into a cabin, and fill them with the knowledge
that would protect them during the ceremony. 
So, as I tended the fire, I talked to the participants, sitting on the
ground in front of me, watching the fire burn down.   When
it was time to walk, all but one of them actually walked across the coals.

The one, who didn’t, Kenneth Lands, a crewman on a
Riverboat, in Vietnam, pulled me aside afterwards.  With tears streaming down his face he thanked
me and added that the firewalk had been the most meaningful thing he’d done
since leaving Vietnam. 

The last mission Ken was part of in Vietnam was inserting a
U.S. Navy Seal team far behind enemy lines half way between Vung Tao and Saigon.  As the bow of the boat grounded on the beach,
hell broke loose.  Ken was blown into the
river during the first wave of the ambush. 
When he surfaced and looked back toward the flaming boat, he saw two
rockets go totally through the plywood hull of the craft.  He heard his buddies screaming, and he saw
most of them die.  Minutes later, two
more Riverboats arrived and repelled the Viet Cong.  Badly wounded, Ken was treated at an Evac
Hospital and flown to Japan for a long recuperation.  He told me the story through tears and then
added, “This is the first time I’ve been close to a fire since that night.  I feel like I have traveled a long way toward
shaking those memories out of my mind.”

Walking on impossibly hot embers is not life changing.  However, achieving the level of concentration
that is necessary to successfully walk a ten to fifteen foot path of glowing embers
is transformational, if done properly.  
To firewalk successfully, a participant must follow their guidance
(intuition) and walk when they know it is time, and refrain from walking until
they have that knowing.  That is why Ken
Lands experience was as powerful as the experience of those who actually walked
across the coals.

The lesson of the firewalk may be experienced without
actually participating in one. 
Consciously do what you know is yours to do.  Consciously refuse the things you know are
not yours to do.  That will make you a
firewalker.