Firewalk to burn fear and limiting beliefs

The idea that a Firewalk might be accessible to someone unenlightened like myself first occurred when a friend told me about his experience. I quizzed him about the participants, some of whom were burned, including him, but who seemed normal enough. They all had powerful experiences and I wanted some of that. I decided that if the opportunity arose, I would test my flammability.

A few months later, I received a flyer about a Firewalk in Des Moines. The flyer talked about “Making friends with the fire” and “Exploring how we create our reality.” It also said it wasn’t about walking on fire and that participants couldn’t know ahead of time whether they would walk or not. It made no sense to me, but I signed up anyway because I promised myself that I would, and how often do you come across such an opportunity?

The drive to Des Moines was windy and I was tormented by self-inquiry:

Why was I doing this? 
What was I going to ask the fire? 
How did it work? 
Were we going to whip ourselves into some freaked-out frenzy? 
Did we have to be naked? 

My friend told me that it was not actually fire, but 1400 degree burning red coals with little flames darting up here and there, some macabre New Age barbecue for the yogi wannabes. As the fear rose to my throat, I reminded myself “you don’t have to walk… you don’t have to walk…”

I arrived at the site and greeted my fellow Firewalkers-to-be. They seemed normal enough, no magical robes, or chanting, and actually I was a bit disappointed. Together, we carved a twenty by twenty-foot flat circle out of the dirt. About seven steps to get across, I calculated. 

We began to quietly lay down wood like Lincoln Logs, wedging newspaper in between. Each of the 18 participants helped build the fire, maybe to prove, I remember thinking, that there were no tricks. It was a hollow pyramid when we were done. Once the fire was ablaze we sat near the fire and meditated on what fire meant to us. We also meditated on what we were experiencing in our feet. 

“Make friends with the fire,” suggested the facilitator, who was a six foot three, Swedish Tibetan monk. ”Speak with the fire and discover what you’ve come here to ask it.”

I rolled my eyes. How does one “address fire?”, but I gave it a shot, I said, “Hello, Fire. How are you doing?” and, to my surprise, I heard a male voice say, “Well hello there, Laura, I’m fine.” It was a friendly voice, but it didn’t matter because I was making the whole thing up. Were other people actually communicating with the fire? I furtively checked out the rest of the group. They seemed mesmerized. Great, it must be hypnosis, and I hadn’t gone under. Now for sure I was going to be burned. 

Next, we did a body-centered meditation, placing our awareness on our feet. Some participants’ feet were already tingling. Then we shared stories of “miraculous” physical experiences: healing cancer, giving birth, and surviving the unsurviveable

Finally, we shared our fears. My biggest fear was that I would be a failure if I didn’t walk or, a failure if I did walk and got burned. After we shared our fears, we practiced the process of walking through the fire and checking for stray embers, etc. 

By then it was completely dark.

Walking
We stood around the circle of raked out coals that were glowing like taillights. My feet, planted in the cool, wet earth, already felt on fire. The facilitator silently stepped to the edge of the circle, paused and then walked with deliberate strides across. On the other side, he didn’t cry out or hop around hugging his feet. 
We applauded. 

After a couple of people went – there was no order – I felt like it was my turn and next thing you know, I was standing on the edge of the circle. It felt like the edge of an abyss. All time stopped and I was unaware of anything except myself and the fire. 

I silently asked myself, “Shall I walk?” 
I heard a clear “Yes.” 
Then I asked the fire, “May I walk?” and a voice replied, “Why, sure, Laura, you go right ahead.”

So… I walked. One ….Two…. Three…. Four…. Five….Six… Seven steps. 

And here’s how it felt: It felt like walking on Captain Crunch cereal. It was not hot. At all. I got to the other side and everyone applauded. I felt a huge rush all over my body. I’d done it. I’d walked on fire.

BUT THEN I suddenly became aware of my feet. They felt like they were on fire. I’d failed! Now I’d permanently damaged my feet. I could feel the blisters forming. “Expand expand expand,” I said to myself over and over. All the euphoria instantly evaporated. I looked around, but everyone else only seemed to glow with satisfaction.

The Integration
Leaving, I could feel my feet against the cool of my sandals. ”Expand” became my new mantra. I pictured all the things that expanded: a balloon, sponges… One of my friends advised me to not look at my feet until I was prepared to see no burns so I didn’t wash my feet. As I lied in a borrowed bed in Iowa with dirty feet, sleepless, scared, exhilarated, exhausted, I reminded myself: “I walked on fire.” 

The Next Day It Happened

I still hadn’t looked at my feet. I went for a walk, feeling my feet, checking for burning sensations. There were NONE. I finally looked at the bottom of my feet. No blisters. I felt a surge of electricity suffuse my entire body. I walked on fire without being burned!

What I learned
I’ve walked on fire nine times in total and have never been burned, although other participants were burned, so I didn’t cheat which is what I thought the first time and why I had to do it a few more times to prove it to myself. 

Walking on fire challenged my perception of reality. If fire doesn’t burn, what else is possible? When people ask how I did it, I tell them that you don’t get burned by the fire, but by the belief that you get burned by fire. ”Mind over matter?” they usually say, and I reply, “Mind as matter."

What I learned from walking on fire was that fully participating in your experience allows for full acceptance and even enjoyment, regardless of what the experience is, even walking on 1400 degree coals. What I discovered was that fighting, fearing and judging the fire is what burns you. The funny thing is that the walking wasn’t even the hard part, it was the listening to myself before and after that was more challenging and ultimately transformative.