The Power of the Campfire
Fire is the beating heart of life. When we gaze into its depths, we are not merely mesmerised by the hypnotic embers and sparks; we are gazing inward, reflecting on ourselves.
By Jamie Prow, Regenerative steward
Why are we so captivated by the campfire? Is it her warmth? Her flicker? Or perhaps it stirs a primal memory, where fire once offered protection from predators? Maybe it’s the purity of her flame.
But no, I believe it’s more than that. We can’t view fire through such a reductionist lens, for this is not the lesson she longs for us to hear.
We cannot break this masterpiece into its individual components. To truly understand it, we must experience fire as a symphony. We must learn to listen deeply.
When we explore the systems of fire, we realise she is much more than the sum of her parts.
The light and heat we feel are simply the release of stored sunlight. Fire is not merely warmth; it is the very sunlight that sustains all life—an offering from the burning branch to those who stand to benefit from its light.
It’s magic, really. When a tree absorbs sunlight, it stores that energy in its trunk. Fire, then, is simply the release of that stored energy. It is the tree’s way of passing on the gift of life. This is the same energy that fuels the food we eat and everything that nourishes us. A campfire, therefore, is a miracle. Just as all of life proves to be.
It is a shining light, a manifestation of life itself. It flickers with the warmth of everything that serves life—an energy we, too, can call upon, even in the darkest of times. A gift to hold in gratitude, to honour, and to pass on. A moment of abundance and reciprocity to share with those around us.
Fire is the beating heart of life. When we gaze into its depths, we are not merely mesmerised by the hypnotic embers and sparks; we are gazing inward, reflecting on ourselves.
Fire becomes a portal into the essence of life. In this moment, we realise that we are not staring at ‘fire’—we are staring at ourselves, and at all other living beings, staring right back at us.
Fire teaches us a profound lesson in balance and reciprocity. It is both a gift and a responsibility. We gather the wood, we nurture the flame, and in return, it offers us its stored warmth, light, and comfort. This exchange mirrors the larger cycles of life, where every act of giving creates the conditions for receiving, and every moment of receiving calls for an act of giving in return.
Fire helps us feel alive and connected. It brings a rich context to the world within its glow, making us feel less alone, more secure, and more at home.
I believe that a fire like this creates the conditions for us to be our best selves—and as social beings, that best self always emerges in moments of togetherness, where the acts of sharing and reciprocity are at the heart of our experience.
So, where there is fire, you’ll find gatherings. Where there are campfires, you’ll find people who, if they choose, can come together to be the best of themselves. To be at one with life.
We discern that the urge of the times is not to fix a broken system, but to acknowledge our inherent power to summon other worlds.
