This art featured in my memoir, Incandescence Rising Above Darkness is included as a moment of serenity between chapters and does not necessarily have any literal connection to the story.
Incandescence Rising Above Darkness Chapter #11 Foot In The fire
Solitary moments in serene nature are the most vivid memories of my childhood. I remember things like glistening snail trails of silver on smooth, dark bark, the gentle quivering of iridescent butterfly wings, glowing salamander bellies, rainbows undulating on dewdrops, and light dancing across the water. Finding natural materials that inspired me was my daily quest. With them, I would create anything I could imagine, and I could imagine so much when there were no distractions by loud and large people. I built bridges out of sticks, tiny pine needle baskets, seashell mobiles, stone labyrinths, feather masks, and moss clothing.
I listened to every tiny sound long after everyone had fallen asleep, sensing something was terribly wrong. Not knowing what it was, I stared into the darkness, looking for a sign of the danger I felt gathering around us. I lay perfectly still as my father got up and took his sleeping bag into the living room. A very clear and insistent voice within me said, “Do not go to sleep!” The desire to sleep kept increasing, and the voice kept getting stronger, “Do not go to sleep!” I tried to focus on the doorway two feet in front of me, but when I realized I could not, terror came over me, and the voice said, “Stand up!” I could not feel my legs. I threw the blanket off and stared at my feet. I felt no connection to my own body. I tried to get my feet to move.
I had the thought, I am dying! We are all dying. It was like an electric shock, and I sat up and vomited, which cleared my head. I somehow knew my mother was in a life-threatening situation. I struggled to stand up and feel my way down the wall to the room where she was sleeping. I did not know whether I was actually speaking or imagining I was speaking. “Wake up! We have to get out!” She did not move. Looking down, I saw my right foot was in the red-hot coals in the hibachi, and it shocked me into speaking clearly. “My foot is in the fire, and I can’t feel it.” She looked over and leaped out of her bed, shaking her head like a mother bear waking from hibernation. She picked me up and out of the coals. Moving in slow motion, we helped each other out of the room, groping and stumbling.
Clare Cooley
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