Remember someone’s tending the fire and trusting you’ll make it through. Something about this resonates deeply, in my belly. To know what I know, or to hear what I know, this trust that I am supported. To know someone is tending to the fire. Is that fire my soul’s light, and who is the fire tender. Is that my essence? Is that my own truth? The truth of who I am? That I am source? That I will never be forgotten, because there is someone trusting that I will make it through. When I think all is lost, when the day becomes dark, and every hour becomes night, there is someone tending the fire. There is someone tending the light, standing there, holding the call to return when I have forgotten there is a home, when I have forgotten there is something other than the story I tell myself. I can return, for there is a light that calls me home. There is a light in the darkness of my seeing. There is a light!