May 19th, 2019 The day we return to burn the Temple

The moment arrived when the Temple burst into full flame. It was a transformational experience. She was made of structural lumber, intricate CNC-cut plywood and in the interim of being finished, filled with prayers, tears, memories, artifacts, photos and thousands of names and words. The flames engulfed the entire structure.

The patterns within the intricate designs were outlined by flames, glowing orange-gold against smoldering black contrast, a stark image of flame and darkness. Smoke swirled upward, spiraling towards the heavens. Ignited embers glowed, dancing upwards in patterns against a dark sky, iridescent and alive. I pictured each name as an ember turned angel, released into a transcendental ballet towards a heaven I can only dream about. No matter who you are, or what you believe, this spectacle, this fiery part of the Temple’s final piece of importance is mesmerizing, inspiring and connects everyone who is there to experience it.

And it is magnificent. Temple of Time was not too big and not too small, grand and intimate at the same time. She was tender enough to speak to each person as an individual and she was strong enough to hold us all as a group. I felt how much this community needed the moment. I knew how deeply my new friends were ready to feel the magic of the Temple burn. Dreaming of closure and release from the PTSD hell they endured this year. I felt the “oohs” and “ahhs.” I heard the fire crackle and pop as the temple burned bright. There were two ladder fire trucks and the hoses arcing into the air like poetic parenthesis, reminding us they were there for our safety, to ostensibly keep the sparks from igniting anything, wetting the grass and the space around the Temple burn. The raging fire had been in full glory for20 minutes. I expected the spire to collapse any second.

The Temple burn happens in stages. The spire is the first thing to collapse, sometimes it leans to one side, sometimes it does a small curtsy and twists, and sometimes it falls straight down the center. It is the first signal that she has been engulfed and fire is going to win the battle of impermanence. It is the first moment that everyone simultaneously gasps and that sound is breathtaking as everyone feels something profound in their bodies, all hearts and voices collectively release something in that moment.

I filmed the flames. I had already decided that I wanted to create a book to commemorate this Temple of Time in Coral Springs/Parkland Florida. I anticipated the spire’s collapse at any moment. I looked at the time—three minutes and counting. Any moment. I could feel it. A tension in the air. I didn’t breathe. Nor the person next to me. Four minutes and counting. Five…

Then I noticed… there was a shift in the angle of the hoses. They were no longer aimed at the perimeter with an arcing protective spray. The hose has been funneled into a blasting force and directed on the Temple, specifically at the spire. Sparks extinguished, flames diminished, with tragic suddenness, the golden glow turned to a cloud of gray smoke billowing from black charcoal structural wood. It was like watching a movie where the reel suddenly stops and you watch the celluloid melt and then turn to utter darkness and silence. The Coral Springs/Parkland Fire department put out the fire.

I was speechless and disoriented

My friends next to me were speechless.

The firefighters were on a mission; now every action was purposeful. The high-power hoses moved in closer to collapse the charcoaled skeleton. She was still sturdy and fought back to stand stalwart. I could tell this would to take them the rest of the night to clean up.

The crowd dispersed. The Temple Crew gathered together. We were shocked and speechless, but tried to not be bitter.

Someone said, “That is such bullshit!” in an angry voice. Someone just shook their head and said they felt stunned. Someone said, “I guess that is just the fire department doing their job; they must have seen something we didn’t.” Someone said “I think they had an agenda to not let it burn from the beginning.” Someone said glibly…”I’d call burnus-interuptus for sure.”

We all laughed at that remark and it broke our cycle of dismay.

Maggie reminded us that dinner is being served at an Italian restaurant nearby. Some dove, some walked. My knee ached and I was confused about how I felt. I was tired and drawn out. I sat down and told everyone I would meet them there…

I sat with my thoughts and replayed the course of events.

Sunday, 3:45 p.m. Fort Lauderdale Airport. Walking briskly, no time to spare to get to the site, because it closes to the public at 5:00 and it burns at 7:30. My knee aches. Limping the pain is almost unbearable. I’ve been busy, bad knees anyway, it didn’t help tripping on a pallet and pitching forward off the edge of my dump truck, deciding to leap to save summersaulting onto my head, sacrificing my left knee as I landed on it with all my weight. It didn’t help that a dear friend of mine just died of cancer a few days earlier and some late nights with friends. It didn’t help that I had been up Friday and Saturday, helping and celebrating my brother’s wedding. I arrive limping, emotionally spent, hungover and with just a few hours of sleep throughout the past four days—better late and delirious than not at all. I wonder if that is actually true as I limp, trying hard not to grimace and sweat.

I arrive at 4:55 p.m. to the site. Volunteers in the area kindly ask the last few people to leave. A healthy crowd has already gathered around the outside perimeter, where a small chainlink fence was installed. I am known as one of the builders, so I remain after the last person has left. The Temple has weathered surprisingly well. She has greyed and mildewed a bit from the rains, but the pieces of memories, words and photographs have taken on a life of their own and in this late afternoon light the Temple of Time has a shining presence. I sit in my corner, taking a few deep breaths, a few photographs and mental notes. There is no physical poetry more poignant nor touching than entering one of these Temples after everyone has been asked to leave and you stand alone in this place as a witness to such gratitude within grief.

There are questions that are always asked by us builders. Will the weather behave? Will she light easy? Will she ignite too slow, too fast? Will she catch on fire and burn quickly, but in control? Will she burn in a kind of triumph and beauty that will match the sweet power of her gift to this community? Will there be closure and release for the families and community that have gathered here? But there is another question—Will the fire department on site understand how this works? How will they react to a fire of this magnitude, with all their equipment standing by and all their senses taught to put out fires, not stand witness to them? I find my crew. David Best asks me to be a part of four to be at the lighting to help facilitate and support any situation. I have had the unhappy honor to have lit one of our Temples. I understand the privilege to hold the flame and touch a corner of this building. Thousands of people watching, emotionally involved. The huge silence that looms around the site. A feeling of being bonded through this journey of grief. I know the emotions it can trigger, the vast sense of loss and sadness. It is a privilege to hold this flame, but the reasons we are holding them are sad and tragic and that can never be forgotten. I also know that after all the torches have lit the containers of kerosene in the respective corners, once lit, it gets hot fast, I mean real hot, real fast, and you find yourself walking away much faster than you would imagine. Yes, it is a good idea to have people there who have experience and know what emotional and logistical things could happen. So yes, this is an honor for me—to walk with these people chosen from the community.

We are asked to gather at the perimeter between the Temple and the fence. The fire chief explains the details of how the burning will take place. Four groups gather for stations, positions and timing. He is clear and speaks slowly and precisely. He says they believe the fire will take approximately 20 minutes to burn. I think to myself…this fire is going to take longer than 20 minutes to burn. First red flag. We will take all precautions if the fire takes too long or shows any signs of getting out of control. Second red flag. He introduces a colleague, “This is James Wright and he is in charge of only one thing. He has one job and that is only to judge if the fire is under control. If he says the fire is out of control or any area is in immanent danger, I will immediately signal to put out the fire. Third red flag. James Wright steps forward, introducing himself. My only impression is that he and I would never drink a beer together, he seems that stiff and conservative. Fourth red flag.

The fire chief says he will call the people into their four groups. He declares that if a name is not called, the person does not belong there. He calls all the names for the group. Ours are not called. The groups are dispersed and we stand still, looking at each other. The fire specialist from Burning Man, who is in our group, asks the fire chief where the people should go who are meant to shadow and assist the people lighting. The fire chief ignores the question. Our specialist asks again, and he is rebuked with a wave of the hand and a curt. He states that the names already called are the only people allowed for the lighting, and he walks off. Our fire-specialist is visibly upset, redfaced and silent. Fifth red flag.

It is night. My friends left for the Italian restaurant. They have shut down the location for the night to give us a private evening. I’m too tired to want to participate. Emotions— sad, disappointed and upset. I was conditioned to always be philosophical in moments like this and look at all sides and perspectives. I am too tired to be angry, too exhausted and wrung out to be philosophical. I sit, watching the firemen clean. I close my eyes. Images move across my brain like a slide show. There are no judgements or emotions attached, just acknowledging and validating their existence in my world. I’m too tired to feel lucky or unlucky, despondent or excited, sorrow or gratitude.

I think of the first day on the Temple build, the individual faces of those I came to know, Mitch and I standing together, placing the photo of my dearest friend Michelle inside, the rains where we all huddled together, the food we ate, the late nights building and sitting together until midnight on park benches, Maggie falling and breaking her wrist, the goodbye hugs. The burn tonight; its beauty and disappointment.

I make a point to not claim any perspective or value…I will just put it in a box and look at this carefully after I land back on Earth. I will refrain from putting a story around my feelings. I walk the long three blocks (blocks are long in Florida strip-mall streets). It is reassuring to see everyone. Not in the mood for pasta and alcohol…. but I make a go of it.

After the burn, I talked to many Temple Crew friends. We are disappointed; something interrupted in the middle of a process. Burnus-interruptus. Yet, the fire department was just doing their job; it was a burn in a city.

After the Burn what is this Temple?

The city therapist who is working with the PTSD of the city and who talked to us as we arrived, sat next to me after the burn.

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you sat here… I need a therapist. How do I process this?” I was feigning a bit, but it felt good to lean against her and drop my tired head on her shoulder and ask for help.

She seemed to already have her answer prepared, which took away from the value. “No one here knew what to expect. They saw it burn, they saw the beauty of it and felt the significance. No one knew that it was supposed to burn to the ground. Your disappointment is because your expectations have more experience. Someone seeing this for the first time wouldn’t know. I was at a circus the other night with my kids and the trapeze artist made a mistake but we didn’t even know it was a mistake… you know what I mean?”

I asked Mitch and he explained that the Coral Spring Fire Department is highly regarded and take putting out fires very seriously. If they felt it was a threat, they would not hesitate. It was still beautiful and he felt deep gratitude for what we brought to their town.

I texted Noa on Instagram; her answer caused me to reevaluate what is the Temple, really. I asked her how she felt about the way the Temple ended.

“I guess I felt some closure,” was her answer.

That answer struck me. Yes we want the Temple and the burning of it to offer release, create closure. Loss and grief are fluid. They are a trillion million particles in our being. It is not like getting over an illness and perhaps it’s something we never get over. Noa wanted to support us with her feeling of I think I felt closure. I can read into that I was left with so much gratitude that I can understand what the feeling of closure will feel like. There is light to move towards.

If the burning of a Temple does not burn, does that mean that the Temple is a failure?Of course not.

We often explain the Temple as a place to release wounds, find forgiveness and connect to appreciation. But those are lofty jumps. I imagine the spiraling flames, like angels drifting into the night sky.

I realize very clearly now. It is poetic.

Grief, in its early and most raw phase is an anxious, anguishing shot to the gut. The total sadness is disorienting. Anxiety creates panic attacks, fear, shame, guilt and depression. But there is a place that grief transforms, there is a place where a thin slice of reality shifts grief of anxiety and (as in the trauma of Coral Springs/Parkland) grief with PTSD, into something else.

The Temple offers lessons in gratitude. The biggest discovery in my journey of grief is in the lonely darkness of the burnt-out failed burn of the Temple of Time. It didn’t create closure for Noa. She was trying to be kind to me to make me feel better about what we did...

What we really brought the town and the people who came to help build or watch 30 minutes of a beautiful fire that was put out by honest courageous fire fighters...

was gratitude. The Temple shifts grief of anxiety to grief of gratitude.

Sorrow and love equates gratitude. It becomes a new kind of journey filled with magic and mystery. I can live with that.