Fire, Fear, and Faith: An Inner Journey

✍️ How facing the fire transforms fear into trust and renewal.

1. The Fire Begins: Fear Takes Hold

The fire started on Tuesday, January 7th, catching us all by surprise. By the end of the first day, I watched as the flames stretched three miles across the canyon, their walls reaching 100 feet into the air at times, racing toward the house despite the opposite wind.

That first night, Lisa took the cat and left for safety. I stayed behind but couldn’t sleep in the house, afraid the fire would engulf it while I lay unaware. Instead, I slept in my car a short distance away. Each time I left the house, I felt the weight of uncertainty. Would I return to find it gone? As I walked around the house, I said silent goodbyes to the walls, the plants, the paintings, and the memories they held.

By the end of the night, fear had taken root. The fire wasn’t just an external force—it was in me, whispering that I wasn’t safe, that I was going to lose everything. My mind was filled with illusions, like Mara’s daughters pulling me from truth.

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2. Returning to the House: Facing Illusion

On the second day, Lisa brought the cat back. She had panicked while away from home, and I could see she needed to be here. With her return, I no longer had the choice to sleep elsewhere. I had to stay in the house, even at night. Fear became my constant companion, whispering its illusions: “You’re not safe. Run away. You’ll lose everything.”

This reminded me of the test the Buddha faced on the night of his enlightenment, when Mara—the lord of illusion—sent his daughters, Desire, Aversion, and Attachment, to seduce him from his meditation. Mara sought to pull him from truth using fear, doubt, and temptation.

In those moments, I felt the weight of Mara’s daughters within me. Fear whispered that I wasn’t safe. My attachment to my home and memories brought deep grief. I wept for the life I thought I was losing. But as I sat with the fear, I began to see through the illusions. These were stories, not truths. Beyond them, something else was trying to speak to me.

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3. Seeing the Signs: Kuan Yin’s Whisper

As I sat with the fear, the pieces began to fall into place. I remembered the shrine to Kuan Yin I had felt compelled to build nine months earlier. At the time, I didn’t understand why, but now her presence made sense. Kuan Yin, always depicted pouring water as an act of compassion and protection, had whispered to me: “You will need this water. You will need this Love. You will need all of it to navigate what’s coming.”

After finishing the shrine, I received a call that my fence—something I had been asking to be replaced for two years—was finally going to be rebuilt. I see it now as a sign of protection, one of many synchronicities preparing me for this moment. The event I had been intensely training for, scheduled for January 8th, was canceled because of the fire, but I realized that preparation had strengthened me for what the fire required. My fridge was full, I had spare gas, my hybrid car allowed me to charge my phone without running the engine, and the library next door offered Wi-Fi. Everything I needed to face this challenge was already in place.

I asked myself the three questions that guide me in every moment of my life: How is this perfect? How is this for my growth? How did I manifest this? These are words I often use in my coaching work, but now they were being asked of me. I had to walk my talk.

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4. Sitting with Synchronicity: Trust and Perfection

As the synchronicities came into focus, I saw their perfection. Each detail—no matter how small—had been orchestrated to support me. The first day of the fire, my propane delivery arrived—a strange synchronicity in the midst of chaos. It gave me hot water for showers and the ability to cook, even as the power went out. Just a week earlier, I had purchased half a cord of wood for the fireplace—something I’d never done before. Now I see these as part of the unconscious preparation for what was to come.

I sat with this realization, letting it sink in. Kuan Yin hadn’t saved me, as some external savior. She had initiated the God within me, helping me believe in my own power. Through faith, I could choose my experience.

“If I survived, my faith would be fireproof. If I did not, I would be freed of the arrogance of believing I know.” These words echoed in my mind, reminding me of the stakes. Without fear, how can there be initiation? Fear burns away the residues of ignorance, leaving only what is real. For years, I had asked for my faith to deepen, for the strength to stand in the certainty that I am safe, that I am valuable, and that I am cared for. The fire gave me the opportunity to confront these questions head-on.

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5. Exhaustion and Surrender: The Somatic Process

By the fourth day, the fire reached its peak, raging just 300 meters from my house. Helicopters poured water on the flames—a new one arriving every two minutes from dawn into the night. The battle felt monumental, and though the fire began to wane by the fifth day, I was utterly depleted.

For the first four nights, I had slept just three hours per night. Exhaustion wore me down, breaking the inner structures that allowed me to cling to control. In this state, there was nothing left but surrender. And in surrender, I found peace.

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6. Initiation by Fire

Courage does not deny fear. Courage walks with it, side by side. To deny fear is to deny a part of myself, to remain in ignorance of who I am. I am both the scared body and the wall of fire. I am the hills, the winds, the forest. I am the water being poured on the fire and the helicopter pilot.

Knowing this, I turned to prayer—not the kind that asks for external help, for that would only perpetuate the victim’s mind. Instead, I prayed to summon the God within, the deepest part of myself that commands the universe. I lit candles at the Kuan Yin shrine, burned sacred incense, offered fresh flowers, and prayed. I prayed for the strength to face this test of faith. I saged the house, lit the fireplace, and spoke to the fire: “I see you. I know your hunger. Let me feed you with understanding and Love. You are welcome here.”

Yet, I stayed. I faced the ordeal would say Joseph Campbell, I stood before the dragon, eye to eye, and poured my Love through that gaze. “I am not your enemy. We can live here together.”

The fire stayed for three more days, testing me, teaching me. Each moment felt like a reckoning, a chance to meet myself in the flames and see who I was when all else was stripped away.

This was not just a battle with the fire outside but a journey inward. A confrontation with fear, illusion, and attachment. It was an initiation, and through it, I discovered the truth Kuan Yin had been whispering all along: I am safe. I am cared for. And I am part of a web of perfection far greater than I could ever comprehend.

With Infinite Love
Topanga Canyon, Los Angeles, January 17, 2025