If I understand correctly, “distilling down” means reducing something to its most essential parts, focusing on crucial elements—having been purified by heating.
On Sunday, we watched glammed-out celebrities living the dream, walking the red carpet, and a few days later, we saw these same celebrities shedding real tears.
This is not a personal case of schadenfreude. I do not revel in their tears, but I notice something beautiful.
No one is shiny beneath the tuxes and gowns. We are the same.
We all are more matte finish than gloss; we’re naked and afraid.
No matter the zip code, we are vulnerable to fire’s ravages, from the ocean to the mountains.
We all have moments of terror. We all want to be safe. We want those whom we love and hold dear to be okay. Eventually, we all confront loss and, ultimately, our mortality. We don’t know when that thief or fire will come in the night.
And when it does, our eyes go wide. They leak.
Others get a peek into our soul(s).
And somehow, like September 11 or some other disaster, illness, shock, horror, or heartbreak, we can be united by fire.
It’s also true that pain and suffering can bring out the worst in us, like looting. And even that is linked to our desperation; perhaps even there, we can find our heart.
Purity can come from this fire. Empowerment and manifesting-your-dreams talk have a place—but I offer—that pain and suffering can bring people to their humanity, connecting our soft tissues.
Have you noticed, as I have, that some of the most breathtaking sunsets are sometimes partly due to pollution or smoke from wildfire? Or when a rotten tree or plant is beautified precisely by the decay that adds those unique textures and colors?
When loss or the fear of death—the heat—touches us, we can, if we are willing, show our crucial elements and emerge more
unified
purified
and beautified.