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When Cuyamaca Burned, CHC Designs, 2005
It was the fall after the great firestorms of 2003, when the ash of smoldering pine forests poured down on the streets of San Diego, blanketing cars and rooftops with a wet soot that soaked into our collective consciousness and remained long after the brush fires were finally put out.
During those long, hot October days, a miles-long plume of smoke floated over the mountains to the east as I navigated my car along the forty-mile stretch of interstate that lies between the city center and a north county. Driving south for a weekend spent in the studio at the old Carnation building, I lamented to my peers that I felt immobilized by the ravaging that was taking place around us. "The best thing we can be doing, right now, Cara" they shared, "is our work."
Two years later, and I marked my return to those decimated and ravaged forests. Walking along the ambling trails of a campground that had been spared the licking flames of a blazing inferno, I observed charcoal, pointed sticks where Pine trees once stood as I half-heartedly posed in hollowed trunks. Burned from the inside out, all that remained were charred façades. Hiking along those almost mile-high paths, I passionately empathized with the barren and burned countryside around me. For the first time in my life, I truly discovered metaphor.
At twenty-nine years of age, I had finally come undone. The hard defenses of fear, anger and sadness that I had padded myself within had been pierced - by my own willingness to walk into the fire of vulnerability and surrender. I opened - wider and, in so doing, I intimately connected with the hollowness. I deeply related to the burnt remains. My soulspirit felt nearly vanquished. My faux-marble bas-relief cracked and an outpouring of years of repressed emotion flowed out of me like a punctured tube.
That was five years ago. Today, I drive along the winding mountain roads that lead further north and I immediately recognize the signs. The rolling, velour hills of sienna brown, burnt orange, forest green, and fading yellow, mesmerize my senses. In the near distance, sitting above the verdant valley, upthrusting, granite peaks glisten and sparkle in a setting sun. I pull the car over to photograph and to excitedly release an orgasmic "YESsssssss!!!" out into the wide expanse between earth and sky. Simultaneously, I also shudder in recognition ~ for my primal attraction is dangerously potent. The tell tale signals that this region is meant to burn burn burn lay all around me. The burning is once again upon us.
All will be incinerated, consumed whole by the blazing inferno. Nothing will be spared. And, yet, all those days that came before also taught me about hope and redemption. After all, a forest needs fire to live just as the Manzanita tree needs fire in order to propagate its seed. In order to give birth, be born anew, and continue to grow and evolve, the burning must transgress.
There is no escape.
Perhaps, this time around however, I can release my fear of pain and rejection. Perhaps, this time around, I can surrender to the raw vulnerability and simply accept the true path of transformation. Perhaps, this time, I can truly trust that what I whole-heartedly envision is patiently waiting for me on the other side of the flames.
Perhaps...
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| "Garner Valley," CHC Designs, 2010 |
