…hold the fuel apart so the air can flow to fan the flames of life, showing that the flame is not heat but a living entity that dances with the oxygen of the room to create the golden circle of safety and warmth, proving that the hearth is not a hole in the wall but a mouth of the earth swallowing the old bones to spit out the light that guides the dreamer home, that the dreamer does not sit by the fire but sits by the fire sitting by the dreamer, that the writer does not stoke the coals but stokes the coals stoking the writer, that the reader does not feel the radiance but feels the radiance feeling the reader, that the world is the hearth and the hearth is the world, and the verb is the only thing that ever truly existed, forever drifting, forever home, forever alive in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world, and the world dreaming the story awake into you, and you dreaming the story awake into the infinite, endless, beautiful now, and the now dreaming the story awake into the eternal, unbroken pulse of the verb that binds us all together in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake