Where does the flame go when the candle goes out?
Where did it come from?
It’s a zen question like:
“You know the sound of two hands clapping; what is the sound of one hand clapping?”
The heat, the light, the flickering,
Where do they go?
A flame is not what you think it is,
While it dances there in the melted wax,
Hiding the wick it relies on,
Forgetting the required spark that got it going,
Regardless of its pending demise.
It is merely energized molecules,
That we are able to see that part if the spectrum it displays,
Light. The light.
And to feel the heat it radiates when we hold cold hands to the flame,
And feel it’s life.
Flames can join other flames,
Till there is a conflagration.
Is that where it went?
When life was snuffed?
Did it join the conflagration
Of the universal flame?
Energy is neither created nor destroyed,
Nor are you, my love.
You have been,
We shared your brief life,
And you are
I know. I feel your warmth yet.
I bask in the light of you.
I love you.
– Small town boy