If I were a demigod, (not saying I’m not), I would be born of a human mother and Agni, god of fire; that seems like a pretty tight fit. Since coming into my own in my latter twenties, I’ve been a fool for fire. It was a minor part of my juvenile years, but since my transition to adulthood, fire has been my near-constant companion; something akin to a friend. I understood my own process of awakening as one of repeated forays into forge and furnace. I am constantly building cookfires, campfires, bonfires, beach fires and woodstove fires. Weather permitting, I percolate coffee on fires more often than I use the kitchen. At any given time I probably have eight or ten firepits on my property; some permanent, some that come and go. I process firewood as a hobby and have several years’ worth stacked up. My only altruistic act where people are concerned is supplying firewood to a few elderly neighbors. Looking back, this all started when I was in my own process of spiritual autolysis; I would take a break every few weeks to burn all my accumulated writings (fine-tip red ink on post-it notes, 3×5 cards, and yellow legal pads, as I recall). Since then, it’s taken off like wildfire. In short, I’m a bit of a pyromaniac, which brings me to my point, which is that I have almost no paper in my cabin.