Burn

She sighed and shut her eyes for a long moment, afterglow lights danced brightly in the darkness, lighting up thoughts of despair that she'd ever get this right. Around her, small sighs of satisfaction from her classmates as they succeeded in their tasks confirmed how far behind she was getting. It was hopeless; she'd never manage the burn.

"Attend." A sharp rap of the instructor's baton against her desk brought her out of her self-pity and, exhaling to relax her body once again, she opened her eyes and stared into the heart of the candle flame once more, settling into the instructor's mantra.

See the light. Feel the light. Hear it. Taste it. Breathe the heat and smell the power. Live it. Be it.

This was so stupid. How was making herself light-blind by staring at fire going to teach her who she was? The task was impossible. No other student had been told to learn the burn, why was she forced to waste her time like this?

"Miss. Attend." This time his baton flicked against her shoulder. Just the gentlest warning. Flinching, she stared back into the flame and took a deep breath.

Okay. Okay. So. From the beginning: There is the light. Look at the light. The light reaches out to me and enters me. My eyes fill with light. My head fills with light. My nose and ears and lips and tongue fill with light. Every strand of my hair. The light flows down me. My neck, my shoulders. It pours down my arms and fills my hands and each finger. My chest, my back, my stomach and lower. The light fills my legs and my feet and my toes. I am filled with the light. My body is light. My skin is light. The light reaches out to me. I am light. See the light. Feel the light. Hear it. Taste it. Breathe the heat and smell the power. Live it. Be it. Become it.

Holding the image of her body being filled with light, she began the centring exercise, visualising her body, her skin, her bones, her veins, her heart. Focussing on the beating of her heart; on one single heartbeat, the jolt of life flowing through her veins. The fibres of her heart, and the minute kernel of self right at its centre. She pulled off layer after layer of herself, reaching further in; trying to get to the tiny centre that was who she was so that she could fill it with the light.

But wait. Where was the image of herself as light? Mentally groping for it, she floundered and lost it all. The real world came flooding back on a wave of frustration and self-hatred. "Argh!" Thumping the desk didn't help her understand herself, but it definitely made her feel better. The instructor strode over, angry at the destruction of the peace in his classroom.

"I can't do it! It's impossible!" Hearing the childish whine in her voice only made her more annoyed with herself. Around her, her classmates were breaking out of their meditation and watching her.
The instructor sat at her desk, facing her. He gestured at the class, and simply said "Peace." The room became calm again and slowly, the class fell back into its meditative state.

"What is impossible?" His voice was insanely calm, hitting all the soothing notes in her subconscious. She took a breath. Let it out.
"How can one become light? It can't happen. It's stupid." Hitting the table again, as if that would make her argument more valid.
The instructor sighed and began repeating the phrases she'd already heard over and over. "You must understand yourself. Understand yourself as the light. Find yourself and find the light and fuse the two."
"Yes I know that. I'm doing that! But nothing's happening! It's stupid!"

The instructor opened his eyes and pinned her with his gaze. She mentally squirmed away from his massive black pupils. There was no iris, no white, just two dark expanses of shining black. Twin windows into his enlightened soul. She could almost feel him searching through her.

"You look at yourself. But you do not understand. Just as you look at the light, but do not understand it. You examine it, but do not recognise it for what it is."
He released his eye contact with her, staring at the candle flame. "The light is not something that is merely seen. It is more than that. It is something to be lived and breathed and experienced."

He fell silent, staring at the flame. And as she watched, his eyes began to glow. They were still black, but undoubtedly filled with a light that was not just reflected from the flame. The glow spread through his body, lighting up the dim room, catching the attention of her classmates who muttered to each other in amazement.

The instructor stood, every inch of his skin and every strand of his hair glowing brightly with clear white light. His voice sounded simultaneously distant and right in her ear. "And when you understand the light, it will fill you."

He stepped towards her, his arms spread to embrace her and she was filled with terror, stumbling back from him in horror. Another wave of muttering from her classmates. The instructor stopped. His head tilted to one side as if he was considering her. Then his bright white mouth curved into a smile and he nodded to himself.

The burst of heat from the flames pouring from him set the student's parchment on fire and singed the high ceiling of the classroom. The instructor stood at the centre of a raging fireball, the light pouring out of him in the quickest way it knew.

And then it was dark and cold once more. And there was the instructor, entirely unchanged, standing at the centre of the classroom, his awestruck students gaping at him, a crysthanthemum of soot gracing the ceiling above him. "And so it is done."

He righted the desk that she had knocked out of line in her haste to escape the flames, relit the little candle and extended a hand to her. "Miss. Attend." Shaken, but inspired, she sat back down and stared into the flame.

There is the light. Look at the light. The light reaches out to me and enters me. My eyes fill with light. My head fills with light...