Embracing the Burn of the Fire Horse
“It was at this moment that fire of a different type descended from the heavens—not the fire that kills but the kind that tears down ancient walls and imparts to each human being his true possibilities. Cowards never allow their hearts to blaze with this fire; all they desire is for the changed situation to quickly return to what it was before, so they can go on living their lives and thinking in their customary way. The brave, however, set afire that which was old and, even at the cost of great internal suffering, abandon everything…the brave are always stubborn” —Paulo Coelho, Fifth Mountain
The fire pit at my new favorite restaurant in Mezcales, Cosecha.
February 16th, 2026
📍Bucerias, Nayarit, Mexico 🇲🇽
¡Saludos desde el desierto!
I'm definitely feeling the realities of being a woman in a patriarchal world — especially this past week. Personal encounters and global events. Headlines that feel like déjà vu. Old wounds are reopening in places I thought had long since scarred over.
It is clear that male-centric, fear-based power structures still dominate much of our shared human story. And yet…
What we're watching unfold across our feeds and news cycles is not new. The tension between Love and Fear began in the Garden. Control has always masqueraded as protection. Domination has always disguised itself as order. What is new is this: The Light is on. And when the light comes on, what has been hiding in the darkness begins to scatter. It's ugly. It's painful. And it is necessary.
For months now, I've been meditating on this idea of shedding — about the slow release of old skins, old identities, old narratives that no longer tell the truth. Shedding felt layered, gradual, patient. But something has shifted.
With the turn of the Lunar calendar, the Fire Horse enters. I'm quickly realizing that burning is different from shedding—shedding loosens, while burning finishes. Shedding reveals what no longer fits, and fire consumes what no longer serves.
The phoenix does not rise from untouched feathers. It rises from ashes.
On Bucerias Beach before sunset
This week, I've realized that I have not just been shedding old narratives — I have been preparing to let them burn.
The narratives that said:
Stay small, don't speak out.
Be agreeable, don't make waves.
Don't disrupt, play nice.
Absorb the harm quietly, and you’ll be “safe.”
Those skins had to loosen first. Now the fire does what fire does.
Not the fire that kills — but the fire that tears down ancient walls and reveals what was always possible. As Paulo Coelho writes in The Fifth Mountain quote above, cowards want everything to return to how it was. The brave set fire to what is old — even at the cost of internal suffering.
Fire is not comfortable, but it is clarifying.
Sunrise while deep sea fishing
When illusions are exposed, they don't simply fade away gently. They burn.
The lie of separation — the belief that God is far away — that power belongs to a select few and that women must shrink to survive, cannot survive sustained Light. Once exposed, it collapses into smoke.
Burning hurts. Not because we are being destroyed — but because what we once relied on for "safety" is dissolving. The fawn response of people-pleasing. The false identities that protected us. The systems we learned to navigate. The agreements we unconsciously signed in order to belong.
Fire does not negotiate. It purifies.
My grief altar to help me process some big feelings
This Lunar New Year does not mean life will suddenly be easier. The pain will not vanish. The global tensions will not dissolve overnight. The patriarchal structures will not evaporate simply because we are awake.
But something has changed in me over this last year. My capacity to respond instead of react has strengthened. The grief I feel — both personal and collective — isn’t consuming me the way it once did. I can now hold it without being swallowed by it. I can witness injustice without collapsing into despair.
Hope is fire too.
The holy fire that awakens is the same fire that once burned in the bush before Moses — not consuming, but revealing. Not annihilation, unveiling. Fire as exposure. Fire as truth.
What we are witnessing in our world is an unveiling. Illusions are being burned away. Fear-driven power structures are being revealed. Hidden harm is surfacing. It looks ugly and chaotic. But sometimes what looks like destruction is actually revelation.
The Fire Horse does not move timidly; it runs. It carries momentum, embodies strength, and does not apologize for its power. After the shedding of the Snake, the Fire Horse teaches us embodiment. Burning away old narratives is not the end of the story; it is the ignition.
And here is what I know: The brave are stubborn. We will not go back to sleep. We will not dim to preserve fragile systems. We will not trade awakening for the comfort of unhealthy familiarity. The fire will still burn for a while. Not to destroy what is true — but to expose what never was. And from the ashes of what was false, something stronger is rising.
As Keith Giles writes in The Quantum Sayings of Jesus:
When we embrace that we are already one with the Divine Presence — and always have been — the false reality built on separation is consumed in the flames of truth. The lie vanishes like smoke. We stand in the ashes of what once imprisoned us. As long as others remain enslaved by this illusion, the fire must continue to blaze… The glorious presence of Christ blazes within and all around them… As darkness is exposed to this beautiful fire, reality breaks through. Blind eyes are opened. The lost return home.
This is not destruction. This is revelation. The fire does not create truth, it reveals it.
And when the lie of separation turns to smoke, what remains is reality — indivisible, luminous, alive. That is the fire I feel burning now. Not rage for the sake of rage. Not vengeance. But the steady, cleansing blaze of awakening.
And as long as there are women still convinced they must shrink to survive… As long as there are people still told God is distant, power is hierarchical, and Love is conditional… This fire will not go out. It cannot.
Because once you have seen that the Presence blazes within you — and within everyone — you cannot unsee it. You cannot go gentle into the night. You burn.
“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night…” - Dylan Thomas
With Love, unconditionally—
Jennifer
P.S.—If this season feels like shedding and ignition at once, RENEW was created for you. A grounded, embodied container to tend the fire without burning out.
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