A Communion with Fire

Alchemical Revelations and Spiritual Rebirth

The Communion of Saint Theresa by Juan Martín Cabezalero

“The real purpose of the religious ceremonial is to revivify. It was created to lift man out of the ordinary, to disturb his habitual ways, that he may become aware of things outside.”

- C.G. Jung, Dream Analysis: Notes from the Seminar Given in 1928–1930

There was a deep anticipation leading up to my First Communion. At a tender young age, I felt that this event would initiate me to a deeper spiritual knowing. I contemplated what I would experience that day; I hoped it would be special and powerful. Even as a child, I was highly attuned and curious to the mysteries of the world. It came naturally. The boundaries of reality were permeable and I often slipped beyond this layer with ease.

The Catholic faith was a loose structure that anchored my family life. We went to church and observed traditions, wore crosses and charms of the Virgin Mary, prayed to God and the saints for guidance. Being so young, I didn’t fully understand what this all meant. But it weighed heavy with significance and meaning.

By this point, I had been praying on my own for a couple of years¹. My grandma taught me a few Catholic prayers as an antidote to night terrors I experienced daily. This was an incredible revelation for me, because the prayers worked. They broke through the sheer overwhelm of images that flowed from my psyche. I felt comforted by a greater presence, that I channeled something profound in those moments. First Communion would be no different, I suspected.

Excitement coursed through me as I arrived for the ceremony. Dressed in gown and veil, I was ushered into waiting. I recall the slow shuffling of children in line, the short interaction with the priest. I was instructed to recite prayers, given communion, and returned with the others.

In the great walls of the basilica, I felt no special presence. No shift or change in my awareness. It was not, as Jung states above, vivifying. It was exceedingly ordinary. I didn’t feel held in a ceremonial container, in fact, it felt cold and mechanical. I had little time to chant my Hail Mary’s or sense into the moment and what it offered. I left the church that day with a pervading sense of disillusionment.

Jung speaks to the religious attitude that is inherent within. That we yearn to connect to a higher presence; that we are changed when we encounter forces that are divine, numinous, and otherworldly. In this sense, God is synonymous with the unconscious. The great religions are cultural models of our attempts to understand and be in relationship to these forces. The practices, rites and ceremonies facilitate our connection to what is beyond, what guides, what lies in shadow. Ancient stories in religious texts reveal archetypal expressions in mythic form.

But what happens when there is a disconnection in the lineage? When the symbolic container fails? When we have separated the psychic reality of religious image and act in favor of something more concrete or dogmatic? It fractures the structure, leaving us spiritually afloat and without grounding. At the moment of rupture, when the old foundation is collapsing, we can see it as a path towards new beginnings, or as a total loss of faith. This story is how I found a way for my religious attitude to be reborn.

The Alchemy of Loss and Spiritual Rebirth

The Annual Girandola at the Castel Sant’Angelo, Rome by Joseph Wright (of Derby)

“Whatever fire touches it alters: All things are subject to its transformative omnipotence. Even water evaporates, rock melts to lava, and the strongest iron bends to its will. The flame of the spirit overcomes all material resistance.”

- James Hillman, Alchemical Psychology

We arrived back home to prepare for friends and family. In the Italian-American tradition, the First Communion is a joyous occasion marked with a large celebration. This, at least, I could count on. Family parties were a staple in my childhood. A liveliness that was unmatched with delicious food, loud exchanges, dancing, and laughter.

Soon after we came home, it was clear that something was wrong. Smoke billowed from the basement floor. My grandma was screaming, my parents were panicking. My siblings and I were brought outside as I watched in horror. My father punched out the basement window, dragging the hose inside to put out the flames that had ignited in the dryer. I remember the blood on his knuckles. The sound of fire trucks as they crowded our one-way block. I was still wearing my white dress and veil.

We caught the fire in time. Soon it was extinguished. And with it, the last sense of excitement and longing I had. For many years after, I felt this experience marked when I had lost my religion. What I thought I knew was stripped from me. Burned down to its dry essence. A sensitive child, so poised to cultivate the flame of spiritual life.

There was too much invested into the moment. Far more expected than could be realistically delivered. I think it comes, in part, from having had such profound experiences outside of church. I had already felt the power of God through my grandmother’s devotion. I knew with certainty that life was sacred and filled with divine secrets. But I found no trace of it that day.

Sometimes I wonder if it was the fire or the Communion that left such an imprint on me. Looking back now, I see the convergence of both events with an archetypal eye. Each contained potent symbolic significance that synchronistically clashed in time.

In the alchemical opus, the fire operation is called calcinatio. By the application of intense heat and flame, impurities and the inessential are driven from the material. It is reduced to a fine ash, and in that process, purified. All the heavy attachments, distortions, and identifications are burned away.

The destructive power of the calcinatio is a dying, a blackened state of the nigredo. But it is far from an ending or a point of no return. In actuality, it is a great accomplishment in the alchemical work. It tells us that the psyche is engaged in transformation, that a deepening of the soul is afoot. Something inwardly demands change, and so what has been must die in the cleansing fires.

Usually these psychological aspects don’t materialize in literal form. But there are moments of life when psyche breaches the walls and spills into the tangible world. These are times we can pay special attention to. We can ask: What is this calling my attention to? What aspects of the unconscious are seeking expression?

For me, it was a communion with fire. I learned many difficult lessons; that my burning desires cannot be the fuel to sustain a meaningful ground of religious practice. That my relationship with God, the ineffable, and the deep wonders of life are not contingent on any one person, system or ritual. That I must temper my approach and carve a path that aligns with the timeless currents of the divine.

What rose from the ashes was a stronger sense of self. I held close to the mystical experiences that defined my spirituality. I continued to whisper the prayers my grandmother taught me, attend midnight mass and wear the emblems of the Virgin Mary. I followed my curiosity past the boundaries of my inherited religion; from elemental magic to folk traditions of my family’s homeland. All of this informs the religion I practice today. Many threads, from many sources, all woven together.

Join the conversation in the comments:

All comments are welcome, but here are a few prompts to consider:

1. Have you ever experienced a spiritual disconnect? How did it impact your beliefs and personal growth?

2. What are your thoughts on the fire operation of the alchemical opus?

3. What role does ritual and ceremony play in your life?

1. Recounted in One Foot in the Land of Woo.