My near death experience (part one)
Walking through the fires as an uninitated Canzoo & Priestess
On July 7, I nearly lost my life. I was incredibly close to death. Had I gone to sleep in the room I usually occupied, I might never have seen the light of day again. If I had, I would have wished I had not, as I could have faced severe burns—up to 90% of my body. Instead, I am fortunate to have only sustained 3%.
During the fire, I prioritized saving my birds, which meant sacrificing my own safety. “As the flames grow around your feet…” I tried to extinguish them, and in the process, I burned my hair and injured my finger while trying to save my face. For months, I had no eyelashes. I’m grateful my face wasn’t burned. How did I escape that fate?
I picture myself like a priestess surrounded by the images of my ancestors—my saints and angels. Crosses, rosaries, crystals, offerings, water, candelabras, grimoires, candles, and prayers filled my space. It’s ironic that while everything around them suffered, those sacred items survived. The walls and books were lost, but my ancestor photos remained intact. My 2001 bottle of Rhine River German wine was cut in half, yet everything meaningful survived—like my cha cha rattle, St. George’s statue, my Obsidian crystal ball, and the axe Alex gifted me.
If a candle started the fire, why didn’t everything next to it burn? Even Legba’s three coins survived. Some candles I personally made also remained unscathed.
The folders I spent years compiling were scorched. All my books and grimoires burned, along with 15-20 journals that documented a decade of spiritual work—so sentimental to me. I lost my drum, my keyboard, and my craft materials including dream catcher supplies, candle-making tools, and scrapbooking materials.
My beautiful silk rug was incinerated, and countless ancestral heirlooms, some over 100 years old, are now gone.
Now, I ponder why this would have been deliberate. I always have candles lit 24/7.
It wasn’t a candle that caused the fire.
It was an electrical issue.
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