"The Sauna and the Ember…"

A small fragment of wood is what is stopping me. I know it seems simple, as though it should not be an issue. I agree, my problem is seemingly silly. It's a sliver, a small grain, if you will, a fragment of a spoon. A wooden spoon caused the issue. I see now that something so small can have implications far beyond its maker's presumable knowledge and perception, far beyond what the maker intended. He or she, who made that spoon, a simple wooden ladle, just the right size to move water with, from a wooden pail, all made of wood. It broke, though, from what now amounts to years of use, from me using it too often and not really paying attention. I left it unattended for days, weeks, months. It sat in that pail, the one made of wood, in the wooden room.

The wooden room. The walls, made of redwood, with overlapping sides, not like shiplap actually because there is an inset groove. It's not a dovetail; do not mistake it that way. It is more a groove. You see, details matter. The details mattered tonight. The grooves made the room, the wooden redwood room, look so clean, so that when inside, it felt like a real thing, like a professional setting, like a wooden box that you would want to be in if you were in a fancy place, or maybe somewhere like the mountains, with snowy drifts and ice water that you could plunge into after you're done with that room. The redwood that still has scent; it's all wood in there.

I have been wrong about things before. There is no doubt about that. However, I was just stupid about this one little item, this small problem in the making; and then there it was. I could smell a hint of smoke, so yes, I had done exactly what I thought I had done, knew I had done, but wished and hoped I hadn't. I almost convinced myself, short of the smoke, yet for the glowing ember that I could now see. A spoon, a wooden spoon. I broke it by letting it sit far too long in the pail of water, the wooden one. It was used to sitting, proven by its discolored nature, the blackened end, the spoon end that was at first cracked, then split, and then separated into a small bit that had broken free. It was floating in the water. I saw it. I pretended I did not see it, or maybe I pretended it wasn't there at all. But it was broken, and it had fallen off the spoon, into the wooden pail, into the water, and then into the sauna stove. It happened. I poured it in, I poured it onto the hot rocks; and that was when time stopped.

I saw it falling, and I froze in time.

I saw it destined to bother me from now until forever.

I saw the permanent moment that will forever be the moment that I did the thing that I knew I should not have done.

I saw it all; and in that moment, I saw the meaning of life. I saw reality like a clear picture on the water's reflections. Echoes of moments and times, all baffled, broken, shattered; like the wooden spoon.

In this tiny moment, I ate the eternal and forbidden fruit. I ate the apple in that moment; not Eve. I was the one who did it. I was Adam. I was the Serpent. I was the idiot savant who played the court jester to my own kingdom. I knowingly did it. I saw what had happened, as it happened, but before it happened, and I knew what was happening, and so it did what it had to do. It happened. Not for rage, or hatred, and not for a reason. I was the reason, it was not the reason, and I was the doer; the one who did it. I hated myself in that moment. I hated that I was so lazy in the seconds before, after, and then I forgot.

I pretended I did not care. I pretended I did not know, but I knew. I knew I had left that spoon in the pail, the wooden one. I started the stove tonight. I needed to rest, find solace in the moment that was the heat. I needed to find my story, and then I smelled the smoke. I still smell it now, even after I poured the water onto the stove.

I saw the ember tonight, and it glowed. It looked right up at me in the darkness of the redwood, and just like the redwood, it too was red. It was red with angry heat, but it was not angry at me, instead just a reflection of me and my anger, and my self-proclaimed genius that had turned to idiocy. I was now the idiot. I had built it, I had made it, made all of it, from beginning to end it was my doing, the good and the bad, the room and the ember. I made the ember, the one I had to now deal with tonight, the one that left smoke in my eyes, and sadness in my heart.

Tonight I said goodbye to the chance I had for that room of wood, and warmth, and steam and thought, and instead said hello to this story. I forgot how foolish I still can be. If I live a thousand years, I would still make mistakes. I would still be careless. I was careless, and the wood knows this, and the spoon knows this, and the wooden pail knows this, and now you too know this. I can't keep that lie hidden, not from the wooden spoon; it knows all.