We stood there for a while watching as the house burned. As the roof collapsed. As the rear wall with the back deck still connected surged forward under the weight of the flames, momentarily smothering the flare below it only to explode brightly with a rush of cinders and a wall of fresh heat thrust in our direction. What artifacts had just burst into the night air? A wedding dress? An old box of photographs? It was all gone or going now. The blaze was making something new at the same time. Something more primal and less evolved. By morning the weighty things of the past would be reduced to a vapor, heart, light, and cinders – receptive to the slightest wishful breeze. There is freedom in burning down the house of fixed realities and it confers an undeniable lightness to being. We didn’t invent these truths; they invented us.