FIRE WALKER
The music is thumping. It’s a crazed, dance music beat. It feels like it’s in time with my heart. As the volume ebbs and the lights stop their frenetic flashing, I take a moment to compose myself.
Up on stage, Tony Robbins is weaving the magic that has made him millions. It’s like how I imagine revivalist tents of the old days used to be, just as I suppose some of those charismatic Christian church groups are today. No one is talking in tongues (yet) but it wouldn’t surprise me if someone suddenly did.
As the afternoon stretches out into evening, I’ve managed to quell the rising sense of panic. Every now and then, when Tony feels like the crowd is losing interest, the air-conditioning is cranked, the temperature drops and we’re all made to get up and dance.
I can’t help but admire him. He has a stadium full of people eating out of the palm of his hand; hanging off his every word, obediently standing, sitting, dancing whenever he says so. Then, just to keep the tension in the room, sometimes on the large screen behind him, up flashes footage from outside: a long, thin bed of hot coals glowing red against the fast fading light.
For the first time in a long while, I am overcome with fear.
‘Screw this,’ I think to myself. ‘I don’t need this in my life.’ I pick up my handbag and make for the nearest exit. One of Tony’s people is guarding the door. He stops me and says, ‘Tony knows who you are. Tony wants you to fire-walk.’
I look the man square in the eye and reply, ‘Oh, yeah? Well, mate, you can tell Tony to get stuffed.’ I am not here to dance to anyone’s tune but my own. I am no performing seal. I will walk across the coals only if I choose to. And I will make that decision in my own time. Yet I find myself sitting back down in my seat.
For the next four hours, as Tony variously prowls the stage and the auditorium floor – pontificating about self-belief or picking people out of the crowd to share their story – I’m a bundle of mixed emotions. I’ve spent years distancing myself from the fire: trying to outrun it, why would I go back?
‘Because we need to be honest about what’s holding us back,’ booms Tony. ‘We need to face our fears and confront them head-on.’
But haven’t I been doing just that ever since I regained consciousness in hospital? Hasn’t my every waking moment been dedicated to rebuilding my life? What more do I need to prove? And who am I proving it to? And why – more importantly – should I be taking my cues from this borderline crazy man?
‘Look at the list you wrote this morning of the things you know are holding you back!’ implores Tony. ‘What are the excuses you reach for when you don’t think you can achieve something or if things aren’t going your way?’
I look down at my notepad, and two words stare back at me.
The fire.
For the most part, I honestly think I am good. I rarely use the fire as an excuse for all the things I cannot achieve. But if I am in a bad mood, or if I’m worn down or tired, it can’t help but come bubbling to the surface. I focus on all the things I cannot do because of that fire. And it makes me angry. Sometimes when I can’t do what I want to, I won’t care, I’ll shrug my shoulders. But on other days it doesn’t seem fair, any limitations make me want to scream in frustration, make me feel like the world is against me.
The crowd is swaying now, as if in a trance. There are people crying, there are people wailing. I’m both caught up in the spectacle, and still thinking it’s all a bit silly.
And yet. And yet.
I look at the time. It’s almost ten at night. We’ve been in here, listening to Tony, watching him minister his flock for almost twelve hours. We’ve had lunch and a few snacks, but nothing else to eat. I’m tired and wired all at the same time. If I surrender myself to the moment, if I think about the reasons I came here in the first place, I can see why I have no choice but to walk over the hot coals outside. This is just another test, like the many hundreds I have had to face since the fire. If anything, it pales in comparison to most of the other challenges I have stared down.
There’s a sort of electricity in the air as the human toothpaste commercial up on stage brings the day’s proceedings to close. More music, more fist-pumping, more ululating from the crowd who by now – starved and delirious – have been whipped into a frenzy.
‘Are you ready, Sydneyyyyy!’ Tony is screaming. I feel a hand on my elbow. It’s Tony’s people, they’re back.
‘It’s time,’ one of them says, leaning in.
I am led backstage. Through a tangle of wires and TV monitors and sound desks, we come upon Tony. Six foot seven, black shirt, black shorts. He towers over everyone around him: big teeth, big hands, big everything. He definitely has an aura about him.
‘I’ve heard your story, I’ve heard all about you,’ he tells me, fixing me with a stare. ‘You are amazing. So inspiring.’ He pauses to let the compliment breathe. ‘So, you ready to do this?’
I take, from the fact that he is already making for the door, that this is a rhetorical question. Before I know it, I am walking in his wake, heading back through the crowd and stepping through the doors of the stadium into the night air.
It has started to rain and the temperature has dropped. There’s a chill on the air. I’m barefoot and trembling a little from the cold. We round a corner and I see a sight that makes me pull up in horror. A space about the size of a small oval to my left is covered in burning coals, glowering menacingly. I feel the radiant heat and my heart instinctively starts to beat faster. ‘There’s no way I’m walking across that,’ I think to myself. ‘He must be fucking kidding!’
But then to my right I see ten neat laneways of hot coals, each about two metres in length. And by comparison they seem not so daunting. A little disappointing, even.
‘You can do this,’ I am saying over and over to myself. ‘You can do this.’
Before I know what has happened, Tony is off. He’s removed his shoes, given a primal scream, whacked himself on the chest and charged barefoot across a lane of coals.
He turns at the other end and looks around at me expectantly.
Here goes.
I push down the fear, I shut out the shouting in my head. With a guttural scream, I lurch forward – eyes straight ahead, too scared to look down. I feel heat under foot, but there’s no pain. It’s over before I know what has happened. As I step off the coals, I am grabbed under either arm by two fire-walking assistants. They are shouting at me to wipe my feet on the mat – to remove any embers that may have attached themselves to my soles – but while they are right next to me, their voices seem miles away.
For a moment I am lost in a reverie. I feel exhilarated, unstoppable. I sit on the ground and watch as thousands pour out of the auditorium and charge across the coals. Each step for each person is the end of one journey or the start of a new one. The rain is falling like a soft mist and I feel unbreakable.