There was an Iranian hermit that not washed for over 50 years, and instead cleansed himself with a fire bath. At age 94, he was finally persuaded to use soap and water, and died shortly thereafter.

You’ve got that wriggling ants in pants
A jiggly wiggly can’t sit still

Sa|vation is a fire bath
A pure soul cleansing ritual

Proclaim ablutophobia
Shun basin, soap, don’t wash your hair

Abandon coast, ascend the scarp
Inhale the harsh dry desert air

Locate the locus, power point
Surround it, slowly closing in

Embrace its pulsing potency
Converge until you’re vibrating

There split dry logs, crack brittle twigs
Build pyramid of ready fuel

Shave bark of birch, heap thistle fluff
Add drought-parched grass, combustible

Jump, jump, jump
Stomp, stomp, stomp
Jump, jump, jump – Hoi!
Shake off the dust

Be still and hush your swarming thoughts,
Internal murmuring remarks

Now meditate, envision fire:
Sharp scrape the flint: release the sparks

One smoking star to tinder drops
Breathe soft the invocation prayer

The tiny jewel brighter grows,
Lean in, exhale, coax flame to flare

Jump, jump, jump…

The spirit wakens, blooms to life
With rush of light, shadows fall back

The conflagration blazes up
With flush of warmth and kindling snap

Infuse yourself with fragrant smoke
Let radiation penetrate

Peel atoms off, strip clean away
You’re pared to glowing filament

Jump, jump, jump…