Rising from the Ashes

The deepest shadow work is usually the darkest.

Phoenixes are no foreigners to their cycles of fires and ashes. Yet, on a cold and moonless night, the phoenix, Helia, questioned their identity.

“I have taken repeated shots in the chest, been whipped by icy winds, and silenced by bellows of thunder… I even soared through countless fires. But here I am with fiery colored plumage, unknown to death and rebirth. What sort of phoenix am I?”

Helia’s latest hardship faced differed from the rest. It hurt more than you thought a soul could bear; battling the darkest dark on the poorest psychic land.

Everything repressed unveiled, every scar bled, and every pain echoed through their mind. All that Helia loves was hanging in the balance, and a leap into the unknown was never so prudent.

What Helia did not realize yet was that because of their catharsis, their flames were growing larger.

“I’m tired! Tired of being tired. Lonely from being lonely. Unsatisfied from trying all these things to become satisfied. I give up! What use it to be a full-fledged phoenix, anyway? The rivers and forests I’ve crossed taught me that there is no such thing as normal. Not one rock I’ve encountered was the same as the other. Every lion roared differently. And every firewood crackles to their own will. What nonsense to glean over our stories from our outward appearances, accents, or possessions! We all come humble to the table, open, permeable, and ready to barter our souls; our learnings, our experiences, our stories. So here I stand and say I am enough in every single way!”

In the blink of an eye, Helia turned into a spectacular blaze of fire.

A new moon night never shone as bright as at that moment. Soon after the golden heat, Helia rose from their own ashes.