If you’re anything like me and the dozens of others who became enthralled by the Percy Jackson series as a child, you can probably recall a few of the stories we used to spend so much time reading in the elementary school library.
Medusa and her serpent locks (don’t get me started on how this has been mansplained throughout time), Athena and her wisdom and callus bravery, Aphrodite and her unfathomable beauty and magnetism. We all envisioned ourselves at some point, looking down from Mt. Olympus, fantasizing about what it meant to be a Goddess.
Outside of envisioning myself in the shoes (or sandals?) of all these insurmountably powerful women, there is one tale I remember that I find more clarity and reassurance in now as an adult.
The story goes as follows, in my own words:
“When time was just beginning, the sun looked down upon the Earth and saw a bird with fiery wings of red, orange and gold. He admired the bird’s prowess and magnificent beauty, and he said to the bird, “Glorious Phoenix, you shall live forever as you are my favorite.”
The Phoenix was delighted. He called back to the burning sun and said, “All my songs shall be sung for you, forever and always!”.
The Phoenix’s delight was squandered soon as many from far and wide wanted to pluck him for his beautiful feathers. He was loved by all, but the bird soon became lonely. He was tired of giving his pieces away, he would rather have been admired from afar, so his beautiful coat could remain intact. He imagined a place where he could stand in his magnificence in harmony with all around him. He looked to the East, and began chasing the burning sun.
After a perilous journey, he came upon a desert. Here he could fly freely, singing in the heat of the day, with no threat of someone coming to pluck his feathers. He spent many years here, happy, singing.
Eventually the day came after hundreds of years had passed when the bird was too feeble to enjoy the desert terrain, singing, flying. He called out to the burning sun and asked to be young again, so he could enjoy these things in his youth. The sun shared no response with the elderly Phoenix. It dawned on the bird that he must return to where he had come from so he could be made youthful once more. So again, the Phoenix stretched his decrepit wings and soared back to his homeland, collecting supplies to build a nest as he traveled.
The Phoenix had finally arrived and began building a nest in one of the tallest trees.The bird crafted an egg from the fruits of the Earth and placed it in his nest. He was ready this time. Again, he called on the sun and said, “Glorious sun, make me young again. So I can fly and sing once more!”. This time the sun shone upon the old bird, parting the clouds and casting down a beaming ray of light directly into the Phoenix’s nest.
The animals near and far scattered, sheltering themselves from the burning heat. A brilliant flash was ignited, and the ray stopped shining. The animals retreated from their hiding places and glanced in the direction of the Phoenix’s new resting spot. From the burnt twigs arose a head, quivering with new life. Moments passed, and the Phoenix had grown back into its youth, stretching its marvelous wings, casting an array of colors on all the creatures below. They all sang for the all powerful bird, “You are the greatest!”.
The Phoenix soared to the temple of the sun and placed the egg it had crafted at its altar, filled with its own ashes, waiting for the next time it should need to be reborn. The beautiful bird then looked upon his subjects and said, “I must be alone now”, and flew away to a far away desert where it could sing, and fly in peace.
Legend says every 500 years the Phoenix returns to its home to be molded again in fire- to be reborn from its very own ashes.”
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Today, as I wade through my early twenties, I read this old Greek fable and it speaks to me about struggle, reinvention, and self-love at its most excruciating moments.
There are so many times I can recall when I wish, I, like the great Phoenix, burned to nothing more than ash in my most feeble moments, when retreating to my lonesome only brought me peace for so long. I, like the Phoenix, recall times when I was tired of being taken from, when I wanted nothing more than to be refilled by those who had robbed me of my pieces- times when my beautiful attributes felt more like weapons being welded against me rather than in my defense. In these moments, I wanted nothing more than to fly far away or to shed my skin completely, to become someone unrecognizable.
I recall times when I would return to the places that broke me, anew. Shining, flying, singing- just like the bird. I remember the praise and admiration for my new found existence and the emptiness it embodied. I remember the loneliness that remained throughout the well wishes and words of good spirit. I am envious of the Phoenix for his ability to flee his environment in search of a place categorized by unbounded freedom, a place where nothing is required other than authenticity.
I see myself in the Phoenix, when he cries out to the sun in the desert, begging to be made young again. I see myself here, unaware of the struggle just before a new purpose is curated, just as the bird must have felt as he carried his weak body the long distance back to his roots. I envision myself soaring home this same way, guided by nothing but grit and longing to become a version of myself I can be proud of. The final, grueling, moments before I am reborn again.
Throughout turmoil and resistance-backed paths, I see myself rising like the Phoenix. Learning the woes of rebirth and the way they come full circle to strengthen my weak parts like scar tissue. Viewing my beautiful pieces in their full glory, outside of the spots where they were once plucked. As I read about the Phoenix leaving the temple of the sun along with his loving followers to be alone in the desert once again, I begin to understand.
To be the Phoenix means to openly accept that one day you might burn again, but with every flame you fall into yourself a little more.
To be the Phoenix means recognizing rock bottom, and knowing the climb back up will be worth the breath of fresh air at the top.
To be the Phoenix means to recognize the faces of those who will rob you of your blessings with no intention of their restoration, and to lead a life outside of them.
To be the Phoenix means to guard your golden parts, and to find comfort in the freedom of your own individuality.
To be the Phoenix means to come to terms with the idea that being alone does not equate to being lonely and that sometimes we choose this as a form of defense.
To be the Phoenix means to fear not the struggles we are bound to face, as we have the ability to reinvent ourselves with complete disregard of all else.
To be the Phoenix means applying self-love when there’s barely any left to give, in the times we feel as if we are running on fumes.
To be the Phoenix is to have faith that with each hardship, I too will be made new after its passing.
It’s time to start envisioning that you were molded in fire, with specific intent, radiating beauty, and unyielded power. You too, are a Phoenix. Rising from your very own ashes only amplifies the wonder you are, so never be discouraged when you cannot sing or fly. It is only an opportunity for you to learn new songs, to soar in different directions.