Xoterica 19: The Phoenix

“As you think, so shall you become.” (Lee)

I am Sai-fon, risen many times from the ashes of my past lives. My previous selves crashed and burned in spectacular fashion. I don't doubt this feathered fool will fall soon to ash too. I built my own pyre, and consumed myself in the immolation.

The furnace of the Universe swallows each of us - feathers, fortune and all. Eventually.

It's common to assign myths to reality. It helps us make sense of our lives, gives context for survival and an avatar to aspire toward. Phoenix. Bennu. Fenghuang. Lazarus with wings. Jesus.

The faces change, yet the roles remain the same: provide a model for evolution, hope for human renewal through the process of recycling. Flesh and feathers and memory fall away, limbs atrophy and hair turns gray.

From the moment of rebirth, the disease of decay begins, like a clock we continue to tinker with using dull tools throughout our life. Every day, the Universe culls millions, and births chirpy new birds in its place. Our horizons are spanned with their glorious wings, and our clouds are the evaporated remnants of the cycled.

We fly through our lives of ash and vapor in a whisper until


Gone faster than a sparkling star, life dimmed to an acquiscent ember.

But not for long. The super power of the human creature is evolution, and the human Phoenix revises, refuels and renews with every rise.

Screaming with life and passion, we take form. We take flight. We soar. We crash. We master the mechanics of aerodynamics with every new adventure.

We shift our shape through jetstreams and skyfallen dreams. We stay hopeful, keep our beaks streaking upward. Keep reaching, keep striving, keep surviving.

Until our next dance with gravity.

I will rise again from the ashes of this fallen human, as I have so many times before. The new version of me will be a bit different than the last. I know what it feels like to fly at great heights, and who I have to be to climb there. I know the feeling of wind in my face and fire streaming from my feathers.

A Phoenix always rises, but never as the same bird twice.


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