There’s a smoldering fire buried beneath layers of the past and remnants of a future that could’ve been. It’s sometimes struggling for oxygen, sometimes flaring on fuel of anger… and shame masquerading as wounded pride. For most of my life, the fire has been either ignored or neglected or outright denied. And so now it has darkened, becoming a twisted amalgamation of thoughts, feelings, and instincts acting of its own will. It is making its presence known in a way it hasn’t for years, and in a way that can no longer be ignored.
Born on the cusp of fire and earth, the earth has become a rigid cage rather than a potential source of growth. The fire has been buried rather than fed, and so it kindles itself with whatever it can find... the darkened and denied scraps constantly buried alongside it. It no longer resembles what it could've been, and it's finding its own voice. Now it's trying to find an outlet through which it can release all the roiling, pent up pressure than has built up over so much neglect.
It can't be silenced any longer, and it is up to me to figure out how to deal with on its own terms... rage, pain, and shame instead of light, hope, and creativity. I am finally listening to it, but I'm struggling to make out the words. But so begin the first stumbling attempts to find a common language.
“My pain is all I hold
This prison’s all I know
When will you hear my soothing cries?
My phoenix waking up to risе
But in the fire deep inside my brokеn soul
Too, I was only human, but this part of me is a ghost
Haunting me”
The phoenix always rises again from the ashes, but which colors will it bear? The lighter the color, the hotter the fire. The darker the smoke, the worse the fuel. Stoke and feed. Burn and purify. Quench and cool. Rise and repeat. Progression or Regression?
Only time will tell if the fire and earth can ever be reconciled, or if they will be forever at odds.
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