Of Ash and Flame

A creature of mythology, the phoenix burns until its death. From its own ashes, it rises forevermore in an eternal cycle.

History depicts its symbolism in various manners. Some believe it to represent religious figures such as Jesus Christ, or sometimes depict a man of excellent qualities – others link it to ideals that have been renewed over time.

Initially, one must believe that any life that must live forever like the phoenix and other immortals of myth – albeit through a pattern of painful death and rebirth – would grow tired and weary of its own existence. Its loved ones must perish and the lands it once recognized will be transmuted by the trials and tribulations of time.

We, both humankind and the phoenix, do not come into this world with purpose. We come into it with nothing, and leave it with nothing.

Thousands of newborns are brought into this world, into families that are given little and ask for little else but survival and peace. Millions of people wander the sweltering streets of summer with no home, wondering not when, but if, they will ever be able to live again.

There is no corner of the world that is free from the plight brought upon us simply for being born. It is as if we are born to suffer, and those who are unable to bear this pain choose to end their journey upon this world.

Life truly has no meaning given to it.

Yet, the phoenix does not corrupt itself nor others. Each birth, it shines as brilliantly as the last and brings forth its blessings.

The phoenix is reborn, again and again and again, even if it does not wish so. It is forced to live in worlds of paradise where the lands are lush and life is abundant – or the plains of purgatory where the soil is razed and life has been rent apart.

There is no choice in its living, only in its death.

We live like the phoenix, as if tomorrow is promised to us, indulging ourselves in luxuries that were once never even dreamed of. We sleep soundly with no worries of waking up, only of what the next day holds. We do not dare dream of death, until it knocks on our doorstep – or our neighbor’s.

Each day, we make decisions with the weight of a pen though their consequences may be that of the planet.

Unlike the phoenix which does not throw its life away even with its immortality, the weight of our own meager life is barely considered until it is plastered on our face like the shadows of a cell cast down on a prisoner.

We are given one life and nothing more. One chance to roam this vast world we have been cast unto, knowing our end is definite.

Every day we take another step on this journey, we are given the choice to continue or end it. To leave this world, leave the pain and suffering and torment of which we may be subjected to, or to pray for the paradise that comes after.

It is easy to deceive ourselves into believing there is only so much we can do with the remainder of our time. That at some point, there is naught else but to clean our stage and call the curtains.

We are easily seduced – by oneself and others – into believing there is little chance to completely change, to receive redemption for past wrongdoings, or to achieve what we believe to be nearly impossible.

Yet, it is the exact opposite that we must realize.

It is because we are only given one life, that we must let ourselves be reborn from the ash of each trial that we overcome, that each day we must hold the pen of decisions with the weight of its consequences.

It is due to our singular opportunity that the flame of life we carry within us must burn with the strength of the sun even if we taste defeat and despair, as if it would be a shame to fizzle out like a weak matchstick.

Life is given no meaning nor purpose other than what we assign it.

It does not matter what this purpose is nor the intent behind it.

What matters, is that we must live for it like the phoenix.

To my friend, who burned brilliantly like the stars we yearn to reach.