tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81155022240203697652024-03-13T04:59:48.405-07:00The Flight of the PhoenixPhoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-65559683437650991442010-06-07T11:00:00.000-07:002010-06-08T06:14:52.924-07:00The Chained Phoenix<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/TA06DsdUd4I/AAAAAAAAAGE/t4s8kkAG7fQ/s1600/is.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 99px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/TA06DsdUd4I/AAAAAAAAAGE/t4s8kkAG7fQ/s400/is.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480100156727916418" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">by Feel Good</span><br /><br />A smile on the crying face. <br />My laugh echoes through my empty heart.<br />All I feel is pain. <br />All I know is to be alone.<br /><br />My flesh crawls with imagined touch.<br />A dream of arms to hold me safe.<br />Darkness closes all around.<br />Lost, I cry for help. <br /><br />No one listens.<br /><br />Cold and unwanted,<br />like winters kiss.<br />I dream of another world<br />Warmth and love so far away. <br /><br />Baptised in scarlet rain<br />Bound by barb-wire rope<br />This is the fate of pain<br />A destiny I cannot escape.<br /><br />This broken shell<br />Already weak<br />Held together with hopes and dreams<br />The cracks expand<br /><br />A soul in chains<br />Rotting in a dungeon<br />A wingless angel<br />Bereft of hope<br /><br />The crucified saint<br />The bleeding child<br />The living martyr<br />The forgotten tomb<br /><br />The bell tolls mournfully<br />The earthly ravens fly<br />Shadows and storm clouds,<br />Darken the sky. <br /><br />Free the crimson lightning<br />With the faithful sword<br />Your screams known to heaven alone<br />See the angels cry. <br /><br />The tears burn<br />Against a heart of stone<br />This is how it is<br />When you live a life alone.<br /><br />(http://www.recoveryourlife.com)Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-39328948178100656122010-04-18T00:23:00.000-07:002010-04-18T05:33:24.089-07:00The Legend of the Phoenix<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8q2OvUESDI/AAAAAAAAAFA/U9vkY-k5uM8/s1600/phoenix-fenghuang.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 274px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8q2OvUESDI/AAAAAAAAAFA/U9vkY-k5uM8/s400/phoenix-fenghuang.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461377862475204658" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">by D. J. Conway</span><br /><br />The <span style="font-weight:bold;">Phoenix</span> is known in various forms and by various names throughout the Middle and Far East, the Mediterranean, and Europe, as a symbol of resurrection. The name Phoenix may have come from the Greek <span style="font-style:italic;">phoinix</span> and may be related to <span style="font-style:italic;">phoinos (blood-red)</span>. Although it was an enormous bird, it had certain characteristics of the eagle, pheasant, and the peacock. <br /><br />The earliest known Greek reference to the Phoenix was by Hesoid in the eighth century B.C.E. Such Greek and Roman writers as Tacitus, Ovid, Pliny, Herodotus, and Hesoid referred to the Phoenix either as the Arabian Bird or the Egyptian Bird. An extremely gentle creature, it was said to weep tears of incense, while its blood was balsam.<br /><br />There are two ancient records of first-hand sightings of a Phoenix: one by Pliny, who saw one exhibited in the Roman Forum during the reign of the Emperor Claudius; another by Clemont in the first century C.E.<br /><br />The Phoenix was a graceful bird, with brilliant plumage and a distinctive tuft of feathers at the back of its head. There are at least three different descriptions of the plumage colors of the Phoenix. One says that the head, breast, and back are scarlet or reddish-gold, and the iridescent wings are many colors. Its feet are a Tyrian purple hue, while its eyes are sea-blue. Another says the body is plum-colored with a scarlet back and wing feathers, a golden head, and a long tail of rose and azure. The third description states that the Phoenix is a royal purple with a golden neck and head. It is possible that these descriptions are of the Phoenix in various stages of its life.<br /><br />Tradition says that the Phoenix fed only on air, harming no other creature. It lived a solitary life in a far-away land, coming to human-inhabited land only when it was ready to die. The length of a Phoenix's life differs from ancient writer to writer; most believed that it lived for a thousand years.<br /><br />When the Phoenix knew its time had come, it flew to Arabia where it gathered myrrh, laudanum, nard, and cassia. Carrying a great load of these fragrances in its wings, the Phoenix flew on to Phoenicia. There, it chose the tallest palm tree and built a nest in it from the essences it had brought. At the next dawn, the great bird faced the rising Sun and sang in a beautiful voice. The heat of the Sun ignited the fragrant spices, and the Phoenix died in its own funeral pyre.<br /><br />After nine days, a fledgling Phoenix rose out of the ashes. A few days later, when its wings were strong enough, the young Phoenix gathered the ashes of its parent and flew them to Heliopolis in Egypt. Thousands of ordinary birds accompanied it on its journey. There, the Phoenix put the ashes of its parent on the altar in the Sun temple. Then it flew toward the east and its distant home.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8q4hdLXnrI/AAAAAAAAAFY/48ogBak6rlg/s1600/phoenixforest-suedawe.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 323px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8q4hdLXnrI/AAAAAAAAAFY/48ogBak6rlg/s400/phoenixforest-suedawe.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461380383047655090" /></a><br /><br />Other writers of the Phoenix story disagree on several points. Some said that instead of flying to Phoenicia with its spices, the Phoenix flew directly to the temple at Heliopolis and built its funeral pyre on the altar there. Others believed that the priest of the Sun temple gathered the spices and prepared the next for the Phoenix. A few writers recorded that the Phoenix did not rise straight from the ashes, but rather spent three days in a worm-like form before turning into the glorious Phoenix.<br /><br />The Phoenix never died permanently. Legend says it existed when the universe was created and that it knows secrets of life and reincarnation even the deities do not know.<br /><br />Humans are fascinated by the sweet song of the Phoenix, and the bird is friendly to humans, although it seldom concerns itself with human affairs.<br /><br />A similar mythological Egyptian bird was the Bennu, a heron-like bird. The Bennu was born in a spice-lined nest in a sycamore tree. It too made its own funeral pyre in which it died. Its first flight, after being reborn, was accompanied by thousands of ordinary birds. In fact, "Bennu" in Egyptian and "Phoenix" in Greek both mean "date palm." The Bennu was sacred to Osiris and Ra, and a symbol of the Sun and resurrection. It also represented the morning star.<br /><br />The Egyptian Phoenix was called the "Lord of jubilees," and was considered to be the ba (spirit) of the Sun God Ra. At one point in the Book of the Dead, the deceased says, "I have gone forth as a Phoenix." In Heliopolis, the Bennu was said to live in the benbenstone (obelisk) or in the sacred willow.<br /><br />Queen Elizabeth I had a Phoenix engraved on her medals; Mary Queen of Scots also used the same emblem. Jane Seymour, who died giving birth to Edward VI, had a Phoenix crest, which her son later used.<br /><br />In Mesopotamian art, the Phoenix may have been symbolized by the horned and winged solar disk. Ancient bas-reliefs show this winged disk also having tail-feathers, legs, and claws of a bird. Often this winged disk also had horns. The winged disk of Abura Mazdah on a relief at Persepolis distinctly shows this disk with tail-feathers and bird's legs and feet.<br /><br />Alchemists used the Phoenix to symbolize the color red and the successful end of a process, while medieval Hermeticists used the Phoenix as a symbol of alchemical transmutation. The word Phoenix was also used to identify one of the secret alchemical formulae.<br /><br />The ancient Mysteries used the sign of the Phoenix to symbolize the immortality of the human soul and the great truths of esoteric philosophies revealed only through special initiations. In some ancient Mystery Schools, accepted initiates were referred to as Phoenixes, or those who had been "born again."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8q2PFbMW3I/AAAAAAAAAFI/qCRMiIF2JbM/s1600/phoenixvallejo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 305px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8q2PFbMW3I/AAAAAAAAAFI/qCRMiIF2JbM/s400/phoenixvallejo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461377868410674034" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />In ancient Egyptian mythology and in myths derived from it, the phoenix or phœnix is a mythical sacred firebird.<br /><br />Said to live for 500 or 1461 years (depending on the source), the phoenix is a bird with beautiful gold and red plumage. At the end of its life-cycle the phoenix builds itself a nest of cinnamon twigs that it then ignites; both nest and bird burn fiercely and are reduced to ashes, from which a new, young phoenix arises. The new phoenix embalms the ashes of the old phoenix in an egg made of myrrh and deposits it in the Egyptian city of Heliopolis ("the city of the sun" in Greek). The bird was also said to regenerate when hurt or wounded by a foe, thus being almost immortal and invincible — a symbol of fire and divinity.<br /><br />Although descriptions (and life-span) vary, the phoenix (Bennu bird) became popular in early Christian art, literature and Christian symbolism, as a symbol of Christ, and further, represented the resurrection, immortality, and the life-after-death of Jesus Christ.<br /><br />Originally, the phoenix was identified by the Egyptians as a stork or heron-like bird called a benu, known from the Book of the Dead and other Egyptian texts as one of the sacred symbols of worship at Heliopolis, closely associated with the rising sun and the Egyptian sun-god Ra.<br /><br />It's spring again, and in spring the Earth is re-born. Immortality is a central concept of all mythology, to the most ancient times. The Phoenix is the most enigmatic legend of all. It is a great bird that incinerates itself, then is born again from it's own ashes. <br /> <br />The legend is believed by many scholars to have originated in the Middle East, but it is so old and obscure that it is impossible to tell where it really began. The only thing scholars seem to agree on is, as Socrates once said, we know only that we know nothing when it comes right down to it. In every version of the legend, the bird is immortal. <br /> <br />It seems to come from pre-historic spirituality. It represents our mortality, the very foundation of our being. A Phoenix represents the never-ending cycle of life; our own and of the universe itself. <br /> <br />In Greek and Egyptian mythology, the Phoenix is tied to the God of the Sun. it In Greek legend, he lives in the Middle East, by a well. It bathed in the well every day, and sang, as many of us do, in the bath. But the song of the Phoenix was so beautiful that the sun itself stopped first at it's well before making his daily journey across the sky.<br /> <br />Legend says that there is only one phoenix. Every 500-1,461 years, when it knows death is near, it builds a nest of sweet scented wood and then bursts into flame. It then re-emerges from the fire and embalms the ashes of its former self in an egg all of myrrh. The Phoenix flies the egg to the Sun God.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8q2PYDguyI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/pwbq7pD0bYA/s1600/pheonix11.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 337px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8q2PYDguyI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/pwbq7pD0bYA/s400/pheonix11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461377873411619618" /></a><br /><br /><br />[<span style="font-weight:bold;">from Magickal, Mystical Creatures</span> by D. J Conway]Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-2783741410970878632010-04-17T03:04:00.000-07:002010-04-17T03:25:35.990-07:00His Phoenix<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8mL3hzJVNI/AAAAAAAAAE4/RQw01rlaefg/s1600/phoenix_mp.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 232px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8mL3hzJVNI/AAAAAAAAAE4/RQw01rlaefg/s400/phoenix_mp.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461049809245394130" /></a><br /> <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">By William Butler Yeats </span><br /><br />There is a queen in China, or maybe it's in Spain,<br />And birthdays and holidays such praises can be heard<br />Of her unblemished lineaments, a whiteness with no<br />stain,<br />That she might be that sprightly girl trodden by a<br />bird;<br />And there's a score of duchesses, surpassing woma-<br />kind,<br />Or who have found a painter to make them so for pay<br />And smooth out stain and blemish with the elegance<br />of his mind:<br />I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their<br />day.<br /><br />The young men every night applaud their Gaby's<br />laughing eye,<br />And Ruth St. Denis had more charm although she had<br />poor luck;<br />From nineteen hundred nine or ten, Pavlova's had the<br />cry<br />And there's a player in the States who gathers up her<br />cloak<br />And flings herself out of the room when Juliet would<br />be bride<br />With all a woman's passion, a child's imperious way,<br />And there are -- but no matter if there are scores beside:<br />I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their<br />day.<br /><br />There's Margaret and Marjorie and Dorothy and Nan,<br />A Daphne and a Mary who live in privacy;<br />One's had her fill of lovers, another's had but one,<br />Another boasts, 'I pick and choose and have but two<br />or three.'<br />If head and limb have beauty and the instep's high and<br />light<br />They can spread out what sail they please for all I have<br />to say,<br />Be but the breakers of men's hearts or engines of<br />delight:<br />I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their<br />day.<br /><br />There'll be that crowd, that barbarous crowd, through<br />all the centuries,<br />And who can say but some young belle may walk and<br />talk men wild<br />Who is my beauty's equal, though that my heart denies,<br />But not the exact likeness, the simplicity of a child,<br />And that proud look as though she had gazed into the<br />burning sun,<br />And all the shapely body no tittle gone astray.<br />I mourn for that most lonely thing; and yet God's will<br />be done:<br />I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their<br />day.Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-24912633836329599022010-04-16T03:34:00.000-07:002010-04-16T06:31:53.032-07:00The Canonization<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8hmm-I33JI/AAAAAAAAAEw/qY-vkjWLmNU/s1600/Phoenix_Lawrence.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 178px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8hmm-I33JI/AAAAAAAAAEw/qY-vkjWLmNU/s400/Phoenix_Lawrence.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460727367888002194" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">by John Donne </span><br /><br /><br />For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love,<br />Or chide my palsy, or my gout,<br />My five grey hairs, or ruin'd fortune flout,<br />With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve,<br />Take you a course, get you a place,<br />Observe his Honour, or his Grace,<br />Or the King's real, or his stamped face<br />Contemplate, what you will, approve,<br />So you will let me love.<br /><br />Alas, alas, who's injur'd by my love?<br />What merchant's ships have my sighs drown'd?<br />Who says my tears have overflow'd his ground?<br />When did my colds a forward spring remove?<br />When did the heats which my veins fill<br />Add one more to the plaguy bill?<br />Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still<br />Litigious men, which quarrels move,<br />Though she and I do love.<br /><br />Call us what you will, we are made such by love;<br />Call her one, me another fly,<br />We'are tapers too, and at our own cost die,<br />And we in us find the'eagle and the dove.<br />The phoenix riddle hath more wit<br />By us; we two being one, are it.<br />So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit,<br />We die and rise the same, and prove<br />Mysterious by this love.<br /><br />We can die by it, if not live by love,<br />And if unfit for tombs and hearse<br />Our legend be, it will be fit for verse;<br />And if no piece of chronicle we prove,<br />We'll build in sonnets pretty rooms;<br />As well a well-wrought urn becomes<br />The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs,<br />And by these hymns all shall approve<br />Us canoniz'd for love;<br /><br />And thus invoke us: "You, whom reverend love<br />Made one another's hermitage;<br />You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage;<br />Who did the whole world's soul contract, and drove<br />Into the glasses of your eyes<br />(So made such mirrors, and such spies,<br />That they did all to you epitomize)<br />Countries, towns, courts: beg from above<br />A pattern of your love!"Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-55455681715208454792010-04-14T19:50:00.000-07:002010-04-14T20:56:41.321-07:00Phoenix<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8aJPfO95wI/AAAAAAAAAEo/e2Iym5yOJWU/s1600/is.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 126px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8aJPfO95wI/AAAAAAAAAEo/e2Iym5yOJWU/s400/is.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460202497408624386" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">by D. H. Lawrence</span><br /><br /><br />Are you willing to be sponged out, erased, canceled, made nothing? <br /><br />Are you willing to be made nothing? dipped into oblivion? <br /><br />If not, you will never really change. <br /><br />The phoenix renews her youth only when she is burnt, <br /><br />Burnt alive, burnt down to hot and flocculent ash. <br /><br />Then the small stirring of a new small bub in the nest <br /><br />With strands of down like floating ash <br /><br />Shows that she is renewing her youth like the eagle, <br /><br />Immortal bird.<br /><br /><br />[ Shared by Erosthenes ]Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-50674579636765075052010-04-14T01:05:00.000-07:002010-04-14T01:09:54.403-07:00If Hands Could Free You, Heart<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8V4NGkIBrI/AAAAAAAAAEg/sS8yxtB8pro/s1600/polls_PhoenixRising_5036_84883_answer_6_xlarge.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 350px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S8V4NGkIBrI/AAAAAAAAAEg/sS8yxtB8pro/s400/polls_PhoenixRising_5036_84883_answer_6_xlarge.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459902289752360626" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">By Philip Larkin</span><br /><br />If hands could free you, heart,<br /> Where would you fly?<br />Far, beyond every part<br />Of earth this running sky<br />Makes desolate? Would you cross<br />City and hill and sea,<br /> If hands could set you free?<br /><br />I would not lift the latch;<br /> For I could run<br />Through fields, pit-valleys, catch<br />All beauty under the sun--<br />Still end in loss:<br />I should find no bent arm, no bed<br /> To rest my head.Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-5661223736572933432010-03-26T08:05:00.001-07:002010-03-26T08:31:17.169-07:00Phoenix Rising
<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">By Debbie Whittle</span>
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6zQX25A6-I/AAAAAAAAAEY/ZahaxpyFRdk/s1600/Phoenix_rising1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6zQX25A6-I/AAAAAAAAAEY/ZahaxpyFRdk/s400/Phoenix_rising1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452962357129047010" /></a>
<br />
<br />.....Aligning with natural rhythms… realize
<br />Like the phoenix… we will always rise
<br />
<br />Over and over, it will always be
<br />The flame of truth sets us free
<br />Just as we accept our terrible demise
<br />Unquenchable human spirit cannot help but rise
<br />
<br />The cycle of life cannot be denied
<br />Despite the false notions, coded inside
<br />In the midst of the ashes, hear these cries
<br />“I am the phoenix of old, and I continue to rise”
<br />“I am the phoenix… and still, I Rise!
<br />
<br />
<br />Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-20467254541503676592010-03-25T08:39:00.000-07:002010-03-25T08:47:58.695-07:00Venus Tracing the Phoenix<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6uE1TIRSWI/AAAAAAAAAEA/7JPj95Ox7Ak/s1600/venus_phoenix.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6uE1TIRSWI/AAAAAAAAAEA/7JPj95Ox7Ak/s400/venus_phoenix.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452597825065011554" /></a><br /> <br /><br /><blockquote>Venus, the goddess of beauty, originally Astarte in Phoenician mythology, is tracing the Phoenix constellation. The stars and galaxies shown are from the actual celestial sky. The star dust used by Venus is the nebula clouds that shows the phases of star birth. The galaxies shown around are NGC300 and NGC55. Also you can trace the Double Cluster in the Large Magellanic Cloud around the Phoenix constellation. <br /><br />The painting was completed fall of 2007.<br /><br />[ See other paintings by the artist at http://www.tonysky.net/tony/]<br /></blockquote><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Venus Tracing the Phoenix</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">as narrated by Antoine Faddoul </span><br /><br /><br />The inhabitants of the land far south could not see the splendor of the Phoenix nor hear its beautiful sound. In one Fall, and in order to share its tale of the will of rebirth, the Phoenix used November winds to help it flying so high over Mount Lebanon, and it lapsed between the stars.<br /><br /><br />The firebird kept traveling to the starry heavens every night until in the seventh night, Venus (Astarte), the Goddess of beauty, decided to trace its figure with the stars to spread the Phoenix story for all people.<br /><br /> <br />Until now, people who live far south (in the Southern Hemisphere) can still view the Phoenix constellation in the sky for most of the year, and those who live in Lebanon can see it in the Fall, the actual time it made its trip to the stars..Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-50788979665970171122010-03-25T07:54:00.000-07:002010-03-25T08:13:48.799-07:00Embracing the Change Within<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6t8wmupk3I/AAAAAAAAAD4/Cfua-jqJkwI/s1600/FantasyFirePhoenix.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 382px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6t8wmupk3I/AAAAAAAAAD4/Cfua-jqJkwI/s400/FantasyFirePhoenix.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452588948333892466" /></a><br /><br /><br />Hurry! We burn<br />For Rome’s so near us, for the phoenix moment<br />When we have thrown off this traveller’s trance<br />And mother-naked and ageless-ancient<br />Wake in her warm nest of renaissance.<br /><br />[From Flight to Italy, by Cecil Day-Lewis (1904-1972)]Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-35498284555183853132010-03-25T06:25:00.000-07:002010-03-25T09:07:04.524-07:00The Flight of the Phoenix<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6trHyQzJOI/AAAAAAAAADA/Z4rO4igz3Ts/s1600/Flight_of_the_Phoenix_(1965).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6trHyQzJOI/AAAAAAAAADA/Z4rO4igz3Ts/s400/Flight_of_the_Phoenix_(1965).jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452569555357607138" /></a><br /><br />Flight of the Phoenix (original version) is one of the whole time great movies.<br /><br />James Stewart plays a pilot who feels responsible for the deaths of several passengers after a forced landing in the desert. He and the rest of the survivors are eventually persuaded by Dorfmann (Hardy Kruger) to attempt to build an aircraft from the remains of the old one. <br /><br /><br />The movie says something special about the nature of machines, particularly aircraft. Although they may look refined, immaculate, often beautiful, in fact they are constructed of an extraordinary quantity of precisely worked components. Each part has been made to its particular shape to serve its particular purpose. None of it occurred accidentally, somebody sat down and designed every last tiny part.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6tsRCCdWbI/AAAAAAAAADQ/8HPBchfbqjI/s1600/phoenix-skids.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 276px; height: 216px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6tsRCCdWbI/AAAAAAAAADQ/8HPBchfbqjI/s400/phoenix-skids.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452570813722876338" /></a><br /><br /><br />Dorfmann, the aircraft designer, has to figure out how to make a plane from what’s left intact of the old. He must come up with a design that’s viable. He has to work everything out, how the old plane must be torn apart, how the parts of it will be moved around, and how they will be reassembled, how the controls must be rigged. In reality this would be an almost superhuman feat. Could a real life aircraft designer do such a thing? Would a real aircraft designer have covered ever step of the production life cycle. But Dorfmann’s company makes model planes, and Dorfmann has always had to design everything on his projects.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6ts38OrGVI/AAAAAAAAADY/Kg6P6_GwunE/s1600/65L0008_lg_3_Hardy-Kruger-%26-Ian-Bannen.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6ts38OrGVI/AAAAAAAAADY/Kg6P6_GwunE/s400/65L0008_lg_3_Hardy-Kruger-%26-Ian-Bannen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452571482178394450" /></a><br /><br /><br />Moreover, and most important of all, Dorfmann must present the case for building the Phoenix, and see it through. Dorfmann demonstrates real steel, for a time he and he alone believes in the job and recognises the importance of seeing it through. Dorfmann is commited to the point of obsession, as true genius requires.<br /><br /><br />With Dorfmann's character, the movie teters on the edge of credibility, the introspective Dorfmann is something special, not only did he design the airframe of his world class models, but also the radio control. Improbable stuff? Perhaps, but the movie is saved by great story telling. The survivors decide to go for it, rather than sit on their arses and die, they take a chance on the 'toy plane' builder. <br /><br /><br />In fact, many full size aircraft designers have been model plane builders. Charles Fairey had a job as a power station engineer before selling, for a considerable fee, a model design of his to Gamleys Toy Store. Then he moved into full-size aviation and eventually ran a 'little' company called Fairey Aviation. Sydney Camm, responsible for the Hurricane fighter, was also a modeller, and most recently Burt Rutan, who even borrowed some his construction techniques from aeromodelling (hot wiring foam etc). As Dorfmann puts it, flying models are not toys, they obey the same physical laws as the full sized ones. Moreover, they don't have a pilot to keep them straight and level. In fact, Dorfmann would have prefered it if he could have managed without the pilot, James Stewart's character, Frank Towns<br /><br /><br />Towns must surrender his authority to Dorfmann, so that the new plane can be built. Towns doesn’t believe the plan is feasible but he is persuaded that engaging in the project is better than letting them sit around waiting to die. Throughout Towns rails against Dorfmann but always Dorfmann is right and Towns wrong, yet Dorfmann knows he needs Towns’ skills to fly the plane.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6tucV364gI/AAAAAAAAADg/hfeiIuaC1lk/s1600/Phoenix_(static).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 235px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6tucV364gI/AAAAAAAAADg/hfeiIuaC1lk/s400/Phoenix_(static).jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452573207049200130" /></a><br /><br /><br />After many problems the plane is ready and Towns must start it up and fly. The point where Towns climbs aboard and pulls the ladder up behind him is very sweet. This is where Towns takes the plane away from Dorfmann. Now he must use all his knowledge to get the engine started. <br /><br /><br />The engine can only be started with a Coffman cartridge starter. Dorfmann feels that Towns would intentionally not get the engine started, so he can't kill more of them in another crash. But if the engine doesn't start Towns will have failed as a pilot AND they'll all die of thirst. <br /><br /><br />Towns starts the engine and is seen to have knowledge that Dorfmann doesn't have. In one sense getting the engine going is the end of the story, Towns has made his choice, finally committed wholeheartedly to the project, and in doing so got his self respect back.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6tu-gxSW0I/AAAAAAAAADo/39fdbFFPKC0/s1600/002532_31.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6tu-gxSW0I/AAAAAAAAADo/39fdbFFPKC0/s400/002532_31.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452573794089720642" /></a><br /><br /><br />And now, with the motor going, the Phoenix has ceased to be a collection of useless parts, it’s become the difference between life and death and every one of them has made a contribution.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6tvZV6GLAI/AAAAAAAAADw/cdsDhEl2y2E/s1600/paul+mantz.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 237px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/S6tvZV6GLAI/AAAAAAAAADw/cdsDhEl2y2E/s400/paul+mantz.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452574255030348802" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Paul Mantz, a veteran stunt pilot who had worked with Howard Hughes on Hell's Angels was killed flying for this movie. As a result the actual flying shots look a bit truncated. It's a great pity, but Mantz died doing the work he loved, and when you gotta go, that's not a bad way to do it. Moreover, this is a wonderful movie, Mantz could hardly have wished for a better final credit than Phoenix.Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-57244171624756626412009-12-05T07:34:00.000-08:002009-12-05T08:17:08.633-08:00Lebanon Rising : A Phoenix Painting<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/Sxp-awDZ5wI/AAAAAAAAAC4/ru3FVyOwGkY/s1600-h/phoenix_lebanon.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 295px; height: 389px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/Sxp-awDZ5wI/AAAAAAAAAC4/ru3FVyOwGkY/s400/phoenix_lebanon.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411776900279953154" /></a><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Original Painting by Antoine Faddoul</span> <br /><br /><br />The Fable as narrated by the artist :<br /><br />The Phoenix, the firebird that comes from Paradise, lives five hundred years feeding on aromatic herbs and filling the air with its heavenly voice, before it perishes and burns in fire. It would then rise from the ashes to live another five hundred years.<br /><br />For thousands of years, the land that carried the mountains of Lebanon and hugged the Mediterranean Sea was restless. The cedars that the LORD Himself planted on the snowy white mountains of Lebanon witnessed the land's boundaries expanding and shrinking, and those who inhabited the very first civilized cities suffered numerous invasions destroying their cities time and again. <br /><br />However, like the Phoenix, the survivors always rose from the ruins and rebuilt their homeland in a manner even more magnificent than it used to be, while the invaders left, no matter how long they captured the land for. The Phoenix kept flying over Mount Lebanon with fiery and golden feather, spending its life narrating the greatness of the land and its people with its glamorous voice.<br />Through history, the Phoenix could not live its full lifespan, yet it never failed to rise from its ashes to chant the story of a living nation.<br /><br /><br />Completed end of 2006, the painting represents the rebirth of Lebanon through the Phoenix rising from destroyed Beirut. It is the tale of Lebanon's sorrowful history with the surrounding nations, and the will of its people to resurrect. <br /><br />At the bottom right side, the figures show a sequence of historic assaults against Lebanon with the Israeli war of July 2006 in the front. Behind it, a figure of Beirut falling to Syrian occupation in 1990. Further back, is the Israeli invasion of 1982. Then the Palestinian guerrillas control of Beirut in 1980 and so on back in history.<br /><br />At the bottom-left side, figures show the revolutions and acts of resistance against the occupiers. A women holding a dead child, and a kid weeping over his dead mother brief the will of the Lebanese civilians against the Israeli attack of 2006. Behind it, the Cedar Revolution of 2005 that drove the Syrian army out of Lebanon, then acts from the peaceful resistance against the Syrian occupation since 1990, and the figures continue back in history marking some historic scenes from Lebanon's revolutions.<br /><br />The series of Lebanese revolutions are marked with the Phoenixes rising above the scenes, while the ones showing the occupation are marked by fire, dark smoke and ruins.<br /><br />The painting was done between July and December 2006.<br />[ See other paintings by the artist at <span style="font-style:italic;">http://www.tonysky.net/tony/</span>]Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-15653850556350159332009-12-01T08:47:00.000-08:002009-12-01T09:08:12.909-08:00Phoenix Fantasy: The Dancer in the Dark<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/SxVJWvYVnHI/AAAAAAAAACw/wuDiuFgLU0E/s1600/l_phoenix2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 295px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/SxVJWvYVnHI/AAAAAAAAACw/wuDiuFgLU0E/s320/l_phoenix2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410311182380014706" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Original artwork by Annika Freyah Nilsen</span><br /><br />Techniques used: Black Ink, Computer-coloured PicturePhoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-30877200067902539332009-12-01T04:34:00.000-08:002009-12-01T04:42:24.481-08:00Dancer in the Dark<span style="font-style:italic;">by RogueWarrior869</span><br /><br /><br />There was a Dancer in the dark.<br />She had been there from the start.<br /><br />All too aware of lurking eyes,<br />laying in wait believing they had a surprise.<br /><br />Little did they know she knew<br />they were there.<br />But she danced on feigning not a care.<br /><br />In an instant she disappeared,<br />And the watchers eyes instantly knew fear.<br /><br />Without a warning, without a sound,<br />one by one they hit the ground.<br /><br />Only the night would know the<br />sly smile on the face that shown.<br /><br />In the silence she went back to dancing in the<br />dark, after all, she had been there from the start.<br /><br /><br />[[Fiction: Fantasy - Published: 01-12-09 from :www.fictionpress.com]Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-78180984025850797392009-11-30T06:17:00.000-08:002009-11-30T06:33:28.452-08:00A Phoenix Within<span style="font-style:italic;">by R. C. Faith</span> <br /><br /><br />Beast Tamer, Beast Tamer,<br /><br />Who shall reap thy fate?<br /><br />Save from evil, the land we dwell,<br /><br />Or will it be too late?<br /><br />Descendant of Night,<br /><br />Born of Day,<br /><br />Two worlds apart,<br /><br />He will dwell,<br /><br />Light and Dark.<br /><br />Tortured past.<br /><br />But memories lost,<br /><br />Well hidden away,<br /><br />Are afraid of the dark,<br /><br />And even the day,<br /><br />Bring us Hope,<br /><br />In this dire time,<br /><br />Can you cope?<br /><br />And with new strength,<br /><br />Can your will,<br /><br />Be fierce as fire?<br /><br />The night is long,<br /><br />To darkness drawn,<br /><br />Can you quell,<br /><br />The forces strong,<br /><br />That come so soon.<br /><br />Hopeless songs,<br /><br />They will sing,<br /><br />The fight be futile,<br /><br />Without wings.<br /><br />War be hard,<br /><br />Lives be lost,<br /><br />Hope must triumph,<br /><br />At any cost. <br /><br />Death by kin shall be his end,<br /><br />Betrayal by his dearest friend. <br /><br />-Legend of the Beast Tamer<br /><br />Silver moonlight washed over dense woods, leaving a glow on all it touched. Thick branches swayed in the breeze and the leaves, for once, recoiled at its touch. The air, unlike it’s usual pureness and sweet scents of the woods, stung the lungs of all who inhaled. It had been tainted because Fire and Earth were fighting once again, and Wind had stepped in to try and stop the conflict.<br /><br />The smoke rose like a black snake in the sky. It was a total black against the silver-outlined trees. Fire as raven as a piece of starless night lapped up the trees greedily. Wooden huts and lean-to’s caught flame and fed the snake in the sky. People fled their homes, abandoning all they had. Some clutched frail, wailing babes to their breast while others dragged loved ones from the heat.<br /><br />This fire was easily no ordinary fire; it followed the people as if bewitched to kill them all. Once momentarily free form the flames, many touched the points of the Diamond of the Elements on their body: brow; left shoulder; right shoulder and chest. Then they pressed a fist to the centre of the diamond, at their collarbone, to signal the final two elements. All too quickly they had to flee further while they watched their beloved home burn.<br /><br />A young man, hardly the age of twenty and one years, scrambled through the brush. Already he cried for the flame had touched his heel and now it was burning from the inside out, making his skin black and bubbled. In his arms was a child with bright blue eyes and fresh tears and screams. With a shout, the man fell but rolled so he landed on his side rather than his child. He forced himself to his feet, hearing the roar of the fire not too far behind, and hobbled as fast as he could.<br /><br />Already his vision was failing and pain was his only thought. The fire closed in as he strained his body into a run.<br /><br />Above, a young child flew in the sky and watched the massacre. She laughed loudly and then disappeared into the column of smoke.<br /><br /><br />[Fiction: Fantasy/Adventure - Published: 12-11-06 from :www.fictionpress.com]Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-32644653922550777942009-11-21T04:46:00.000-08:002009-11-21T04:48:13.246-08:00The String Beans<span style="font-style:italic;">By Edmond Séchan</span><br /><br />The old woman lives and works in a dark building in Paris. On a sewing machine as aged as she is, she makes evening bags, handbags with pearl embroidery and silver fringe, for elegant ladies and festive occasions.<br /><br />Every morning and evening the old woman works. But for a short time in the afternoon, when the weather is pleasant, she closes her sewing machine, takes her handbag – an ordinary one – and goes out.<br /><br />She has followed the same path for many years, through the gardens, near where she lives. As she walks slowly around the impeccable flowerbeds, she dreams of her childhood gardens, filled with the perfume of peonies and lilacs.<br /><br />On her way home one evening, she sees a discarded flowerpot. The azalea it holds is dead. Still the soil is good and the pot can be used, so the lady carries it upstairs. A flowerpot. Some earth. Good. She holds the pot close, her eyes shining.<br /><br />In the precious earth she plants one bean from among those chosen for her dinner and sets the pot on the window-sill. Every day she waters the soil. To her amazement, two leaves appear, then a third. To support the tender sprig, the old lady ties its stem to a knitting needle, stuck in the pot with some yarn.<br /><br />But enemies appear. A neighbour above shakes dust from his rug down on the bean on the window-sill. Pigeons peck at the leaves and will not be chased away. The old lady decides to move the plant, but there is not enough sun in her room. So she puts the flowerpot out on the landing. She must keep moving the pot as the patch of sun moves. Sometimes she forgets and neglects it. Sometimes she goes to the landing and neglects her work.<br /><br />Then she has an idea. One walks dogs and children. Why not string beans? So she takes her plant to the garden. In the garden there are sun and water. And sitting on a bench each day, she watches the plant as it starts to become green. <br /><br />But the walks are brief, because she must work. Back in the dark building the leaves begin to fall. The old lady makes a decision. Early one morning she carries her string bean to the garden, and plants it behind a hedge in the midst of luxurious flowers. Afterwards, a little tired, she rests on the bench. She is happy. Without anyone knowing, she has saved a plant, a life.<br /><br />Missing the familiar presence of the few green leaves, the old lady leaves her lonely room and each day goes discreetly to see her plant. With enough sun and water, drawing strength from the rich earth, the string bean grows, blossoms, seeds.<br /><br />Nobody knows it is hers, her own secret garden. She has saved it, and seeing it grow is her comfort and joy, day and night. Soon it reaches out above the hedge that has hidden it and kept it from harm.<br /><br />One day she arrives to find gardeners at work, planting and pruning, clipping and cutting. She is just in time to see them approach her string bean. It’s presence upsets the harmony of the design. It is an intruder. She doesn’t dare rush in, to tell these men. She waits, her heart racing. And one of the gardener pulls out the string bean and throws it on the ground. <br /><br />When the men leave for lunch and she is alone, the old lady gently lifts the broken plant. It is dead, and the leaves are already fading. She looks at it for a long time.<br /><br />She picks some of the string beans and holds them in her hand as a bouquet. Quickly she returns to her room. She puts soil from the gardens in the pot, and in it plants three new seeds. Everything will begin again, as before, perhaps even better than before. <br /><br />Behind her window, the old lady once again is on the look-out, her eyes fixed on the little pot of earth where the three little seeds sleep. This time she will know how to protect them, when to move them, when to bring them home. A healthy, quiet rain comes from the sky, falling gently on the pot and the life it contains….<br /><br />_________________________________________________________________________________<br /><br /><br />French movie maker Edmond Séchan’s, ‘The String Bean’ won the Golden Palm award for short films at the 1963 Canne film festival.<br /><br />_________________________________________________________________________________Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-32908705415833416792009-11-19T11:06:00.000-08:002010-04-13T23:11:17.551-07:00The Phoenix Within<span style="font-style:italic;"><br />by Phoenix Within</span><br /><br />The End:<br />Phoenix lay on the hospital bed, her eyes closed. As her fever mounted she felt she was losing control of her being. She tried to regain control of herself mentally and to do so she thought about the life she had led and the people she had cared for. She had been a good wife, a caring mother. She had bourn a son as well as a daughter for her family, looked after her children well, watching them grow up, get married and settle down. Now, in her advanced years, the only thing she wanted to do was to relax and enjoy her retirement with things she loved doing – visiting friends, cooking, sewing, and watching television. Then the disease struck her. At first it was confusing. She would just fall down and could not get up. Within a few weeks she lost total control of her left side and was confined to her bed. The hospital visit, doctors, MRI, and then the biopsy followed. It confused her even more. This was not at all how she had planned to spent the rest of her life, straddled to a bed, a burden to her loved ones. She asked her daughter, the person she trusted most, mum, will I get well? And her daughter would always put her arms around her and tell her, you’ll be ok soon mum! She always believed her. She tried to move her left hand and to her enormous surprise, it moved. She got up. She was feeling light and much better. This is good, she thought. It was dark, but she felt as if she was walking in, no, she was in space. She was within space, and again, she was the space. The stars and planets her long lost friends were all there welcoming her back with laughter in their shine. As she floated towards them, she felt happy, happy, as happy as she had never ever felt before in her entire life.<br /><br />The Burning:<br />As the funeral pyre burned and the flames leaped up towards the sky, Phoenix shuddered. She thought about the brain tumor, astrocytoma grade 4, that her mother had. There had been no headaches, no warning. Nothing except the mood swings and temper tantrums, which they always looked upon as part of her mother’s character and adjusted their lives around it, never a symptom of a disease. The diagnosis had been shattering and she had never been able to tell her mother what the doctors told her. <br /><br />The Transformation:<br />Phoenix was hungry. She looked at her dad, as he cradled his one year old on his knees. She pulled at the hairs on his chest and touched his nipples with her tiny fingers. Her dad laughed, and his handsome face lit up as he admired his beautiful daughter. You want your mum, don’t you mum? Mummy da da, she said anxiously. Dad was nice and comfortable but she was thirsty and sleepy.<br /><br />The Hope Within:<br />Much, much later, Phoenix could at last look up at her husband inquiringly and he smiled. She is asleep now. She was looking for you. She went to the bedroom with tired steps. Within the covers slept her little daughter, her face peaceful and doll-like. Her mother, the only one she had left now. She sat down on the bed and lovingly touched her little one’s chest. <br /><br />My phoenix, she prayed, my mother, please God, some day may you soar..Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-5294766330398688822009-11-16T11:14:00.000-08:002009-11-16T11:16:39.652-08:00The Flame Within<span style="font-style:italic;">by Amy Sondova</span><br /><br /><br />My yesterdays were burned by Phoenix fire<br /><br />Yet in the death’s ash, embers of hope remain<br /><br />New dreams given birth in despair<br /><br />Covered with ash, I mourn what was<br /><br />To remember what will be no more<br /><br />Then like the Phoenix I’ll rise<br /><br />With renewed passion glowing red, yellow, orange<br /><br />Ash will give way to flame<br /><br />Like the Phoenix I’ll soar againPhoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-10791404208780867662009-11-16T11:08:00.000-08:002009-11-16T11:11:14.244-08:00About the Phoenix<em>by James Merrill</em><br /> <br />But in the end one tires of the high-flown. <br />If it were simply a matter of life or death <br />We should by now welcome the darkening room, <br />Wrinkling of linen, window at last violet, <br />The rosy body lax in a chair of words, <br />And then the appearance of unsuspected lights. <br />We should walk wonderingly into that other world <br />With its red signs pulsing and long lit lanes. <br />But often at nightfall, ambiguous <br />As the city itself, a giant jeweled bird <br />Comes cawing to the sill, dispersing thought <br />Like a birdbath, and with such final barbarity <br />As to wear thin at once terror and novelty. <br />So that a sumptuous monotony <br />Sets in, a pendulum of amethysts <br />In the shape of a bird, keyed up for ever fiercer <br />Flights between ardor and ashes, back and forth; <br />Caught in whose talons any proof of grace, <br />Even your face, particularly your face <br />Fades, featureless in flame, or wan, a fading <br />Tintype of some cooling love, according <br />To the creature’s whim. And in the end, despite <br />Its pyrotechnic curiosity, the process <br />Palls. One night <br />Your body winces grayly from its chair, <br />Embarks, a tearful child, to rest <br />On the dark breast of the fulfilled past. <br />The first sleep here is the sleep fraught <br />As never before with densities, plume, oak, <br />Black water, a blind flapping. And you wake <br />Unburdened, look about for friends—but O <br />Could not even the underworld forego <br />The publishing of omens, naively? <br />Nothing requires you to make sense of them <br />And yet you shiver from the dim clay shore, <br />Gazing. There in the lake, four rows of stilts <br />Rise, a first trace of culture, shy at dawn <br />Though blackened as if forces long confined <br />Had smouldered and blazed forth. In the museum <br />You draw back lest the relics of those days <br />—A battered egg cup and a boat with feet— <br />Have lost their glamour. They have not. The guide <br />Fairly exudes his tale of godless hordes <br />Sweeping like clockwork over Switzerland, <br />Till what had been your very blood ticks out <br />Voluptuous homilies. Ah, how well one might, <br />If it were less than a matter of life or death, <br />Traffic in strong prescriptions, “live” and “die”! <br />But couldn’t the point about the phoenix <br />Be not agony or resurrection, rather <br />A mortal lull that followed either, <br />During which flames expired as they should, <br />And dawn, discovering ashes not yet stirred, <br />Buildings in rain, but set on rock, <br />Beggar and sparrow entertaining one another, <br />Showed me your face, for that moment neither <br />Alive nor dead, but turned in sleep <br />Away from whatever waited to be endured?<br /><br />(James Merrill, “About the Phoenix” from Collected Poems. Copyright © 2001 by James Merrill.) <br /><br /><p></p><p></p><p></p>Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-75637009426531036182009-11-16T10:59:00.000-08:002009-11-16T11:02:09.949-08:00Phoenix<p><br /></p><p><em>by Carmen Colombo</em></p><p><br />Out of my ashes<br />will rise a new phoenix. <br /><br />A soaring being<br />returning from death<br />proving once again<br />that life is eternal. <br /><br />I live forever<br />because the spirit<br />never dies. <br /><br />I will return<br />in another body<br />in another time,<br />but it is me. <br /><br />The me who is me now<br />will always be. <br /><br />As long as I live,<br />I learn.<br />And I live<br />F o r e v e r <br /><br /><br />© Carmen Colombo1996<br />From www.wowzone.com<br /></p>Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-79467065602511499502009-11-16T10:50:00.000-08:002009-11-16T10:57:46.611-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/SwGgbOBrw2I/AAAAAAAAACA/IN--aSSUJb4/s1600/phoenix.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 208px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_wWFJU8XXVaw/SwGgbOBrw2I/AAAAAAAAACA/IN--aSSUJb4/s320/phoenix.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404777417303376738" /></a>Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-46080514357119256952009-11-16T10:41:00.000-08:002009-11-16T10:48:13.427-08:00The Rising<p><em> by George Darley </em></p><p><em></em></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;">O Blest unfabled Incense Tree,<br />That burns in glorious Araby,<br />With red scent chalicing the air,<br />Till earth-life grow Elysian there!<br /><br />Half buried to her flaming breast<br />In this bright tree, she makes her nest,<br />Hundred sunn'd Phoenix! When she must<br />Crumble at length to hoary dust!<br /><br />Her gorgous death-bed! Her rich pyre<br />Burnt up with aromatic fire!<br />Her urn, sight high from spoiler men!<br />Her birthplace when self-born again!<br /><br />The mountainless green wilds among,<br />Here ends she her unechoing song!<br />With amber tears and oderous sighs<br />Mourn'd by the desert where she dies!<br /><br />Laid like the young fawn mossily<br />In sun-green vales of Araby,<br />I woke hard by the Phoenix tree<br />That with shadeless boughs flamed over me,<br /><br /><br />And upward call'd for a dumb cry<br />With moonbread orbs of wonder I<br />Beheld the immortal Bird on high<br />Glassing the great Sun in her eye.<br /><br />Stedfast she gazed upon his fire,<br />Still her destroyer and her sire!<br />As if to his her soul of flame<br />Had flown already whence it came;<br /><br />Like those that sit and glare so still,<br />Intense with their death struggle, till<br />We touch, and curdle at their chill!<br />But breathing yet while she doth burn<br />The deathless Daughter of the Sun!<br /><br />Slowly to crimson embers turn<br />The beauties of the brightsome one.<br />O'er the broad nest her silver wings<br />Shook down their wasteful glitterings;<br /><br />Her brinded neck high arch'd in air<br />Like a small rainbow faded there;<br />But brighter glow'd her plumy crown<br />Mouldering to golden ashes down;<br /><br />With fume of sweet woods, to the skies,<br />Pure asa Saint's adoring sighs,<br />Warm as a prayer in Paradise,<br />Her life-breath rose in sacrifice!<br /><br />The while with shrill triumphant tone<br />Sounding aloud, aloft, alone,<br />Ceaseless her joyful deathwail she<br />Sang to departing Araby! <br /><br /><br /><br /></span></p>Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-57779608522081662682009-11-16T07:28:00.000-08:002009-11-21T05:06:43.964-08:00Do you Dream of the Phoenix ?In Greek mythology, the Phoenix was a bird with great beauty, splendor and longevity. <span style="font-weight:bold;"></span>The legend tells us that the Phoenix lived for five hundred years and then retreated to make a nest where she would die. She made a nest of aromatic twigs that would burn from the heat of its own body. The Phoenix is said to rise from its own ashes. <br /><br />It comes alive though the transforming power of fire and it lives again in full splendor. In the Middle Ages, the Phoenix was often used as a symbol for Christ, as he resurrected. <br /><br />This legendary bird is an archetypal dream symbol that brings us positive and powerful images of rebirth. If you dream of the Phoenix, it is most likely that you are receiving message from the unconscious that are telling you that new life and new beginnings are always possible. This bird is a reminder that we have internal powers of regeneration and that we have the power to change things for the better. <br /><br />As you are interpreting this dream, try to visualize a great bird rising up from fire and ash. It is a powerful image, whether produced by a dream or visualization.Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-2284583607631144772009-11-16T06:52:00.000-08:002009-11-16T06:54:30.464-08:00<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"Our world desperately needs rebirth. Our mythic challenges are to find the "phoenix" within us, and then identify the gifts we each must engage; creative energies to help reintegrate and recreate the world around us in a way that serves everyone."<br /><br /><br />Wendy Ellertson <br /><br /></span>Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-54101624006837073512009-11-16T06:31:00.000-08:002009-11-16T06:35:23.493-08:00<object width="450" height="460"><param name="movie" value="http://backend.deviantart.com/embed/view.swf"><param name="flashvars" value="id=142996823&width=1337"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://backend.deviantart.com/embed/view.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="450" flashvars="id=142996823&width=1337" height="460" allowscriptaccess="always"></embed></object><br /><a href="http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/142996823/">Rise of the Phoenix Within</a> by ~<a class="u" href="http://socratesjedi.deviantart.com/">SocratesJedi</a> on <a href="http://www.deviantart.com">deviant</a><a href="http://www.deviantart.com">ART</a>Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115502224020369765.post-74194718460509828912009-11-16T06:15:00.000-08:002009-11-16T06:20:37.299-08:00The Phoenix Bird<em>by Hans Christian Andersen</em><br /><br />In the Garden of Paradise,<br />beneath the Tree of Knowledge,<br />bloomed a rose bush.<br />Here, in the first rose, a bird was born.<br />His flight was like the flashing of light,<br />his plumage was beauteous,<br />and his song ravishing.<br /><br />But when Eve plucked the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil,<br />when she and Adam were driven from Paradise,<br />there fell from the flaming sword of the cherub<br />a spark into the nest of the bird,<br />which blazed up forthwith.<br />The bird perished in the flames;<br />but from the red egg in the nest there fluttered aloft a new one<br />the one solitary Phoenix bird.<br />The fable tells that he dwells in Arabia,<br />and that every hundred years, he burns himself to death in his nest;<br /><br />But each time a new Phoenix,<br />the only one in the world,<br />rises up from the red egg.<br />The bird flutters round us,<br />swift as light,<br />beauteous in color,<br />charming in song.<br /><br />When a mother sits by her infant's cradle,<br />he stands on the pillow,<br />and, with his wings,<br />forms a glory around the infant's head.<br />He flies through the chamber of content,<br />and brings sunshine into it,<br />and the violets on the humble table smell doubly sweet.<br /><br />But the Phoenix is not the bird of Arabia alone.<br />He wings his way in the glimmer of the Northern Lights<br />over the plains of Lapland,<br />and hops among the yellow flowers<br />in the short Greenland summer.<br /><br />Beneath the copper mountains of Fablun,<br />and England's coal mines, he flies,<br />in the shape of a dusty moth,<br />over the hymnbook that rests on the knees of the pious miner.<br />On a lotus leaf he floats<br />down the sacred waters of the Ganges,<br />and the eye of the Hindu maid gleams bright when she beholds him.<br /><br /><p>The Phoenix bird, dost thou not know him?</p><p>The Bird of Paradise,</p><p>the holy swan of song!<br /></p>On the car of Thespis he sat in the guise of a chattering raven,<br />and flapped his black wings,<br />smeared with the lees of wine;<br />over the sounding harp of Iceland<br />swept the swan's red beak;<br />on Shakespeare's shoulder he sat<br />in the guise of Odin's raven,<br />and whispered in the poet's ear<br />“Immortality!”<br />and at the minstrels' feast he fluttered through the halls of the Wartburg.<br /><br />The Phoenix bird, dost thou not know him?<br />He sang to thee the Marseillaise,<br />and thou kissedst the pen that fell from his wing;<br />he came in the radiance of Paradise,<br />and perchance<br />thou didst turn away from him,<br />towards the sparrow who sat<br />with tinsel on his wings.<br /><br />The Bird of Paradise,<br />renewed each century<br />born in flame,<br />ending in flame!<br />Thy picture,<br />in a golden frame,<br />hangs in the halls of the rich,<br />but thou thyself often fliest around,<br />lonely and disregarded,<br />a myth--<br />“The Phoenix of Arabia."<br /><br />In Paradise,<br />when thou wert born in the first rose,<br />beneath the Tree of Knowledge,<br />thou receivedst a kiss,<br />and thy right name was given thee<br />--thy name,<br />Poetry.<br /><br /> <br /><br /> Phoenix Withinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15977219730935762631noreply@blogger.com0