For the last pile of decades, or at least within the few weeks, I’ve declared I don’t believe in defining moments. But then one happens and I’m reminded of my unique and profound ability to manufacture bullshit and fool even my own most grandiose self image.

Defining moments are glorious but the jazz comes when we identify them as such, a rare and holy occasion.

On such occasion, I was handed this:

Are you willing to be sponged out, erased, cancelled, made nothing?

Are you willing to be made nothing?

Dipped into oblivion?

If not, you will never really change.

The Phoenix renews her youth only when she is burnt, burnt alive, burnt down to hot and flocculent ash.

Then the small stirrings of a new small bub in the nest with strands of down like floating ash shows that she is renewing her youth like the eagle, immortal bird.

~ Phoenix, by DH Lawrence.

 

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