Every day on my work breaks, I go for a walk to look at things far away, esp the clouds. They have been very white and remind me of charcoal drawings the way they feather out. They are usually a blank slate to stretched cotton. Every day this week, I have seen the form of a phoenix in the skies.
We hear what we want to hear, but we see what we need to see. Phoenix is fire. Phoenix re starts, redoes, or begins to continue.
Which pile of ashes am I to sweep up and drink the tea of? I am eager, even impatient to know. I can start feeling like I am living my own life again. I was a fulfilling and powerful, grown up feeling when I had it in the past. Fire does not wait well.
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