L'Oiseau de Feu

As things often do, in retrospect it seems clear now that the cranes were not ever cranes, they were phoenixes, meant for the fire.  Their/my ashes are out there now, floating around re-congealing into something new.  There are about five new phoenixes starting to flutter about here and there...

What seems rare when people talk about burnout is the length of recovery time.  I feel a slow heat starting to burn again, but it is hard to tell if it's simmering embers of destructive burnout or the start of phoenix rising from the ashes.

I am very slowly finding pieces of myself.  I tend to rely on logic rather than feeling in assessing what comes next.  I am learning that logic only takes me so far and that means figuring out these things called feelings.  They're so complicated!   I have also relied on appreciation of things other people appreciate.  I appreciate the flavor peppers and onions bring to a dish, but I don't actually care for their texture much.  But when people rave on about some onion-y, pepper-y thing that they love, I say, 'yes, that sounds good!' despite the fact that I have no desire to eat it myself.  I am finding that I am curious and interested in all sorts of things, but articulating why I'm curious about something is elusive.  Sometimes I find it's because it's something someone else appreciates but is sort of like an onion to me, and sometimes I find that there is no why, it just is.  And sometimes the reason is clear, sometimes the reason is deeply layered.

And sometimes I find people holding space and pointing directions for a me that is not me.  "You would be, I see you, you should..." And as uncomfortable as I am in my skin now, the skin they would have me wear is often as ill fitting and not anything but the perception of a me they carry in their head.  And learning to discern their 'good idea' from a 'good idea for me.'

What I know is that recreating oneself, piece by piece, is exhausting work.  So many assumptions that must be challenged against 'is that me, or is that a piece of someone that I have adopted?' Or 'what do I feel about that?  And what's underneath that? And what's beneath even that? (Is it really turtles *alllllll* the way down?).'  And even when it becomes too much, and I just lie down, the echoes in my head are a wonderland of "Who ARE you?"

And some things are very very clear.  And some things are very very not clear.  It's hard waiting for the smoke to dissipate.  And even harder is picking through hot embers to find the pieces of resurrection.  The embers are so very hot, and the ashes are so very fragile.  Like it is darkest just before dawn, and coldest just after dawn, a phoenix in formation is so very fragile.  Reconstituting strength and confidence is serious business, serious magic.

Perhaps it is no surprise that my favorite ballet and some of my favorite music ever is and has always been Stravinsky's Firebird/L'oiseau de feu. Working on my most complicated re-creation ever...