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Phoenix Egg

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the fire within

Inside of this abstract fractal egg lies the young Phoenix embryo alight with the flame of regeneration. The flame that will be a continual source of death and rebirth as it passes through the myriad stages of its spiritual growth. A powerful symbol of strength and endurance, the mythical Phoenix resonates with the spirit of mankind. Like it, we too get reduced to ashes and need to pull ourselves together so that we may rise again to meet life's challenges. Those moments we spend incubating within our sheltering egg are what protect us from harm while we heal and gather our strength so that we may overcome those challenges and soar to new heights.

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Summoning the Phoenix

your inner bird call

There is no human, rich or poor, black, white, yellow or red, who doesn't at some time suffer from an overwhelming loss. It is part of our growth process as spiritual beings. Like it or not, it is through suffering that we tend learn life's greatest lessons. It is for that reason that each of us has an inner phoenix that we can summon in times of need. Like other archetypes - gods, goddesses, and creatures alike, the phoenix represents a part of us that many attribute to outside forces. However, also like those other archetypes, it is a force that exists within, not outside, of us. It is an aspect of our being that we are free to call upon at will. The call that our inner bird heeds is unique to each of us - as is the way it appears to us upon its arrival.

Symbolic Adornments

the phoenix as totem

The Phoenix Bird (1850)

by Hans Christian Anderson

In the Garden of Paradise, beneath the Tree of Knowledge, bloomed a rose bush. Here, in the first rose, a bird was born. His flight was like the flashing of light, his plumage was beauteous, and his song ravishing. But when Eve plucked the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, when she and Adam were driven from Paradise, there fell from the flaming sword of the cherub a spark into the nest of the bird, which blazed up forthwith. The bird perished in the flames; but from the red egg in the nest there fluttered aloft a new one-the one solitary Phoenix bird. The fable tells that he dwells in Arabia, and that every hundred years, he burns himself to death in his nest; but each time a new Phoenix, the only one in the world, rises up from the red egg.

The bird flutters round us, swift as light, beauteous in color, charming in song. When a mother sits by her infant's cradle, he stands on the pillow, and, with his wings, forms a glory around the infant's head. He flies through the chamber of content, and brings sunshine into it, and the violets on the humble table smell doubly sweet.

But the Phoenix is not the bird of Arabia alone. He wings his way in the glimmer of the Northern Lights over the plains of Lapland, and hops among the yellow flowers in the short Greenland summer. Beneath the copper mountains of Fablun, and England's coal mines, he flies, in the shape of a dusty moth, over the hymnbook that rests on the knees of the pious miner. On a lotus leaf he floats down the sacred waters of the Ganges, and the eye of the Hindoo maid gleams bright when she beholds him.

The Phoenix bird, dost thou not know him? The Bird of Paradise, the holy swan of song! On the car of Thespis he sat in the guise of a chattering raven, and flapped his black wings, smeared with the lees of wine; over the sounding harp of Iceland swept the swan's red beak; on Shakspeare's shoulder he sat in the guise of Odin's raven, and whispered in the poet's ear "Immortality!" and at the minstrels' feast he fluttered through the halls of the Wartburg.

The Phoenix bird, dost thou not know him? He sang to thee the Marseillaise, and thou kissedst the pen that fell from his wing; he came in the radiance of Paradise, and perchance thou didst turn away from him towards the sparrow who sat with tinsel on his wings.

The Bird of Paradise-renewed each century-born in flame, ending in flame! Thy picture, in a golden frame, hangs in the halls of the rich, but thou thyself often fliest around, lonely and disregarded, a myth-"The Phoenix of Arabia."

In Paradise, when thou wert born in the first rose, beneath the Tree of Knowledge, thou receivedst a kiss, and thy right name was given thee-thy name, Poetry.

- found in this collection of Hans Christian Andersen Fairy Tales and Stories.