Cologne, 2004-05-09

The wilted phoenix is burning with
a torrid blaze from deep inside
he ignites his cage of cards
lets the pain flow through
wings spread far and wide
and as a white flame
he abandons all to the fire.
-
With a final outcry
the past shatters
the world bursts
nothing remains
but burnt slag
and in death
he takes refuge.
-
The four winds scatter
all the fleeting dust
from purified embers
he reforges himself
disharmony blends
and from ashes
he rises once more.
-

Change is the only constant; change is life, fire is change. The only ever unchanged one is death. There is always a fire burning in each and every living entity, each and every moment until the end. But sometimes, the capacity for change is reached; coherency is lost, and the fire reaches out to the entire being.

There is no point in holding on to anything; the fire will just pull me down further and further until I let go, or until I am finally destroyed. So I let go; I yield. In such times, there is no certainity that anything at all will survive. The fire will consume me; I may be able to push the flood back one more day, and get a few days off my job in time when I see the waves rolling on the horizont; and when the wind smells of smoke, I can light the match myself and at least for the moment regain self-control - but better I don't even try to escape...

I burn, and the fire consumes my model of the world once more, until I let go of everything. All my incoherencies, incongruencies and forejudgements fuel the fire and are consumed; and when I try to hold on to them, the heat will just sear me.

Though I can never be sure, so far something has always survived; there is continuity through disintegration. What remains in the ashes is the core, and from the ashes I am allowed another try at building myself and my world; hopefully harder to set on fire, more flexible, less rigid, more complex and accomodating for new experiences. But there will always be another fire, one day...