Here come the flames again

I woke up this morning with the title of this poem in my head (singing it to the tune of  “Here comes the rain again” by the Eurythmics). The words to the poem came quickly out of nowhere, but they express one of the challenges of this kind of intense inner work, at least for me. No matter how much I share of this journey with those around me, there are aspects of this that are beyond words and are difficult to share in ways that allow others to experience the depth of grief that these changes sometimes cause inside.

Here come the flames again

The ancients say
The phoenix dies
Each half millennium
On a self-made pyre
Of myrrh and twigs
So to be born anew.

We marvel at its courage
As it flies into the flames.
It freely gives itself to death
To allow for something new,
With no one there to grieve
For the one that is consumed.

But harder still,
It seems to me,
Those seasons of our lives
When we must choose
To walk into
Our own consuming flames.

This daily death
In flames of pain
Of the self we thought we were
Makes space for a
More honest self
To rise and come to life.

The hardest part,
I find for me,
Is not the pain of death.
The heartache lies
In the lonely grief
At the funeral alone.

~KJ (© 2012)

A Note on Comments: A chrysalis is by nature a fragile and vulnerable place to be, so I am committed to keeping this a safe place for me and for my readers. Comments sharing your own journey, even if your experience is different from mine, are always welcome and encouraged. Expressions of support or encouragement are also welcome. Comments that criticize, disparage, correct, or in any way attempt to undermine the validity of another person’s experience or personal insight are not welcome here and will be deleted.

About these ads