All of them were my kind Wild and damn near free But a woman of the Phoenix Is the medicine they need…

In Phoenix, Arizona now. It’s beautiful this time of year, when we natives thank heaven for the respite from the brutal heat that will inevitably set in within weeks. It’s 85 today, overcast and simply gorgeous.

When I left Rochester last Thursday it was freezing, with snow piled face high along the streets and driveways. I wore layers and wrapped myself in shawls and drank hot things all day long. I loved visiting with my brother and his family – my niece has taught herself to play the ukulele, and she sings and is infinitely delightful. She’s also 13 and in no mood to be told how adorable she is. My nephew is 16 and a track star. He’s so much like one of my brothers, it’s like seeing a ghost.

I had to come to Phoenix, not far from where I was born, and let myself burn all the way down to tiniest particles of me.

“The Phoenix is a mythical bird that consciously consumes itself in flames to be reborn new from its ashes. It is important to our creative endeavors in that it is one of the myths which probably best describes the transformation that our ego must undergo in a creative endeavor. The phoenix is the symbol of the transformation of human consciousness and our creative spirit that each of us must undergo to one degree or another to create what we desire. The method that is used is our choice but the process is inescapable.” (http://ryuc.info/common/recreating_oneself/phoenix.htm)

Inescapable. Yes. No outrunning our destiny or karma or whatever you call it. Right now, I feel as if I am those microscopic bits. I’m going to hang out in this for awhile. Updates will follow.