The Significance of the Phoenix
Various tales abound concerning the mythical firebird, the Phoenix. From east to west, and north to south, many have caught a glimpse of its unrivalled beauty, but few have heard its undying song. Its colour is crimson (Mars) and gold (Sun) with a plume of purple (Pluto). The flames of its funeral pyre are fuelled by frankincense (Love) and myrrh (Law). Eternal symbol of Physical Immortality, the Phoenix makes its nest in the top of the Everlasting Tree of Life.
The Phoenix is the higher frequency symbol for Aquarius, the Bearer of the Cup containing the Waters of Life. The Phoenix of Aquarius represents the collective or planetary gaining of Everlasting Life. Those who have the Seal of the Phoenix upon them are the torchbearers of Immortality. They have discovered their Highest Purpose is to attain Physical Immortality in this Life and dedicate themselves to directing Immortal energies for the Evolution of a New Planetary Structure capable of supporting Greater Expressions of Life. If you are one of these beings, then visualize the Seal of the Phoenix upon your brow, or third eye, chakra. The Spirit of the Aquarian Phoenix anoints thee! This Touch of the Fire Bird upon your forehead ignites the pyre that consumes all Chains of Mind and creates Perfect Freedom. Life can not confer the Seal or Grade of the Phoenix upon you until you take the conscious Vow to overcome death and to dedicate yourself to the communication of the Immortal Way.
The Truth and Way of Life Eternal is a most precious Gift to share!
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"Most beings spring from other individuals; but there is a certain kind which reproduces itself.
The Assyrians call it the Phoenix. It does not live on fruit or flowers, but on frankincense and
odoriferous gums. When it has lived five hundred years, it builds itself a nest in the branches
of an oak, or on the top of a palm tree. In this it collects cinnamon, and spikenard, and myrrh,
and of these materials builds a pile on which it deposits itself, and dying, breathes out its last
breath amidst odors. From the body of the parent bird, a young Phoenix issues forth, destined
to live as long a life as its predecessor. When this has grown up and gained sufficient strength,
it lifts its nest from the tree (its own cradle and its parent's sepulchre), and carries it to the city
of Heliopolis in Egypt, and deposits it in the temple of the Sun."
- Ovid
The Phoenix's "instinct teaches him to keep out of the way of the tyrant of the creation, man,
for if he were to be got at, some wealthy glutton would surely devour him, though there were
no more in the world."
- Alexander Ross
The Phoenix Bird by Hans Christian Andersen
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.
