Rising like the phoenix

 Recovery from surgery takes time, and I've used this as excuse to spend much of this last month simply researching pieces for my patreon account, Writing the Magic, rather than writing any new fiction. I feel a bit like I've been given a second chance at life, and to celebrate, this is a post all about the magical phoenix, one of my favourite mythical creatures.

According to legend, the phoenix comes from Arabia, where it lives alone in a sacred wood, surviving on nothing but pure air. There is only ever one phoenix alive in the world at any one time, though their lifespan is very long. The earliest mention of the bird is attributed to the Greek poet Hesiod, writing in the 8th century BC. In this extract, the centaur Chiron is instructing the young Achilles:

A chattering crow lives now nine generations of aged men,
but a stag's life is four time a crow's,
and a raven's life makes three stags old,
while the phoenix outlives nine ravens...

Depending on how old you reckon an 'aged man' is, this makes the phoenix's life span very long indeed (my maths isn't good enough to work it out) - though a later 5th century BC account (from Greek historian Herodotus) makes it a mere 500 years:

[The Egyptians] have also another sacred bird called the phoenix which I myself have never seen, except in pictures. Indeed it is a great rarity, even in Egypt, only coming there (according to the accounts of the people of Heliopolis) once in five hundred years, when the old phoenix dies. 

As big as an eagle, and far more graceful, the phoenix is reputed to have glittering purple feathers (the word 'phoenix' translates from ancient Greek as 'purple') with a golden band around its neck. Other writers have variously described it as having red, blue and gold feathers. This is Herodotus's description:

Its size and appearance, if it is like the pictures, are as follows: The plumage is partly red, partly golden, while the general make and size are almost exactly that of the eagle. 

In alchemy, the phoenix corresponds to the colour red, symbolising the regeneration of universal life, and the successful completion of a process. Whatever its true colour, phoenix feathers are said to have the magical property of healing any wound they touch. 

When the phoenix reaches the end of its life, it collects myrrh, laudanum, nard, cassia and cinnamon in its wings, and flies to Phoenicia. Once there, the bird selects the tallest palm tree (interestingly, an alternative translation of 'phoenix' is 'palm tree') and builds a nest from the ingredients it's collected. Settling itself into the nest, the phoenix sings its final, hauntingly beautiful song, until the rising sun sets the nest alight and burns the bird to ashes.

However, as we know, this can never be the end of the phoenix, which is an immortal bird. A tiny grub creeps from the ashes, and grows into a young phoenix. The reborn phoenix then takes the ashes of its previous incarnation and pushes them into a ball of myrrh. Carrying the ball in its beak, it flies to Heliopolis in Egypt, the city of the sun, where it places it on an altar. Having completed this task, the fledgling flies back the sacred wood for the cycle to begin again.

Unlike the phoenix, I won't get to enjoy a new 500 year lifespan - but it's probably time to step out of the ashes and start writing that next book...

Lu Hersey

Patreon: Writing the Magic

Twitter/X: @LuWrites

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