The phoenix of creation

How I rose from the ashes

My pen has been paralyzed while I’ve watched and listened as friends and former colleagues have experienced and lived through the catastrophic LA fires. I’ve been frozen in heartbreak and pain for those who have lost everything, pangs of loss as places I loved to frequent are now gone to ash. Feeling helpless, now that I’m living miles away in Austin after calling Los Angeles home for 23 years, I know a piece of my heart still belongs to her. Pen and fingers were paralyzed for wanting to say the “right” things when there were no right words.

Then, I started to hear the whispers of the phoenix, callings I’m familiar with when I have walked through the ashes left by my own losses—not from a house on fire, but the metaphorical ashes of loss.

The phoenix keeps appearing in my mind’s eye. The phoenix that rises in conversations as people come to one another’s aid, and as they start to feel the embers of rebuilding and beginning anew.

I recently enjoyed being on Elysia Skye’s wonderful “The Brilliance Method” podcast, recorded to be released in the next few weeks. We had a great discussion about this very thing: The phoenix of creation. I recalled when this first came into my consciousness.

A few years ago, my laptop and some treasured journals were stolen from my car. Sadly, the computer wasn’t locked or backed up (before everything was on the cloud), so the fear of valuable information being stolen and grief over the loss of many, many words and private things were very real. At the time, I said, “It feels like a virtual house on fire,” when I didn’t have time to grab what I valued before it all went up in smoke.

Even though the little voice in my head said, ‘Take it with you.’

The cautionary tale

“Where are the cars parked?” I’d asked the valet attendant.

“Behind the restaurant, inside a garage,” he said.

“So it’s secure?” I said as I glanced at my black leather bag camouflaged against the black floor of my car.

“Yes,” he said as he nodded and followed my gaze.

For whatever reason, I felt safe enough to take his word for it. To trust. Even though the little voice in my head said, ‘Take it with you.’

Two hours later, you guessed it, when the same driver brought my car back around, the passenger window was shattered, and the only thing taken out of my car was the leather bag, which was locked inside their “secured” garage. To say I was suspicious was an understatement. And, believe me, I didn’t like feeling that way. I believe in people. I trust in people.

I’d like to say I was clear-minded, pummeling questions at the driver and his manager. I’d like to say I had the wherewithal to investigate. Instead, I crumbled on the street outside The Village restaurant in Studio City. Thankfully I was with my dear friend who had a much clearer head than I did. She supervised the situation and helped me navigate it.

She said, “Please tell me you’re backed up.” The blood drained from my face. Mouth cotton dry. Crying loudly on Ventura Blvd. Feeling stupid and angry at myself and then scared with a deep pit in my stomach about the unknowns surrounding me. Who took it and why? Was it just for the hardware? Identity theft?

Because here’s the thing. I knew the instant my computer was gone I hadn’t properly backed it up. And, so much was lost. Beyond the photos and memories and financial info, so much deep writing. Gone. A novel idea I’d been working on. Gone, along with all of my notes. Drafts of screenplays. First drafts of articles not yet published. So much creation. Gone.

Then, I entered the phase of police reports and insurance claims and changing passwords and Lifelock memberships and phone calls to Apple and texts and calls from family and friends offering support and advice and shoulders to lean on.

I vacillated between feeling like my virtual house went up in flames, and like I was stark naked with my intimate personal info stamped across my forehead as the sleazy characters strolled around, looking at me and everything else while I couldn’t cover myself up or do anything about it.

Also, in my computer bag were two ancient and precious journals, source material for a project I was working on. I had them with me because that morning I’d spent some great time writing at a Coffee Bean before heading into the office.

The project, and all files associated with it, gone. The first saving grace and there were several, is I’d emailed myself a draft a month prior. Grace.

Another piece of grace, I still had an old laptop. So, older files, photos, some original drafts, and records were still there. I went home that night and powered it up. And, amid my heartbreak, which I couldn’t yet define, a warm feeling came over me, like after being embraced by a longtime friend. That old 15-inch Mac gave me a place to land that night. It felt like a restart point, or at least a familiar resting point.

And, then, after a couple of long days and sleepless nights, when I wanted to journal again, I pulled out an oldie favorite and started in the middle where I’d left off, 15 years earlier.

We join this program already in progress

It got me thinking about where I was after the loss. My first thought was that I had to start over, with all that was gone. But the truth was I was starting over mid-scene. Mid-step. In the middle of the dance. Midsentence. In progress. As in, we are joining this program already in progress.

I couldn’t pick up where I left off because where I left off, as it was, didn’t exist anymore.

I found myself wanting to dig and see what was still there of what I’d created. What would there be of those lost files, forgotten words once expressed to be revisited another time, characters developed, broken down plots, heroines and heroes conceived and nurtured until they were on their own, photographs flashed to capture moments now passed.

While meditating one morning, the sudden image of a phoenix appeared before me.

The phoenix rises

A phoenix is a magnificent, mythical bird with wild colorful plumes that burns itself to ashes every 500 years and then is born again, signifying regeneration and renewal. If someone or something is a phoenix, it means they return after seeming to disappear or be destroyed. Out of the ashes of the disaster, a phoenix of recovery can rise.

What happens to the phoenix after it rises? What becomes of the ashes? Does a phoenix go back and sift through its ashes for remnants of what was left behind? All questions coursing through my mind.

“You’ve seen my descent, now watch my rising.” ~ Rumi

What is my phoenix?

I had dinner the next night with some dear friends, all successful writers, working professionals. I loved these dinners. We’d been getting together, the same group, for 18 years. We’d always do an around-the-table catch-up and it was a joy to be alongside them as their careers have risen. And, these women were killing it with lots of exciting things — bestselling books, TV shows, movies — out in the world and currently in creation. Usually, I was a much livelier participant, giddy for everyone.

But that night, I still had ashes in my head and ears, which made everything muted and cloudy. I kept thinking about all of my creations in the ashes. That victim part of me that was still very much present felt like I would never catch up because I was going to have to start over.

I thought a lot about the dinner over the weekend as I purposefully stayed quiet, in meditation, prayer, and with pen in hand.

And, here’s what happened. I was visited several more times by the image of my phoenix. And each time, something floated up from the ashes.

Creation. Over and again. Creation. Create.

Rinse and repeat. A few thoughts on the page. Small bits of creation.

Remembering that creativity is my life force. Creativity is all of our life force.

Creativity is my resilience. Creativity leads to all of our resilience.

My phoenix is just that. And I posit creativity is the phoenix for us all, even when it’s not thought of as creativity. It is just that.

Creativity is more than art or storytelling. It’s creating environments. It’s creating a mindset and responsive thoughts.

Creativity is building a structure for ease and productivity.

It’s creating connections that foster learning and love and activism.

It’s creating space for exploration, curiosity, and discovery. Curiosity is engaging the creative mind.

Mining the ashes

The path of life is lined with ashes. The ashes of loss and despair. Ashes of regret. Ashes of heartache. Ashes of grief. Ashes of apathy or discontent. Ashes of failure. The ashes of January 2025.

Creativity and re-creation above the ashes is the phoenix we all share and can infuse and walk beside.

To re-create is to mine the ashes, for the gold, for the wisdom that rises to the surface, and to trust that the best parts will float up and remain, providing a new foundation that builds at the level of season, wisdom, and embodied knowledge and ideas.

That was where new creation began for me. I could work with that.

My higher self showed me how much clutter was actually stored on that stolen laptop. I captured everything; every little wisp of an idea, saving it for a time when I’d get to it. And, most of them lived there, ignored and forgotten.

It was interesting to see what played out in all the cleared space. One thing was true: I couldn’t stop writing.

Image created in Canva

What’s your phoenix?

What stirs and feeds your soul at the basest level?

Sitting alongside your ashes is a good place to begin. Allow yourself to create space and sit in the silence of your liminality. Allow all parts of your brain to sit freely. Wander, in mind and body. Go for a long walk. Nature has a way of speaking to us like nothing else. Listen.

Then sit in silence and listen some more.

Notice with curiosity, the synchronicities, the moments of aha, what fills your heart and ignites your spirit. Those could be the seeds that generate and cultivate what rises.

Perhaps it’s creating in the kitchen. A dear friend found the stirrings of her phoenix by creatively cooking for her friends to help with the grief after losing her husband.

Another took to knitting and joined a circle of caring and supportive people. Another created beautiful cards that spoke to her injured spirit, for future recipients fortunate to receive her messages. And, another created valuable connections through volunteering and sharing ways to help others also sitting alongside their ashes.

Rapper and musician Anthony Obi, known as Fat Tony, was interviewed by NPR about losing his home in Altadena to the Eaton Fire, along with all of his musical equipment. He said he couldn’t imagine rebuilding what he’d created over his lifetime, so much so that he considered walking away from music. Then, his friends began sending him equipment and he soon found himself playing with a beat. A simple beat. And, something woke up. Something rose from his ashes. He found his beat. It was the place from which to begin again, midsentence.

The phoenix is always there

So many things bubbled up from my virtual house of fire a few years ago, much of which took time to process and release: shame, anger, and regret for not doing things differently. But what my phoenix showed me is the way to heal.

To start by being present. To stop reliving the moment. To sit alongside the ashes to mine the seeds and gold. To move from victimhood to statehood.

And, doubling down on the tenets I try to live by, the values that rise like the phoenix and take me from feeling helpless to feeling empowered again.

Gratitude. Kindness. Compassion. Truth. Honesty. Positivity. Creativity. Trust (I still do, only now with more discernment). Love. Forgiveness (a big one that is the gateway to finally letting go and releasing what doesn’t serve. Hard to do sometimes, but I knew that was the key to being free to rise).

So, what is your phoenix that helps you rise from the ashes? What came to light for you as you read this?

Journal Prompt

Prompt: Sit quietly for a few moments and visualize your phoenix. What does it look and feel like? How has it guided you until now? Does it have a message for you?

I hope you have a great week filled with whispers from your phoenix. And, kindness.

Keep creating, abundantly,