And the phoenix rises from the ashes... or so we've always heard. Mythology, legend, symbol of a rebirth, of a resurgence, of not being defeated and coming out victorious.
#Duvincaphoto
And sometimes it seems that we burn, that life even sets our souls on fire, that we feel bad, that we can't breathe, and it seems that everything is over... and sometimes that's how we end up, badly, defeated, sad, or with a big wound, at least very safely, quite tired.
And we end up almost reduced to ashes, to nothing, or to a distant memory of what we once were, we hardly remember ourselves. We look at each other and there are only remains, and some smoke that indicates that the battle was recent.
And the fight seems to be over, or so we thought. We think that now we will pass to another phase, that those ashes would cool down and our soul would finally heal. Rest and start again, at least that.
And when everything seems already extinguished, that fire inside us, rekindles... I don't understand, isn't it supposed that after the ashes, we would resurface? Where is my phoenix? Where that renaissance?
And what we wanted does not happen, what we needed, our hopes and illusions, return to being just smoke, because the fire is fed again. Yet another fire on scorched earth, we burned.
And it doesn't end, we burn continuously, we put out fires, hoping that everything will calm down soon, but we don't reach everyone, the fire is inevitable.
And will it be eternal? Are these flames forever? Will we always be like this? It seems to have no end, from those old ashes that are still almost incandescent it sprouts again, embers that cause another fire on a new day, without you expecting them. It's hot, it's suffocating.
And we feel bad, we can't breathe, we can't cope. We only wait for those ashes to go out, to rest, to merge with the earth, to be buried, and from there only a sign of everything that was...
And we will not even know if we will manage to be that phoenix, if it will appear in the midst of so much suffering, what will that moment be like? To die to renew oneself, to come out strong and victorious, to feel proud, to have almost gone through hell, between incessant flames, difficult to contain, and to end up in ashes, reduced to rubble, to almost nothing... in feeling lost and desperate but... proud of having resisted, to everything, in spite of everything.
And the flames may be intense and return once more when life stirs them up again, but the ashes do not disappear, they resist, they persist...
Y el ave fénix resurge de las cenizas... o eso hemos oído siempre. Mitología, leyenda, símbolo de un renacimiento, de un resurgir, de no ser derrotado y salir victorioso.
#Duvincaphoto
Y a veces parece que nos quemamos, que la vida nos incendia el alma incluso, que nos sentimos mal, que no podemos respirar, y parece que todo se acaba... y a veces así acabamos, mal, derrotados, tristes, o con una gran herida, al menos con mucha seguridad, bastante cansados.
Y acabamos casi reducidos a cenizas, a la nada, o a un lejano recuerdo de lo que un día fuimos, casi no nos recordamos. Nos miramos y sólo quedan restos, y algo de humo que nos indica que la batalla fue reciente.
Y la pelea parece que acabó, o eso creíamos. Pensamos que ahora pasaremos a otra fase, que esas cenizas se enfriarían y nuestra alma por fin sanaría. Descansar y volver a comenzar, al menos eso.
Y cuando todo parece ya extinguido, ese fuego de nuestro interior, vuelve a encenderse... No lo entiendo, ¿no se supone que tras las cenizas, resurgiríamos? ¿Dónde está mi ave fénix? ¿Dónde ese renacimiento?
Y no ocurre lo que deseábamos, lo que necesitábamos, nuestras esperanzas e ilusiones, vuelven a ser solamente humo, porque el fuego vuelve a ser alimentado. Otro incendio más sobre tierra chamuscada, nos quemamos.
Y no se acaba, ardemos de forma continuada, vamos apagando fuegos, esperando que todo se apacigüe pronto, pero no llegamos a todos, el incendio es inevitable.
¿Y será eterno? ¿Son estas llamas para siempre? ¿Estaremos siempre así? Parece no tener fin, de esas viejas cenizas aún casi incandescentes vuelve a brotar, rescoldos que provocan otro incendio en un nuevo día, sin que los esperes. Hace calor, es asfixiante.
Y nos sentimos mal, no podemos respirar, no damos abasto. Sólo esperamos esas cenizas que se apaguen, que descansen, que se fusionen con la tierra, que se entierren, y que de ahí sólo quede una señal de todo lo que fue...
Y ni siquiera sabremos si lograremos ser ese ave fénix, si aparecerá entre tanto sufrimiento, ¿cómo será ese momento? Morir para renovarse, para salir fuerte y victorioso, para sentirse orgulloso, de haber pasado por casi el infierno, entre llamas incesantes, difíciles de contener, y acabar hecho cenizas, reducido a escombros, a casi nada... en sentirnos perdidos y desesperados pero... orgulloso de haber resistido, a todo, pese a todo.
Y las llamas podrán ser intensas y volver una vez más cuando la vida las vuelve a azuzar, pero las cenizas no desaparecen, resisten, persisten...
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