archives, poetry

Phoenix Rising. {poetry}


I didn’t want to leave. Well, that’s not exactly true. I desperately wanted to be free, but I didn’t want to break up my family.

I didn’t want my sons to live through the pain of fractured love or the anxiety of insecurity that comes when the stability you once trusted disappears into the black void of nothingness. But I couldn’t wake my husband up. I couldn’t make him see that staying disengaged from life was no way to live. We need spontaneity and divine connection to each other, to nature.

We need to be wild to be free, and we need to be free to truly live. But I couldn’t wake him up. So I carried him. I carried them all.

My edges faded. I stopped fighting. I began to disappear from loss of self. Nihilism overtook my present and my horizon, both near and far. The cost was great and far-reaching. I moved like a zombie. I felt nothing. No tears. I was allowing the life in me to slip away, so very grateful to give up the struggle. I floated asleep as Ophelia on a river of pain.

But the fire in my belly would not be doused. The will that commands me to rise, regardless of how many times I am knocked down, kindled and grew. Despite my struggles, the sacred heart flame was sparked alive once more. I did not even know it was there until it consumed me and the illusionary shackles fell away. And the choice lay before me.


The last of her ego had gone out
In a spectacular fire of dancing flames
Gray smoke emitted from a large,
Smoldering pile of ash

In the silence, she did not mind
Her nonexistence
It was comforting to be still
Like mist rising off a quiet morning lake
Her exhalation sent another swirling of smoke
Into the bright blue sky

She watched fascinated
As the smoke took form
The ashen pile rustled and shifted
She became aware of her self
It was a strange and comforting feeling
In a body no longer weighed down by pain and fear

Wings quivered on her back
Nodding and shifting her head from side to side
She blinked with childlike amazement
At the crystal sun-washed day
Was the sky always this blue?
She pushed against the ashen waste
Rising above the ground

In an instant, she saw others
Bound to the earth
Unwilling to release their own fears
Saddened, she froze

A bird sang out
Sunlight shone clear
A rainbow on a drop of dew
On a spider’s web
The rain is over
“It is not your fate to be small
Nor do you serve others by doing so,”
Whispered the Voice of Spirit

She closed her eyes
Her heart spoke the truth
Pumping her powerful wings
She pushed skyward
Like a bird she flew

The Phoenix reborn
Honoring my joy honors me
Honoring my truth honors Spirit
Honoring my joy honors me
Honoring my truth honors Spirit.


Jamie Della has a writer’s soul and gypsy spirit. Her essay ‘The Wild Feminine Freed #Metoo’ appeared in Riverdale Ave Book’s anthology of #MeToo stories. She is the author of eight books (published as Jamie Wood), a blog, ‘Herbal Journeys’ column for Witches & Pagan magazine, and articles for several magazines and destinations. When not writing, she’s at her potter’s wheel, teaching at women’s retreats, guiding Goddess rituals, backpacking, road-tripping, or hosting AirBnB guests. Sometimes you can find her in the hammock by the creek running from the Eastern Sierra to the Quaking Aspen grove in her backyard.


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