rise from the ashes

The ancients told of a wondrous bird called the Phoenix, of which there was only ever one alive in all the world at a time. It was a creature of dazzling plumage — feathers of red and gold like living flame — and it lived not for a handful of years but for centuries, far longer than any ordinary bird.

But even the Phoenix could not escape the end of its long life. When it felt its strength at last beginning to fade, it would gather sweet-smelling spices and fragrant wood and build itself a nest, high up where the first light of the sun could reach it. Into this nest it settled, and waited.

Then came the fire. Some say the sun's own rays kindled the nest; some say the bird beat its wings until sparks flew. Either way, the flames took hold, and the ancient Phoenix was wholly consumed, burned down until nothing remained of it but a small heap of grey ash where the splendid bird had been.

And there, in the ashes, the wonder happened. From the burnt remains a new Phoenix stirred and rose — young, whole, and blazing with fresh colour, born out of the very ruin of the old. Death and rebirth were bound together in a single act, and the cycle would begin again, on and on down the ages.

So to rise from the ashes is to do as the Phoenix did: to come back renewed and stronger from total destruction, to be reborn out of the wreckage of whatever had seemed to be your end.