In this article, I will do my best to describe the healing power of the creative process as I have experienced it. It usually starts with some inner stirring – there is an unconscious, or subconscious (spiritual) element here that comes forth and must be followed, or obeyed, even if the whole picture is not visible at the time. I experienced this on a profound level when I began writing my autobiography eleven years ago.

To begin with, I did not want to name my book “Phoenix Rising” because I considered it an overused metaphor. I now realize there were other reasons related to the lying, thieving Phoenicians in history…more on them below… However, a poem arrived one day – from within – highlighting the Phoenix entitled, “Like the Phoenix, I Rise”. So, it became the theme in my storytelling. (At the end of this post, I have included this poem and other parts of the book that contain references to the Phoenix, for those who are interested.)

When I had to decide on an illustration for the book’s cover I did not want a Phoenix, so I commissioned an intuitive artist to draw a woman with wings. After a few weeks, the artist sent me an email asking if a lion she kept seeing in her meditations, could be added to the picture. I said she should draw whatever came to her.

At the time, I thought the lion was a symbol of strength and courage. However, I have since discovered that it also has to do with history, the Phoenicians and royalty: the lion is a symbol of royalty. The Phoenicians first came out of the royal houses of Egypt.

When I began my Biblical research a few years ago, I discovered that the Egyptians/Phoenicians learned (and stole) many things from the Greeks – my ancestors – that they ultimately used to control humanity. I have dealt with this in several of my Biblical articles which you may find here. This discovery occurred after I published my book but it was very relevant in relation to my healing things that I did not know needed healing at the time. I will explain this in the last couple of paragraphs.

Then came the purple color for the cover of my book. The woman who undertook the task of preparing it for publication, decided to go with that color. She felt that it was the only one that matched the artist’s drawing that promoted healing – I agreed with her. I later learned that certain Phoenicians were also cloth merchants. The purple dye they liked to use for some of their materials came from a mollusk indigenous to the island of Crete (one of my great-grandfathers was born there). In fact, the name “Phoenician” is what the Greeks called these people – a word meaning “crimson, or purple”. This color also became the one associated with royalty…

The whole “Phoenix Rising From The Ashes” myth is of Greek origin. They have appropriated the symbolism of this myth as it kind of resembles how they operate in the world: destroying societies, then rebuilding them as they see fit. The image of the Phoenix has been replaced by the eagle, which sometimes appears as a double-headed eagle. I have been informed that this image is also of Greek origin. They have appropriated other Greek myths/symbols, too – for more on this, I send you to the last section of this article.

Even though the primary reason for writing my autobiography was to help me heal from the traumas of my childhood, I inadvertently healed ancestral trauma by using Phoenician symbolism. As I stated above, the Greeks used the term “Phoenix” to describe a certain group of people in history that still exist today via their descendants. They rule the world. These people abused the Greeks. They lied to them. They stole from them. They murdered them in order to destroy certain bloodlines from within which universal knowledge was sourced – knowledge they wanted to keep for themselves. Evil is as evil does.

By following my instincts when creating my book, I not only reclaimed my power from my childhood abusers – I reclaimed it from the abusers of my ancestors. 

Like the Phoenix, I Rise (2010)

Shattered
Dispersed
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Then…a Spark
There is Proof of Life
My Spirit gathers
I spiral up toward Heaven
Like the Phoenix, I Rise
…and Rise
…and Rise
Resurrected
My Memories, Emotions and Thoughts
My Passion for Life
My Body
All return Transformed
I am Whole, Powerful and Strong
So I Begin Again
Brand New

From the Introduction:

Unlike the mythical bird that rises from its ashes after which this book is named, my story is not a myth. It may be easier for you to believe that this is a figment of my imagination reflecting some deeper psychosis. This is the conclusion Freud would have reached in his day but I have never bought what he had to sell. Sexual abuse – in particular the rape of children – is far too abhorrent to imagine for most…it is safer to think of it as fiction.

This book is primarily about dispelling the myth by making this type of abuse as real as possible. Accepting the reality of it is what allowed me to heal and thrive in my life – this is where the parallel between the Phoenix Rising and my own Psychological Resurrection lies. By facing what happened to me I was almost completely annihilated, like the Phoenix being burnt to a crisp, but as I reintegrated the fragmented pieces of my ashen psyche, I became whole and much stronger than before.

The story of the Phoenix is also, in my opinion, a metaphor for the power of the human soul/spirit to heal or resurrect itself through God, the Creator. In essence, each soul is a piece of God so when turning to Her/Him for strength, love and guidance I am turning to my own soul which is comprised of the same essential dynamic, expansive element as its Creator: electricity (also known as energy, light or power). This component is diminished during painful experiences but is regained during the healing process. It is impossible for it to be altogether extinguished.

From the Chapter “Heal Thyself – Grief”.

Little Girl Lost (1993)

Grew up real quick
Had my childhood cut short
By a monstrous man
As an adult I grieve
I grieve for the lost innocence, fun and freedom
That all children are meant to experience
I cry over what’s been taken from me
Sometimes my sorrow cuts deep
As the waves of sadness wash over me
I realize that I don’t have to grieve
For the little girl
I once thought was gone
I can find her and rejoice
In the pleasure of her company
She’s not that difficult to find because she’s in me
She IS me
She just got lost in all the pain
She’s back
No, I’m back

Grief is what used to (and still does) surface almost immediately after releasing my anger. The greater my rage, the deeper my sadness and sorrow would be. When experiencing major bouts of grief I have found that certain things seem to slow down in my life (i.e. my professional and social life) and in my body (i.e. my digestion/appetite, my energy levels, ability to concentrate and so on). There were days when I could barely move from the heaviness of this emotion, especially around my chest. I often found it difficult to breathe. On one occasion I consulted the doctor at university because I thought I was having an asthma attack. Even though she couldn’t find any sign of it she gave me a prescription in case it got worse as I had informed her that I used to suffer from asthma as a child.

This childhood ailment was a direct result of the abuse in those years. However, as I relived my trauma in my twenties I began to feel the way I did back then both physically and emotionally. In present-time, I was also grieving for my entire youth, for everything that I had missed out on. I was conscious of some of the things I was grieving for – my innocence, my virginity (this is an important rite of passage for everyone which was taken from me), my peace of mind, the lack of joy in my life and love for myself. There were aspects that I could not articulate but I still felt this pain that I was unable to name. Writing and talking about what I could express as well as crying, went a long way to alleviating my sadness.

The long-winded process of feeling overwhelming grief can take decades – the greater the losses the more profound the sadness. There were times when the pain was so acute that I wished for death. It was as if the pain itself was a form of death. This is very different from the destructive feelings which lead to suicide because the result of profound sadness is total transformation – grief is the most self-altering of all emotions. As dysfunctional aspects of myself disintegrated (like the metaphorical destruction of the Phoenix), I morphed (or was resurrected) into the person I was born to be. Hence the words at the end of the poem above, “I’m back.” The little girl, the pure soul that had a few seconds of untainted life after she came into this world, now has the chance to live again as the person she/I was always meant to be. This means experiencing joy by doing what makes me happy. Ultimately this entails fulfilling my life’s purpose.

Helen