“The Phoenix dies and then is born again, When it approaches its five-hundredth year; On herb and grain it feeds not in its life, But only on tears of incense and amomum, And nard and myrrh are its last winding sheet.” DANTE ALIGHIERI, INFERNO CANTO XXIV
With brilliant scarlet, gold plumage and a melodious cry, there could only be one phoenix existing at any time. At the end of its long-life cycle of 500 years, the phoenix builds its own funeral pyre, fashioned from aromatic boughs and spices. Cinnamon twigs and resin abound resulting in an ominous nest atop the Temple of the Sun. Consumed by the sudden burst of flame, it dies in a spectacular, fiery inferno. From the pyre and bed of embers, symbolically births a new phoenix enveloped by the cloud of darkness and scorched, fragrant wood which after embalming its father’s sacred ashes, in a ball of myrrh and honour, is reborn. The phoenix must burn to emerge. Burn to rise. Stronger, wiser. Immortal.
