hatched joy: happy birthday to white hot truth

A divine science preface:

1. The part of a flame that burns the hottest is actually white. At that stage of intensity, fire becomes hot enough to liquefy metal. That’s alchemy.
2. A healed broken bone is stronger than before it broke.
3. Legend has it that the Phoenix becomes more majestic with each reincarnation.

White Hot Truth turned one year old last week! Holy smokes! Before we light the candles, let’s savour the darkness, where beautiful, messy things happen.

Last January I was tending the funeral pyre of my last business and its ensuing very messy divorce.

Illusion-nuking-initiation-heat. Phoenix fire licking my soul. Cleansed to naked. Clothed by loved ones.

While an old dream turned ashen, I began to hatch. I’d write posts and map out the new year/me, while listening to Details in The Fabric over and over. (Kisses to Jason Mraz for writing that just for me.) I brought my ipod to my Mr. Buddhist Shrink and played that song for him because I could barely speak the truth of what was going down. I was going down. In flames.

… If it’s a broken part, replace it
If it’s a broken arm then brace it
If it’s a broken heart then face it

And hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way

And everything will be fine…

“So everything’s finally falling apart.” Mr. Buddhist Shrink said to me, very, very softly. I nodded, just one nod.

That was then. Post hatch. Pre-flight.

This is now. The view is so different from this altitude. It’s macro and micro. I can see farther and closer up. My in-box is full of opportunity. We sing in the kitchen more, where every morning there is granola, and Spiderman slippers, and a Fireman who says, “Big day today, babe?”

“Big one, babe. Big.” I say. I say that on glam-packed strategy days, and on the mascara-free days when I wear my floppy knit hat, and commune with my Mac to do one thing and one thing only: MAKE STUFF.

Freedom is always big.

Wingspan, big, fanning flames. Birthing the day.

So today I’m getting out one virtual birthday candle for every lie I told myself about who I was and what I wasn’t; for every time I let crazy pass for “sane”; for every time I kept my mouth shut, for all the birth days I missed, when I could have been making stuff that made me smile. So many candles to be impeccably grateful for.

Oh how very far we humans come, after breakups and break-throughs and broken wings. Just look at us! Banged up and so beautiful. Wiser for the wear and tear. Capacities expanded.

Trace your steps and celebrate.

“Sometimes,” David Whyte writes, “everything / has to be / enscribed across / the heavens / so you can find / the one line / already written / inside you.”

My one line: White Hot Truth.

And that’s the best birthday song I ever done sung. Thank you for coming to the party.


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