Once upon a time there was a lovely palatial garden filled with swaying palms and fruit trees, birds of paradise and the fragrant scent of roses and lavender (such as we enjoy in Santa Barbara!) In this garden, was a tree dripping with precious golden apples. One day, an exquisite Firebird flew in from the East, and began to feed on the luscious fruit. Her wings were pure red and gold; her ample plumage sparkled even more than the apples themselves in sunlight: her tail feathers were iridescent golds, purples and greens, more majestic than a peacock’s; her eyes shone like two, sparkling emeralds.
The king was awestruck by the Firebird’s beauty, and also irked that she would steal his apples. When he walked into the garden, she flew away, but returned at sunrise each day to eat more of the sweet, precious fruit. So he tasked his three sons with catching the firebird. The first two sons to try both failed. But the third son, Ivan (whose name means “gift from God”) devoted his full being to the quest and took to sleeping in the garden. One morning, in between dreams and waking, the Firebird landed on a branch just above his head. He reached for her and she let him touch her, just long enough to pull a single, golden feather...in the next instance she flew away, never to be seen by him again. He took the magical feather to the king. The feather lit up the whole castle, which pleased them all, and the eternal Firebird went off to distance lands, in search of other gardens and other golden fruit.
This is one version of many Russian faery tales of the Firebird. According to Mythologist Dr. Keith Himebaugh, “Firebird is an imaginal figure, whom, like its relation Phoenix, is only truly present in the combustive act of emerging from the ashes, or the twilight of day. This is why the bird is so elusive, and perfect as a metaphor for creativity. You can’t ever hold it. You can’t contain it. You have to respect its autonomy and meet it in the luminal space. It is only truly alive in its becoming, in the moment of inspiration. The figure itself is a poetic moment.”
Thus, Firebird is a muse; a creative force, the embodiment of epiphany that we cannot enslave, but can glimpse and praise. He ignites our wildest fantasies and romantic longings, and inspires us to be brilliant, innovative, idea-rich, hope-full and God-like.
Those who never allow him in their garden are dull and depressed. Those who try to entrap him or shapeshift into him for too long become mad or manic. With the gift of a single golden feather, dipped in the ink of midnight’s imaginings, we can become sacred scribes who write words which have wings and carry all men up to the heights of eagles.
In the faery tales, Firebird’s favorite food is the golden apple. This hints that such a spectacular creature needs to be fed the very best we have to offer. Mystic Kahil Gibran tells us we should save our very best for our “friend” which is a pseudonym for the Divine; for Firebird:
And let your best be for your friend. If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also. For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill? Seek him always with hours to live. For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness. And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures. For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.
If you want magic and creative inspiration to fly into your own inner garden in 2015, make an offering fit for a king: lay out your favorite foods (as many of us just did on Christmas eve, for another giving being!); play beautiful music, dance or make a gesture of love, and don the colors of the Firebird to attract this mate with your plumage. If you are in a dark space and did not harvest or store enough of your own golden apples to last throughout the winter (in other words, if you are feeling too “stuck” and dreary to do this) seek the company or help of a wildly creative acquaintance: you know the type: an artist, poet, intuitive, actor, or any healthy child: the ones who wear invisible coats made of Firebird feathers! Birds are flock creatures after all, and so are humans.
As Dr. Himebaugh articulates so well, “Much can be said about Firebird’s feather as well. This small token is valuable, because it gives us something concrete to hold onto, a tangible piece of hope. While we cannot hold onto the source of light and creative life, we can hold onto a piece.” We can hold on to the proof of it: the inspirational painting, the homemade holiday gift, the wacky invention, the poem we just had to write after waking in the middle of the night from a haunting dream. Here is an example of one such “feather” which I often hold to the light in my darker days, and offer to you as a “golden apple” for 2015. It is most surely a “Firebird poem”, written by William Butler Yeats:
The Song of Wandering Aengus
I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame, But something rustled on the floor, And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
