Get Burned: Ignite the Fiery, Ferocious Trail to Forgiveness.
Who knows the exact scent of wildfires burning through the forest, the lessons of time and tigers written in charred ash on the trees?
I am that glowing flame-beat, Phoenix-beat
I am a huntress of my own creation
See the amber light glimmering deep inside my fierce cat eyes
Hear the roar echoing from the stolen songs of my soul
You are a thief
Feel the thunderous steps I take that shake your ground.
Skim the jungle’s edge, searching for a dark, hidden cave to shield you from my intensity.
You cannot escape the fight, once you have touched its heat.
It may not burn you right away, but the precision of my claws will strike you in your attack. Don’t hate me for my nature. It is not something I choose.
Sometimes the moon lies. It tells me that I am safe, I am calm, I am strong, but I know inside that is not true. Better yet, it tells me that I am compassionate and wise, that I will get through another night riddled with bent, half-clear dreams, and see the crystal view of my next steps in the morning sun. All will be illuminated in a gentle way. But it isn’t. I don’t feel good or strong. I feel attacked.
My huge paws strike the ground with force, crushing the blades of grass that have made their way onto my path, and a rage rises up from the deepest part of me. The moon’s light, after all, is really the illumination of the red, hot, burning sun.
I used to have a gift for diplomacy. I knew what others were feeling and where they were blocked in expression, so I attempted to assist where I could. I was good at solving their problems. Then, I was thrown off balance when I came face to face with my archenemy. I instantaneously knew that she sought my destruction. I reached a point where that diplomacy started to leave me, evaporating into air, chased away by the fires of my anger at injustice.
The person who came into my path was unmovable. I could not figure out why honesty and directness were not working in order to forge a professional relationship, like they had in the past. There were misinterpretations, miscommunications, misguided conversations. I kept encouraging myself. Stand your ground, I told myself. I added flexibility… maybe that would increase success in this arena. But I was wrong. The attack got worse. I fought.
There were times with this person where others did not see the subtle attacks, blinded by the words being spoken. But I could feel and see the energy being conveyed. It floated toward me like tiny daggers all stacking up. I attempted to swat them away. I tried to stop them in mid-air, and demanded they do an about-face and return to their source. But I failed, and I started to know that this was an age-old battle.
It had very little to do with the present moment, but this life, this time, was the coliseum where it would be waged.
With intuition, I pictured the judgments and criticism and hot, burning untruths being shared about me in hidden rooms. I was desperate to understand why this was happening, and how someone could be so malicious. But I kept plugging away — sometimes fighting, sometimes retreating. There was a moment that occurred that was so clear and so surreal. The attack was so strong, and the support from my team so weak.
I had spent time turning everything over and over and trying to fix it for so long, but this moment, that meeting of enemies, that manipulation was a turning point. The events that continued to unfold felt like the dark forces were winning. I had never experienced anything like this in my life. I had always been able to figure it out — work, people, places.
I had never experienced something so absurd… the deceit-filled bullets came at such continuing rapid fire that there was no escape, no explanation, only rage and pain. And so I became angry, infuriated, held down, handcuffed. I was hurt for not being seen or heard. I was hurt because my intention had been to create a positive team on behalf of those who needed support. I was hurt because I knew the parts within myself that were just like the dark parts of my enemy.
I decided I may never forgive. Years passed.
I realized that I wanted to let go of those past experiences. But the huntress in me also wanted to destroy, to wield my sharpened blade.
I am a tiger. Am I a tiger? Wait, I am a human. No, I am a tiger. I look down as I walk and see my massive tigress paws, prowling through a psychedelic, lush, green forest. I hear the drumbeats of this old world. I am a tigress. Suddenly, a deep, sharp pain invades my right side, in my back. I reach my big paw around and find an arrow lodged deep within my flesh. I writhe in pain, and turn around and around in a catlike defeat. I have been shot, I have been attacked. I weep.
I see the huntress behind me, holding the bow. How could it have happened? I know the power of my jaws, my strong muscles, my agility. The pain, this wound so deep. I slowly die. I slowly leave the tiger body, grieving. Tiny shards of that stony arrow point remain in my soul. Not healing. A soul-scab forms over them. Anger, sparks and hot confusion inflame my tigress body, wounded in a way that I do not understand and also in a way that only tigers can.
This tigery vision occurred during my attempt to forgive the enemy, but the path to forgiveness took longer. I kept having memories, glimpses of that person who wounded me. I did not want those anymore.
I never really forgave until I understood, in a flash of light one day, that I was a patient, stalking fighter. Back then, I could take any problem and transform it. I had built a career on this. I had built a life on it. It was my strength. That strength often outlasted my opponents. But it was in my way. I was tired. I was uninspired, but I hadn’t figured out the next step yet. I knew that there were other interesting things left to do, but I hadn’t even begun to embrace my true gifts yet.
In the center of my being, there was a bluish purple flame that glowed, like a pilot light, but it hadn’t been fully ignited yet.
So, it took a match like no other, to finally burn me awake. A fire to set me on a different path, in a different jungle. Without it, I would have never died to the parts of me that had to be let go. I forgave myself for not knowing. I forgave. It was not soft, it was not gentle. I built my own funeral pyre and went deep inside. I added fuel to the bluish, purple flame.
Sometimes, you just have to burn it down. You have to find your flame, burn it all down, and rise up out of the ashes. You won’t be the same, you will be changed, but your weapons will be powerful. Made of sweat, dirt, tears, anger, compassion for yourself, and new knowledge about the life force energy inside, your scorching fire.
Make a fire out of this life. Find your flame and add gasoline, oxygen, blood from your wounds. Get torched. Enjoy the flickering movement of your burn and the lightness of your ash blowing through air. Ride your tigress to the moon, hair ablaze, and tell the moon you won’t accept the lies you tell yourself anymore. The moon wasn’t lying after all. You are fire, you are love, you are free.
Strike with force, etch your words from your growling ashes, sink your strong, bloody teeth into this life, and bite off more than you can chew. Rise up out of your pain and suffering. Dance in your flames, hot fiery warriors. Let them propel you against your will. Find your Phoenix. Be transformed.
Maura Coyne is a seeker, a dirty wild horse girl, and a lover of the passionate life. She practices hypnotherapy, equine therapy and energy/breathwork to assist others in removing the blocks and obstacles that often prevent them from moving forward on their life path. Teaching others to transmute the heavy and dark challenges that they face, by moving them into the light of creativity, strength and spirit, she is committed to healing herself along the way, and witnessing miracles in Nature. If you are interested in a little soul archaeology of your own, contact her at Wild Goose Farm, named for her patriarchal Coyne ancestral line. She aspires to continue going on wild goose chases for the rest of her time on the planet.