Making Space for Magic
One of 12 chosen to be a part of the inner circle, I was lucky enough to have a front row seat to watch it all burn.
Months ago, the Phoenixville Firebird Festival popped up on my social media feed. Reading about the artistry, the significance of the festival and the community effort involved, I felt a call to attend. As it drew closer, out of the half a dozen people I invited to go, no one could come with me. A week before, I said to the Universe, “if I’m meant to go, I will.”
A friend I hadn’t spent any solo time with texted me two days before the Festival and asked if I wanted to go with him. He said he was friends with the artist, Henrik Stubbe Teglbjaerg, who created the 20 foot tall phoenix and that we’d go early in the day to enjoy the festivities. I enthusiastically agreed and thought we’d be among the 10,000 attendees of the festival braving the 20 degree evening awaiting the phoenix to be set ablaze. The Universe had another plan in store.
We arrived early last Saturday, joining the colorful band of drummers adorned in costumes of varying colors and eras. I played a tambourine for the first time as the group drummed outside the art studio awaiting the procession to the phoenix. We came inside the studio to warm up and engaged in the group arts and crafts activities. My friend introduced me to Henrik. As we drummed, Henrik came over and explained he could select 12 people to be a part the “inner circle.” He asked me if I’d like to be among them and carry one of the bird’s wings. I mean, how does one answer such a invitation with anything other than, “yes”?
Shortly after, we left the art studio with our instruments. The intended procession of 100 ballooned to several hundred as we walked over bridges and through neighborhoods trekking the mile to the burn site. Right before arrival, I assumed my wing-holding duty as a puppeteer for the first time in my life. Grasping the bamboo pole, I upheld the left wing of a 30-foot white fabric bird parading around the wooden phoenix. We wound our way through the drummers and dancers and stopped at regular intervals to hype up the crowd circling, circling, feeling the energy and anticipation of everyone awaiting the main event.
We were told to clear the space, making room for the four people entering with lit torches, Survivor-style, that circled the phoenix, readying us for our lesson in impermanence.
This phoenix, which takes 3 months to build, was completed in December 2024 and meant for ceremony on the winter solstice, but a drought and burn bans delayed things until Imbolc. Imbolc, St. Brigid’s Day, a festival of renewal, fire and fertility, is held on the halfway point between the winter and spring equinox.
As I watched the torches draw closer to the phoenix and set the structure ablaze, I couldn’t help but flash to the current state of things in our state, our country, the upheaval happening within me as a result of all that was going on outside of me.
And I stilled,
We all stilled.
And watched in awe and reverence at the mighty elements raging.
In that moment, I realized that when I make space for possibility, magic happens.
When I let go of the need to control, when I surrender how I think something should look or feel or go, there is an opportunity for something so much greater to arise.
I wanted to push and pull and coerce my way into attending the Firebird Festival. Instead, when I surrendered to the Universe and opened my heart to whatever might arise, epic possibility rushed in.
And so it begins, this chapter of trusting and opening to magic and delight and rebirth.
And so it is…