And he stood there, seemingly fearless. His body was slowly engulfed by shining flame. His eyes looked at the emptiness of the sky, his wings and feathers slowly burned as well.
Nevertheless, he stood still with no weakened resolve. The fire slowly burned away his body, only the silhouette beneath the flame could be seen.
Knowing that this is his end, he stood silently as his own flame burned him. He let the flame ate away all of his sorrow, all his pain, all of his attachments. The inevitable cycle of Death and Rebirth will be his savior, putting aside the painful journey into it.
As the flame slowly embrace his neck, he looked up to the sky. He cried but either for joy of being rebirth, or pain for dying. He cried for no apparent reason. He had nothing left to lose, for he had lost everything. He had nothing left to hold, since he had nothing left to hold. He only had his path, waiting for him.
"From the total surrender, the Hanged Man, I shall born anew.. with the painful Death."
When we enjoy the glory of living, we shall not forget the glory of dying. Life and Death are always together, for they are inseparable. To live means to die someday, and to die does not mean to stop. Death is not a sunset, or an end. It is a dawn, a new beginning. It is not an eternal sleep. It is the moment of waking up, and be free.
And thus, the Phoenix died, returning to ash. And from the dust of grey, a pair of same blue eyes, albeit small and innocent, raised up. He is born anew. He is ready for the next cycle.