A personal resurrection in seven acts
Threshold Moment: The Phoenix Stir
There’s a moment just before the flame catches, when the ashes still whisper the name of who you used to be.
I find myself standing in that moment now. It’s a Friday—gray-skied and bone-cold here in the UK—but mythically speaking, it’s a threshold day. The world calls it the weekend, but for those of us walking the soul path, this is something deeper. A turning point. A chance to die and be reborn.
I’ve been circling this fire for some time—walking my Wisdom Walks, speaking into the wind, sending audio dispatches from the edges of my becoming. People are listening. Something in the voice, in the rhythm, is resonating. They’re feeling the myth behind the words.
And I am, too.
The truth is, there’s a version of me still clinging by the toes to an old way of being. He’s not evil. He’s not broken. He simply no longer belongs. He’s done his part. But I’ve been slow to let him go. Maybe you know the feeling—the ache of becoming, right before the release.
So today, I mark the shift.
Today, I light the pyre.
This isn’t just journaling. This is ritual.
A personal resurrection ceremony in three acts:
- Write a eulogy for the version of you that’s outlived his story. Honor him. Mourn him. Then burn the words—or bury them beneath a tree.
- Craft a resurrection vow. Speak directly to the self you’re becoming in Act III. Make it mythic. Make it matter.
- Walk with intention. Even if it’s cold. Even if it’s just around the block. Let your feet carry the vow into your body.
Me? I’m starting here.
Right here, in the liminal hush before the flame.
“I’ve been hanging by the toes to an old self. Today, I let go.”
The Phoenix doesn’t rise by willpower. It rises because it has no other choice.
And neither do I.
JOURNALING RITUAL: The Eulogy and the Vow
Today, write like you’re tending a sacred flame.
Part One: The Eulogy
- Who is the self you are ready to release?
- What story has he been living?
- What burdens has he carried?
- What will you thank him for before you let him go?
Part Two: The Resurrection Vow
- Who are you becoming in Act III?
- What values guide this self?
- What vow do you make to him—to yourself—as you cross the threshold?
“Let the flame consume me. Let it burn bright enough to guide others through the dark.”
The Ashes: A Season of Wandering
Before any resurrection, there is the wandering.
Mine didn’t come with thunderclaps or visions in the desert. It came quietly, like dust settling on a path half-forgotten. I didn’t notice, at first, that I’d drifted from the fire. One day I was mentoring seekers through mythic rites of passage, guiding them up sacred mountains. The next, I was inside boardrooms and performance review loops, speaking the language of metrics and deliverables.
The world called it success. But I knew better.
I knew what it felt like to burn. And I wasn’t burning anymore.
What started as a brief detour became a long exile. A season of soul drift. I convinced myself it was practical. Necessary. Everyone’s got to eat. And there’s truth in that. But in chasing the secure, I left behind the sacred.
I don’t regret those years—they sharpened my skills, taught me to read the map of power and systems. But I see now that I was living as a fraction of myself. A well-spoken ghost.
And yet, the ember never fully died.
“There’s more than this,” it kept whispering.
Usually when I walked. Or when I was still enough to hear it.
Ashes are not endings.
They are fertile. They remember fire.
JOURNALING RITUAL: Walking Through Ashes
Reflect:
- When did you start to drift from your fire?
- What did you trade for safety, approval, or success?
- What have you learned in exile that you wouldn’t have learned at the fire?
Listen for the Ember:
- What sacred part of yourself refuses to be extinguished?
The First Flame: Kinabalu and the Campfire
It started in Borneo. Not with a coaching session or a grand insight—but with mud underfoot, sweat on the brow, and stars overhead.
I joined a 10-day adventure race at the foot of Mount Kinabalu. It was grueling—three races a day, deep jungle, no phones, no distractions. But it wasn’t the challenge that changed me. It was what happened after the finish line.
Each night, we’d gather at base camp. Strangers by day, fire-kin by night. We ate, talked, shed our corporate skins. Something ancient woke up around that fire—something raw, honest, and profoundly human.
And then—something even wilder.
When we returned home, people quit their jobs.
Left the city. Changed their lives.
Not because I coached them.
Because something in the jungle and the fire reminded them of who they were.
That’s when it hit me:
Transformation doesn’t need theory.
It needs place, presence, and mythic space.
And so the seed of Personal Growth Adventures was planted.
The Spark Becomes a Flame: Personal Growth Adventures
I didn’t want to teach transformation. I wanted people to live it.
So I built The Ascent Experience—a weekend retreat structured on the Hero’s Journey. From the call to adventure, to the crossing of thresholds, to the return with the elixir. We didn’t talk about myth. We enacted it.
Friday night began with The Feast of Heroes. Strangers gathered like destiny had drawn them to the same table. After dinner, we stepped into the dark. No flashlights. Just trust. Just instinct.
“What is the mountain whispering to you?” we asked them in the night.
Saturday brought the outer ascent—up Mount Snowdon—and the inner descent into values, fears, and forgotten dreams. We walked. We coached. We climbed.
Sunday, they carried the elixir home—not just metaphorically, but in their hands. A stone from the summit. A message from the mountain.
That was my work.
My flame.
My myth.
And then—once again—I drifted.
The Mistake: Unplugging Without a Net
We were good at the rupture.
But we failed at the return.
We knew how to awaken people. To unplug them from the Matrix. But we didn’t know how to walk with them through the reintegration. We left them open—and unguarded.
Some soared. Others stumbled. And I’ve carried that with me.
Because the hero’s journey doesn’t end at the summit.
It ends when the gift is brought home.
“We handed them the elixir, but offered no vessel to carry it in.”
Never again.
Now I know: the work isn’t just about ignition. It’s about accompaniment. About helping people return with their flame intact.
JOURNALING RITUAL: After the Awakening
Reflect:
- Have you ever awakened… and then felt lost?
- What support did you need—but didn’t receive?
- What kind of guide would’ve helped you walk the return path?
Now consider:
- Who in your life might need your presence now?
- How can you be a hearth, not just a matchstick?
Resurrection: The Return of the Mentor
This isn’t a reinvention. It’s a resurrection.
The self I’m becoming is the one I left behind—covered in soot and story, still seated at the edge of the fire. And now, I’m returning to him.
Not as a seeker. But as a mentor.
Not with a pitch. But with a vow.
“Let the flame consume me. Let it burn bright enough to guide others through the dark.”
Act III is not about achievement. It’s about offering.
About being a living myth in a world addicted to sleep.
About walking as a soul-guide—not above, not ahead—but beside.
No more hiding.
No more shrinking.
The fire is mine to tend.
The Offering: Wisdom Walks and Adventures Reborn
Every myth ends in return. Every resurrection brings a gift.
Mine? It looks like this:
Wisdom Walks — reflective audio dispatches from the edge of becoming. Adventure Coaching — walking shoulder to shoulder with those ready to reclaim their story. Digital Campfires — creating spaces of story, stillness, and shared myth.
But this time, the work doesn’t stop at awakening.
It extends into integration, embodiment, and community.
This time, I’m not just unplugging others. I’m helping them rebuild their life outside the Matrix—with meaning, with myth, and with grounded tools.
“What can I offer the world this spring?”
A fire rekindled.
A voice remembered.
A vow spoken under starlight.
And this:
To walk the path with others
Until they remember they’ve always had one of their own.
FINAL JOURNALING RITUAL: The Gift You Carry Back
Reflect:
- What gift is rising within you now?
- What flame are you ready to tend—for yourself, and for others?
- What myth are you here to remember… and to live?
Write your own resurrection vow.
Let it be messy, honest, and mythic.
You are not beginning.
You are returning.
Interesting exercise, I wrote my eulogy. The flame is gone what remains is a smouldering candle.