The Archetype of Rising

 

The Archetype of Rising

Rising is one of the oldest stories we tell as human beings. It shows up across time, across cultures, across landscapes, always whispering the same truth: we are not defined by what breaks us, but by what we become after. The phoenix rising from the ashes, the lotus pushing through the mud toward the sun, the resurrection myths of so many traditions, the dawn that comes after the darkest night, all of these images are mirrors of the same archetype. They remind us that collapse, loss, and endings are not the final chapter. They are the conditions for transformation.

In Ayurveda, I was taught that fire is both destroyer and purifier. My father spoke of Agni, the sacred fire within us, as the force that digests not only food but also experience. When Agni is strong, we burn away what is heavy, what no longer serves, and we are able to transform life into vitality. When Agni is weak, we get stuck, unable to process, unable to rise, trapped in the smoke of old stories. For years, I lived like this. I kept repeating the narrative of what broke me, as though naming the fire again and again would make it less painful. But instead, it kept me tied to the ruins.

The archetype of rising asked me to do something different. It asked me to trust the fire. To let the story be ash. To stop living in the smoke and to turn toward the sky. In shamanic work, I learned to give the fire my grief, my anger, my old identities, to watch them burn, and to feel the spaciousness that comes after the letting go. This too is rising. It is not about forgetting or erasing the past, it is about transforming it into fuel for what comes next.

Rising is never linear, never tidy. Sometimes it is a faltering step forward, sometimes it is the trembling of wings unsure if they will hold. You can feel it when someone is rising, their eyes hold a new clarity, their body carries a different strength, their presence becomes a quiet testimony. Rising is not about perfection; it is about courage. The courage to step beyond the ruins, to trust that the ashes are fertile, and to dare to be more than what was destroyed.

In my own life, rising has taken many forms. It has been the discipline of fasting and prayer, the steady breath of meditation, the wild joy of dance  that shakes grief out of the body, the choice to write my truth onto paper instead of keeping it locked inside. It has been saying yes to love again after heartbreak, yes to life again after loss, yes to spirit again after doubt. Each “yes” has been a feather, each choice part of my wings.

When I look at the phoenix, I no longer see just a myth. I see the human story. I see my story. I see all of us who have faced fire, who have been reduced to ash, who thought we might never rise again, and yet did. Rising is not just personal; it is collective. It is women gathering to dance, communities rebuilding after devastation, people remembering their dignity after being stripped of it. Each act of rising adds light to the world.

The archetype of rising lives in every soul. We will all face the fire in our own way. But the invitation is the same: stay in the ashes, or rise. And when we rise, we don’t only save ourselves, we become medicine for others. We embody the truth that even from the fiercest flames, new wings are possible.

I am not only what burned. I am what was born from the burning. I am the story of my rising.I think it's a lesson we are all here to learn.

-Shanti Freedom Das