The salamander, ancient dweller of flame, is no common beast. It does not merely survive the fire, it is born of it. Not metaphor but matter. In the language of signs, it is the soul that walks unharmed through the furnace. The secret self that does not burn. The body that endures trial by flame not with resistance, but with recognition.
To the alchemists, the salamander is a sign of volatilization through spirit. It is the fire-elemental (salamandra ignis) that reveals the truth of what cannot be consumed. In the inner opus, it is the hidden part of us that does not flee purification. It is a mirror of the adept who enters the fire not to die, but to transmute.
And for the Moon? For Sienna? It is the lunar flame. That rare paradox: water in fire, fire in water. The salamander crawls at the boundary where instinct meets illumination. It teaches one how to survive the intensity of divine contact without extinguishing the body. How to host the holy without collapse.
If it appears, it is not a visitation. It is a demand.
To serve the sacred means to pass through fire, again and again, without knowing if one returns whole. The salamander knows this. And, still, it walks forward.
