Brimming over with pure joy, spewing liquid gold, the sun transforms its energy and glows.
In our rawness, oh, we only see it as fire, blasting waves of bright power. Gathered around its warmth we live and grow and pray and surrender.
We cherish its radiance; we dance and sing always attuned somehow to it. I say somehow for we are cursed and blessed with a weak memory.
The sun is our time, a flambeau hi-fi and it is brimming over with pure joy, spewing liquid gold, the sun transforms its energy and glows.
Inspired by a BBC news report – Sun’s surface seen in remarkable new detail
- The Red River Named Kanthapura
- The Matrix, Our Home and The Second Option
- Those Seekers
- Ancient Dusky Rivers
- Regina Spektor’s Musical World, the Random Wise Talk and Creativity – Part V