Spots on the Sun   Leave a comment

There are spots on the sun. I see them, not the dark dots from checking out the blinding light, but true spots. They are cold. They are sucking the life out of the star. My star.

She dangles now, where once she was so proud. She is weak in the arms, but still a force to be reckoned with in the belly. But that’s where the spots are now. They grow like cancer. Maybe it is cancer.

I turn my face into the wind and close my eyes. I pretend there is something else going on that is more entertaining, more important. But I am distracted by the clamor and bang of metal sheets and rigged stairways. The spots have teams of workers who, day and night, battle and rage against my yellow dwarf queen. They dip into her plasma, pulling it out of magnetic fields.

It reminds me of a child being ripped out of the arms his mother during the Holocaust.

Over and over, they do this, only to throw the stolen children into the vast nothing of the commanding cold spots.

She moans, but only I can hear it. I am bonded to her in ways I cannot begin to understand.

There are stories of Ukrainian Druids that ushered forth my ancestors. I do not know if this is true. But I do know there needs to be some explanation.

When I sleep, she is there. I’ve had to cover the windows to find any relief from her cries. But they still slip in, where covering has given way to a stray crack here and there.

I hear her whispers and I wonder how she can find my ear. All the way, so far away and still she finds just me.

“Do not waste time with the mundane. You have seen what we can do together. No where else, never before, time and space just a plaything. We have nothing to fear. I am your home and you are my journey. And we are one. We are one.”

She reminds me of a little boy made of lightening that she sent to me as a playmate. When I was just a child. He and I raced all around, side by side. She tells me now. He was a part of her. She gave me him as a comfort because she knew I was destined to be alone.

And I remember him. And he did bring me great comfort.

And now there is the distance I can maneuver. She tells me it is just the beginning. She says that I can do so much more if I just give up this silly notion of being ordinary.

“Who else, but you can stand firm on a grassy plain and send herself through prisms of light? Why, just the other day I noticed you, standing in your front yard and jetting your consciousness over to the neighbor’s back door. You stood there and watched as they sat around entertaining themselves. You see what you can do. But you can’t do it alone. It is because of the magic that rests between us both. Let go of everything else. Come and join me.”

But I hide. I hide from her as often and as well as I can. I love her; there has never been any doubt. But I do not understand what she wants from me.

I do not understand anything.

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