The Kiss of my Sun

When I was alive, I lived with the Sun.
I rose to her shimmering smile and settled with her fading wink. My day beginning with a circle of hope as she shone through a hole in my ‘black out’ blinds, her seasonal movements reflected in the angle of light that beamed across my slumber, refracting in the prism of a champagne glass that hung from my ceiling as a testament to resourcefulness, before illuminating a photograph strategically placed to suit her humour, for my Sun could be a cantankerous ball of life.

Delivered milk bottle appreciated her before I, and as I plucked his plumpness from my cold brick porch, I sensed their early meeting from the heat of his warming glass. I then bid her good morning as she shadowed my gate, and quickly retreated inward, to allow her stretch and dawn, and I to cool my breakfast companion of white.

She walked with me daily you know. Sometimes ahead, guarding my way, shining to the split of the grasses and the bounce from the clouds. Often times beside me, a companion through my steps, occasionally singing in the water of a spring, or the spray of an ocean. And yet other moments she chose to amble behind me, pushing me forward through the glare of an opportune window and the dapple of inviting leaves, towards the heaven of rainbow and the stars of dust she caught dancing in her shafts of light. 

As if to remind me of her reason, she hugged me often with her warmth and provided my skin with the food of my soul, remaining blameless in the obesity of rays that harmed us. And I, for fear of offending, protectively layered my body within her sight, the coconut cream commending her beauty and merging with the aftermath of her mid day intensity, only for me to wash it away from my nourished body as she bid me farewell until morning, with a fading wink of promise and an aftertaste of dusk.

And like all things unnoticed until taken from us, I miss my Sun and now regret the misspent moments of worry and fret, when she shone upon me and I ignored her beauty. For there I now lie, encased in a coffin, my body now dust, my spirit released, as I wish for a final touch of her love. And whilst the enjoyments I now reap from within my new spirit state are bountiful and joyous, and the light I now experience is beyond measure of human word, I feel I miss my skin being kissed by my Sun and I am saddened by it.

My spirit family were correct when predicting my loss.

But there is comfort to be had in the knowledge that I am not unique in my choice of melancholy. Many of my spirit group of Heart Wednesday (those of us new spirits that experienced the failure of our life pumps and the catastrophic shutdown of our body shells on Wednesday just past), are communicating similar feelings of various regret. Naturally there are too many to highlight, as our numbers are vast, but it is a simple summary to provide, for one string of words will encapsulate it all.

It is the feeling of ‘presence’ and the ‘touch’ of the world.

But do not fear, I refer not to the touch of human, as even student spirits such as I are permitted, nay encouraged, to touch the lives and bodies of those who have not joined us yet, the ones we have left behind where connections and bonds intertwine with our love and tether us together tightly, only to be lengthened and loosened as we heal their souls and bid ourselves ‘prepared’ for our own evolution.
But my spirit family tell me such a time is far off, as there are many to heal and much for me to learn, and my evolution has many phases to be experienced.

And alas my first lesson is now upon me.

I must accept the miss of sun on my skin and the comfort of my presence within her shine. I must celebrate my joy as she continues to beam her life upon the family I have left behind. And I must be thankful for her energy as she dries the tears of anguish from the ones who now cry, as we now begin our journey. Together.

As then as if to remind me of her reason, my Sun shafts a corridor through their grief,
and I float them a white feather, as a smile from their father.

The Kiss of my Sun

Cathal .

Dublin, Ireland

  • Artist
    Notes
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Artist's Description

This one had a number of inspirations. Firstly another Red Writing Room exercise set by Gretchen where she asked us to write an autobiographical account of something we experienced but with at least one lie in it :) And it had to begin with “When I was….”
(You’ll know what the lie is, don’t worry)

After posting a paragraph or two I decided to expand it a bit. And was led down a strange path that I can only suggest came from a recent reading of a fantastic new poem posted by a fellow bubber Pájaro del Fuego and The White Feather

I kind of liked this spirit, it was a therapeutic write.

And of course the Sun can be whatever you want it to be.

Thanks for reading

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sun spirit

Artwork Comments

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