Another look at the Sun
Lucky for me that no one reads these posts, or someone could get the notion that I have been tripping out (to use a phrase from the hippy days) over seeing the sun and moon. Still remember the older generation telling us not to drop LSD for fear we would look at the sun and go blind. Strange how the corners are not crowded with blind old geezers with flowing beards and torn tie died shirts and tin cups begging for alms; "Blinded by the light, need help......Universal Unknown Bless" signs hanging around their necks.
But I am not, didn't look at the sun, (possibly dropped LSD, but I'm not saying), and while staking out a place on the corner with a tin cup may well be in my future, we are still hanging on by our finger tips. Nevertheless, I did see the sun again and want to tell the tail.
Back in the day I spent time (not enough) at sea along the west coast of Washington and Oregon states in a tiny fishing boat, and sometimes on a very special day the sun showed itself just as the western horizon rolled up past its disk, allowing for a momentary look, filtered through thousands of miles of misty atmosphere, protecting the eyes, allowing for a good look at the source of all our life and energy.
These rare moments of clear vision are even more rare here on the beach, but not necessarily impossible. Where we live there is a river valley that opens into the salt chuck in such a way that there are vantage points several miles in from the beach that simulate the view one gets from the deck of a boat at sea. That is, looking out to the west the horizon appears unobstructed, filtered by atmospheric conditions that allow for a direct look into the disk of the sun. Red in the pre sunset moments, clearly visible for several seconds as the horizon moves across its surface.
One breath of time seems much longer because we spend most of our lives prohibited form looking at the sun, then when it is visible in a harmless moment it seems so big and real and wonderful that the three or four seconds seem to be an hour.
So it happened yesterday. On I-5 of all places. Hell, is there any part of life and death that doesn't come down on the interstates these days? Anyway, the time was right and I cruised over the low hills into the Stilliguamish valley just as the sun came out from behind a band of clouds at the horizon and showed her disk for a full three or four seconds. OK, so I mindlessly rolled along the freeway for nearly three hundred feet while looking out the side window at the sun instead of the road ahead. What's the problem with that? I saw the sun.
The disk looks huge. I mean huge compared to the moon, or Saturn or Jupiter or anything one seen out in the black beyond. It is huge and beautiful. Sharply defined edge, just the upper half as the edge of the earth comes up over it as we roll along our path. The strongest impression I get is the size of that thing and how close we are to the light. Any closer and we fry; any further away and we freeze. The other striking thing is the small size of our plaint, clearly visible as the curve of horizon moves up before one's eye, and of course the exceedingly thin film of life supporting stuff on the surface of this otherwise dead rock on which we are riding.
After having such a good look at our star, no it isn't our star, we are a part of its stuff, one cannot help but feel awe at what is going on around here. Wild and beautiful, crazy beyond anyone's imagination.....look around the universe at the way things seem to be in so many places and marval at the benign little corner of things we occupy.
But I am not, didn't look at the sun, (possibly dropped LSD, but I'm not saying), and while staking out a place on the corner with a tin cup may well be in my future, we are still hanging on by our finger tips. Nevertheless, I did see the sun again and want to tell the tail.
Back in the day I spent time (not enough) at sea along the west coast of Washington and Oregon states in a tiny fishing boat, and sometimes on a very special day the sun showed itself just as the western horizon rolled up past its disk, allowing for a momentary look, filtered through thousands of miles of misty atmosphere, protecting the eyes, allowing for a good look at the source of all our life and energy.
These rare moments of clear vision are even more rare here on the beach, but not necessarily impossible. Where we live there is a river valley that opens into the salt chuck in such a way that there are vantage points several miles in from the beach that simulate the view one gets from the deck of a boat at sea. That is, looking out to the west the horizon appears unobstructed, filtered by atmospheric conditions that allow for a direct look into the disk of the sun. Red in the pre sunset moments, clearly visible for several seconds as the horizon moves across its surface.
One breath of time seems much longer because we spend most of our lives prohibited form looking at the sun, then when it is visible in a harmless moment it seems so big and real and wonderful that the three or four seconds seem to be an hour.
So it happened yesterday. On I-5 of all places. Hell, is there any part of life and death that doesn't come down on the interstates these days? Anyway, the time was right and I cruised over the low hills into the Stilliguamish valley just as the sun came out from behind a band of clouds at the horizon and showed her disk for a full three or four seconds. OK, so I mindlessly rolled along the freeway for nearly three hundred feet while looking out the side window at the sun instead of the road ahead. What's the problem with that? I saw the sun.
The disk looks huge. I mean huge compared to the moon, or Saturn or Jupiter or anything one seen out in the black beyond. It is huge and beautiful. Sharply defined edge, just the upper half as the edge of the earth comes up over it as we roll along our path. The strongest impression I get is the size of that thing and how close we are to the light. Any closer and we fry; any further away and we freeze. The other striking thing is the small size of our plaint, clearly visible as the curve of horizon moves up before one's eye, and of course the exceedingly thin film of life supporting stuff on the surface of this otherwise dead rock on which we are riding.
After having such a good look at our star, no it isn't our star, we are a part of its stuff, one cannot help but feel awe at what is going on around here. Wild and beautiful, crazy beyond anyone's imagination.....look around the universe at the way things seem to be in so many places and marval at the benign little corner of things we occupy.
Comments
Post a Comment