Solar Paradox

Another Thursday evening and time for my regular Writers Forum session. What will be the theme this time? A while ago we wrote on the topical theme of 'The Sun' . It is always topical - either not enough of it or too much. The summer came late this year, accompanied by justifiable complaints. Then the sunshine arrived in full force. There was possibly too much for some of us.There were people dying this summer, deaths induced by the destructive power of the sun. We were urged to keep cool, drink fluids, use sun cream, wear hats. All very necessary advice. Yet, paradoxically, without the life-giving power of this same sun our planet will expire. We were given keywords and concepts to include in our writing. We let our imaginations run riot...
 

I am encouraged! There is energy, life, a source of life for the whole planet. I need energy. There is a creative process that is ongoing through the year’s cycle. Each part of the cycle is a part of this life-giving productivity. Even the dark, dormant days are a part of that silent, energetic process where life stirs beneath the ground even though it is unseen. When it bursts forth there is colour – golden, yellow, white hot colour. Solar flares blind me. I am dazzled by the exuberance and the life-giving energy of this star.

 

 

The sun is at the centre of all. It is life engendering, heart-warming, encouraging, protective, almost caring. It is generous, outgoing and exuberant. I am comforted by its warmth.

 

 

But wait! It is a fireball. It dazzles, glows, burns and destroys. It is on the move, out of control even. It can be dangerous and I am halted in my tracks, my enthusiasm waning.

 

 

The sun is a moving fire. It turns. It is at the centre of our universe. But I am glad it is a star. It threatens to destroy. It appears out of control, but it is a star, ordered in a scientific universe, a servant of the cosmic cycles of the heavens. In my mind there is a sense of coolness and order induced by that word ‘star’. It comforts my fears. We are under control again. We can breathe again. This burning, radiating, pulsating mass of fireball is not tame, no, not tame, but it is ordered. There is a cycle. There are equinoxes – places of balance, places of harmony. I have respect for this sun. There is benign, warm, yellow sunshine. There is red, there is white hot fire. Shining, dazzling, blinding, destroying. It is written in the stars. I must have respect for this sun.

 

 

And when the sun is gone, marginalised by rain and winter chills, grey skies overhead and crisp whiteness beneath my feet, I will remember this fireball with affection and longing. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. As with the seasons of romance, the seasons of nature are like this. We forget so soon and long for more.