Hail unto thee from the abodes of the day.

I stand as salutation to the sun. I stand staring.

As the afternoon passes into sunset I find communion with nature; it feels like a pocket of heaven sunk to earth.

I greet the sun, my eyes turn staring and long upon that glowing orb, so bright that it turns my eyes to tears and the sky to purples and pinks around it. If I gaze long enough, with the daring to not look away, I find the sky warps, the clouds flicker between low and high relief and the top of the building where the sun sits, turns white at the edges. And my vision is purple when I look away, spying a plane flying low, and the sky and the plane are tinged a burnt purple as I look directly upon them.

My communion hasn’t even begun. I find the east and gaze into it, feeling air and all things of that element in it. And I feel the west behind me, as I sit, feeling the touch of the sun which sets lingering in my hair. And to the north, I feel the earth, move and shift and yet always always there, like law. And to the south, I find my vision turns to heat, the feeling of sun hot and burning, like on baked sand.

And I feel connected to the elements at the dying of the day.

Then an evening sunset salutation. Meditate and visualize on water, for the west. And intone, “Hail unto thee from the abodes of the day.” And wait until midnight for the next.  And then perhaps best to greet the rocks, wake them with words of welcome and sparks of connection through shamanic vision …

Abruptly the breeze picks up. It’s cold now, and that signals time to go. Finally leave that pocket of heaven. For a time.

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