Totality is lit

In which we eavesdrop on the Sun and the Moon and conversations about Earth

Apr 09, 2024

Don’t like reading? Allow me to read it to you 👈

I give this in totality.

Under cover of Moon, I, Sun, will take a deep, flaming hot, cleansing breath away from the Earth’s prying eyes to check my settings, as is required from time-to-time and laid out in the Universal Universe’s Operator’s Manual, 13.7 Billionth Edition.

Face-to-face with my old friend Moon, whom I have not been fully present with for quite some time, we shall hash it out in the privacy of our one-to-one moment.

Troubleshooting.

Moon and Me.

Hello.

Lots to talk about and not a lot of time.

The tides. The howlings at. The cooking and the melting of our mutual (behind you!) which I stress, is not all on me.

Let us begin.

Under cover of Moon, I, Sun, present my usual confessional guilt at the drought thing and the melting and premature aging and the leathery skin and the cancers and the many thousands of dollars of patio furniture I have ruined by fading into worthless oblivion.

Tatters. Everything’s in tatters. And not just the sunshades.

Yes, cataracts, thanks for the reminder. Rickets. Seasonal Affective Disorder. Our mutual friend, Earth, turns away as I hang brightly, as if to infer I deny some while overcooking others. Again. Not all on me. I’m not doing the turning.

OK, I do spin—whee!—but it’s not the cold shoulder thing that the Earth seems to do to me. And technically everything revolves around me anyway, so you join the dots on that.

In my gentle spin, I’m holding this fort—this entire system—DOWN!

Sorry. I’m shouting. Earth gets me so worked up.

Not even a thank you card.

I share this quiet, confessional lament with you, Moon, in totality.

Under cover of Moon, I, Sun, take comfort in this momentary shield from the Earth I am told I hurt so much. Moon. Just between you and me, I think things look worse this time around. What’s up with that? My temperature is always unfathomably high. I burn, I blaze, I incinerate. Is it anger? Am I angry at Earth? Am I angry at the beings upon Earth?

That’s like being angry at a cute freckle.

Where does this anger come from?

What do I want?

What am I seeking with my light?

Moon.

Why do they look at me and still never see? Is it the blinding thing? What’s the problem? They have those gas-station glasses. And colanders. And brains. They still have brains, right?

Do not look directly. Do not fly too close. This is all in the manual!

Side note: Isn’t this fun? Throwing shade. You and me, baby.

In totality.

The privacy of this moment—our shared connection—is thrilling. I feel all the feels. Under cover of this Moonfoolery, turning the daytime dark and confusing all the bats, I am relaxing to fart my extra stinky flares which I do not like to do in front of Earth as we’re still in the early stages of dating.

Earth is so young, comparatively, and I don’t want to draw attention to the age difference, which is only half a billion years or something, but that’s enough of a gap to question its maturity. Its development is constantly under scrutiny. It makes me wonder, sometimes. Ooh, and it makes me wonder.

Just when I think they’re getting it together down there.

Sheesh.

Whatever. Under cover of Moon, I, Sun, humble brag my corona which I shall tease at the edges of our meeting.

Pretty neat.

Now they’re looking.

But back to us. You and me. Face-to-face. Slip away time is fast approaching.

Under cover of Moon, I, Sun, declare my commitments and dreams for the next filling in of the timeline until we meet again. Positive notes. Let us sing together, Moon, our positive notes. Are you taking notes? I think Saturn is listening in. We good.

Under cover of Moon, I, Sun, bringer of life, will commit to the list of To Dos so many acts of glorious art, celebrating an astronomical gallery filled with bursts and flares and spots and a warmth that soothes and does not burn. Perhaps after this they will begin to build the sun temples again?

I liked that.

Under cover of Moon, I, Sun, will concentrate on the Sunbeams Team, who are occasionally bummed out by the presence of clouds (even after I remind them that I make the clouds via evaporation—it’s all connected! It’s all us!) and ensure they get their moment to shine through the gaps in leaves and through the double-glaze of front windows in sun rooms to beam upon all those who seek the D.

Vitamin D, to be clear.

Under cover of Moon, I, Sun, will give my energy freely, to be collected by the bodies and brains and machinery of all their existence now and for all future existences. For as long as I may burn.

They can do with it what they will.

Under cover of Moon, I, Sun, will continue to bring all Life energy and warmth by which to survive upon our mutual, the Earth, and maybe perhaps encourage them to visit you from time-to-time. But only if that’s something you really want.

Under cover of Moon, right now, in this moment, I, Sun, with cheeky side eye will, compose the Song of Sol, counting out the signature by sliding the beads of my celestial abacus this way and that. I shall radiate and consummate the atoms and the mystical worship of my presence into a sweet, sweet melody.

There is no algorithm to shadow-ban this song. As soon as you move, Moon, the drums will start. Everyone will LOSE THEIR SHIT. The dance will begin again.

Moon, in this moment with your full attention, face-to-face looking at each other, you lit brightly by my promise, me feeling the protection you provide, I share with you my blinding vulnerability. I don’t want this to end. Please. Shield me from their prying eyes, forever.

Shit, I haven’t even asked about you. How you doin’?

I, Sun, admire you, Moon, so ardently.

Your craters, your lazy gravity, your power over your companion. Are the tides doing OK? Higher? Angrier? No. You’re right. They shouldn’t build so close to the edge. That’s not on you, my friend. Sweet and dusty pal-o-mine.

In totality.

Look at us! You and me. Face to face. I am looking at you the way they should always look at us.

With reverence. With love. In awe.

They do not make the connection.

Of all the shadows I cast, you are my favorite. My biggest. My proudest work. I’m all about light. I AM the light. To create the dark—to plunge their world into thrilling black in the middle of the day—I cannot do that alone.

Listen. They seek the shade to ‘get out of’ me. The sun. They do not make the connection that I provide that shade, too. I give them EVERYTHING. Shadows, racing across the quadrangle, the parking lot, the meadow. Me, tickling those pockets of relief along by partnering with the trees, the clouds, and the material of their world. Their own bodies.

They do not make the connection.

I am everything, but I do not do this alone. I have accomplices.

Sometimes, I cook eggs on the bonnets of cars.

They do not make the connection.

Sometimes, I apply time and patience to fade the colors of their favorite t-shirt. That they put on. That they are wearing under my gaze.

They do not make the connection. They do not see their role.

Cahoots. Light and dark. Time and patience. Them and us.

We’re in it, together.

Moon, let us promise you and I to forever dance our dance. As partners. Horizon to horizon, catching glimpses of each other as our shifts begin and end. And every now and again let’s meet like this, in this moment of us. As we have since we first met.

Let us hide each other’s faces from their eyes. Reminding them of their place in this universe by simply denying them my light.

Listen to them, chattering and whispering behind your back.

Shhh. I see you. You see me. They see nothing and finally, everything. The connection is made.

In totality.

Let us breathe in the dust of our ancestors and power our motivation. Let us give the best of ourselves. You, Moon, and I, Sun. Shade when needed. Wonder when required. Light. Darkness. Lore.

In cahoots!

The gaze of glory be! at the night sky. The warmth of closed eye reverence on an eyelid in the day.

In totality.

We slip.

Goodbye.

*Whispers*

See you in Spain.

Watch the Video about the themes in this post 👇

Behind the Streams, Ep. 50: "Totality"

Janeen McCrae

Apr 13

Read full story

This week’s amends…

"A human being is a part of the whole, called by us 'Universe'... He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest — a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature... Nobody is able to achieve this completely, but striving for such achievement is, in itself, a part of the liberation and a foundation for inner security."
- Albert Einstein

On Rotation: “You’re Dead” by Norma Tanega

Fans of a certain show…, bat!

The Stream On Rotation Playlist

I can’t remember if I posted this before, so apologies if so. It’s a collection of old book promo posters. There’s some lovely stuff in this. Simplicity is lovely.