Perpendicular to the Universe

I recently enjoyed a week with best friends in the desert southwest. Time passed delightfully slowly on the sparkling waters of the Colorado River. The rush of a typical daily schedule, slowed to a near standstill. Watches were abandoned below deck, only to be replaced with the original metronome of the sun. 1 cycle per day. The canyon walls, carved out by millions of years of warfare with hydro-logic forces, are still standing proudly taking their positions as the sun dials by which the passage of time can be noted. Shadows passed across the face of the mountains, offering a place of respite from the otherworldly intense summer heat. The week (d)evolved into an exercise of simultaneously both seeking, as well as hiding from the rays of the sun. It occurred to me, that to spend time in a high elevation desert, just this side of the summer solstice, is perhaps the simplest way in which we can truly understand what it means to be fully exposed. To stand in the heat of the noon-day summer sun, with no Ray Bans, no hat, no shoes, no spf anything, to be completely laid bare, is to be truly exposed.  The parts of your skin that begin to complain first are those that are 90 degrees to the sun. The shoulders. The tops of the feet. The nose. For me, my exposed head. After stepping into the sun, each of these body parts seem to be independently aware that it is just minutes away from being miserably burnt. The pain of a sunburn will last for a couple of days. But it will be real pain. And somehow my feet know this and begin to complain. 

What am I doing here? I left my air conditioned home and comfortable surrounding to chase the sun? To experience this level of austerity? In search of what? How is it we can participate in this paradox? Both simultaneously seeking and desperately afraid of The Sun. The Truth. The Universe.  

The sun, this ultimate source of light for my earth-bound body, has the potential to sizzle me into oblivion, burn my retinas beyond repair, bombard me with cancer causing UV rays, suck every ounce of life-giving water from my body, leave me as jerky for the crows. Knowing all of this, I stand there at the water's edge and let it wall wash over me. After a few brief minutes of truth, standing in the presence of this paradoxical source of death and life, I slowly and knowingly reached for my hat, my spf 50, my sun glasses, my t-shirt. Simultaneously sustained and protected from the smothering and blinding heat and the life-giving truth that is the Light. With this protection, I move back into the realm of my fellow humans. The intensity diminished considerably. It was a welcome relief. But also a sad acceptance of my limitations. 

Ultimately I left the desert feeling recharged. Knowing that that if I need to plug back in to that universe, it will be there waiting for me. It felt good to stand out there. On my own. Just me and the sun.








Photography credit to two of my aforementioned best friends. Milo (10), Alexandra (11).