The sun held still for three days. This never happens. A miracle for such power to let loose across the great blue heavens. At the highest point, our sun hung there, seemingly forever. The birds stopped chirping to watch. The trees quit their waving and also stood still. The fish all rose to the surface to see what all the fuss was about. We all watched as the rolling, thick, golden liquid dripped from the sky.

And we opened our hearts. We let it in.

We let our heads fall back in ecstasy. We fell to our knees with jaws open, light streaming in. The trees kept eating. They ate more than they have all year. The birds bathed in songs unsung, storing the warm music for winter. The blossoms got drunk on the nectar and exploded into colors we still don’t have words for. One was a hue like blood red and the smell of midnight-blue electric rain.

For three days we drank in the silent blooming. The medicine poured through parts of the city we had forgotten to go. Through parts of us we had forgotten to love. Three days it melted the callouses and thick pain that had been wading through us. We stood still enough, trusting enough, open enough, for the rich radiance to penetrate the deepest parts, stirring awake what was long forgotten. It swept through with its luminous fingers, untangling, rewrapping, forgiving, re-membering. We lost a lot. But we don’t miss any of it.

By the third day, we were completely drunk. We had forgotten all about our lives before of tiny individual lights and doing things alone. The gold nectar was one great body, moving through the world in the form of our blood and bones. We could see it. We became, each of us, suns, and one sun. We pulsed with that original light, all in unison. Like fireflies. Creation poured through us, out from our fingertips, light streamed from our eyelashes. Great liquid luminosity was all there was.

The sun held space for three days. While we all remembered we were sun. I forget the rest.