Do you know what it’s like to forget the sun?
I am often asked why I moved away from Oregon to this remote area. Here is the answer, written six years ago, just before I fled to the rainshadow.
To live someplace so dankdrippingwet that the gentle palm of the sun against your back cannot be summoned even from memory? To dwell only in shadowless montone light which flattens mountains into torn paper collages? To waken yet keep your eyes closed, for there is no reason to embrace another grimgrayday?
I do. About 300 days a year here in the Pacific Northwest. Yes it is lush and ohsogreen, but it is not enough to sustain me.
I need light. Yellow rays beaming through clouds like hope in cheap religious paintings.
I crave pink dawns, even if I’m not awake to see them—my dreaming self needs to know that glory is there for the taking should I wake. I want to see a stripe of blue across the tops of my windows when I open my eyes. My zinnias want to become heliotropic. I want to be heliotropic, following warmth from room to room like an infrared device, lying lazily in a pool of sunlight across my bed in the early afternoon. I have forgotten the bluebliss of clear days, of skies unwritten by contrails.
I need light. Even the hot sunsoak of August that I only peer out at from beneath the drone of my ceiling fan. I want palpable lightasheat to push into on a walk with my dog, tinges of gold caressing my fuchsias in late afternoon. I need splashy, gaudy sunsets to applaud the accomplishments of my day. I seek the serenity of night that I can see. I must move away from here. Soon.
The following video fits this mood perfectly and features lovely images of skies emerging from clouds. Enjoy the Buddhist Meditation Music, Zen Garden, by Kokin Gumi. Try assigning a care or concern to each new set of clouds as they appear, then watch your cares dissolve away. Or simply relax and sink into the meditative music.