Tag Archives: space

Solar Maximum

When her fire burns, she dances.
From a darkness below into another above she rises, and begins swaying to an internal rhythm discernible only to herself and the ineffable cosmos. She is one with the light of her sun—the fire spreads from her
heart to her fingertips as she reaches far out into infinite space.
She dances.
She arches her back, her head held high facing the darkness, and leans to one side, then to the other. She spins to the left, the hem of her dress sparking below her as she glides—then leaps gracefully back to the right, the fire following her with her every step. The inherent rhythm of the universe guides her, as it has guided stars for eternity.
Her spin tightens, quickens. The fire pulses at her fingertips as she
reaches higher into the darkness—beneath her, embers ignite into
red-hot, passionate glow. She unfurls her arms, gestures gracefully back and forth as the vigor of her sun dance increases in a solar wind.
Her movement ignites her.
She is light.
She is fire.

Her dance began billions of years ago.
She was not then what she is now. She was an incarnation yet to be
seen, yet to be felt.
She dwelled then in the darkness below the flames, silent, waiting, an impending disturbance to the simmering sea around her.
She carried a force stronger than herself and did not know it. But,
hopeful, she waited for a spark.
Now is her time. Her movement generates a vortex of violent magnetism, and the electrical ferocity within her body increases as she dances.
One spark is all she needs to light up the darkness, to send waves of
electricity through the galaxy. One spark is all she needs to dance.
She is radiation.
She is energy.

Another dancer emerges from the inferno.
But her dance doesn’t stop. She moves in circles, eyeing the new force from a distance before they approach each other. Back and forth they sway, a mesmerizing near-tango in this sea of fire.
They almost touch. Static swells between them—they are captivated by nothing else but this serendipitous meeting. Sparks fly as she ruffles her dress. The other dancer circles around her, equally flirtatious in her movement.
She extends her hand. Body meets celestial body.
The reaction is immediate—a magnificent detonation from their touch rocks through their bodies, through the universe. The power forged from their nuclear fingertips races away into the cosmos in a resplendent wave, creating a hoop of heat and light above their heads.
They unite, they ignite. They stand firm.
Two dancers become one. Each pulse from their glowing bodies radiates more intensely within their cores until the pressure becomes more than they can bear—they can burn no more—they break free.
They are fusion.
They are explosions.

The light fades. The sun song ends.
The darkness returns to surround them.
The two dancers remain joined in a lingering ray of light. Their
interlocked fingers, moments ago the source of a dazzling blaze, feel
cold, empty, bereft of the intensity that sparked such a blast.
Her dance is over, but the heat she created is not lost—it has a new
destiny. It races across the universe now, each particle hurtling toward planets and moons and galaxies. It will never die, but continue
to manifest itself in new forms.
And the fire will always remain.
She disconnects from the other dancer, slows her rhythm, then stops altogether. She bows to her partner, for the first and last time, and sinks slowly back into herself—into the glowing embers whence she came, where she created herself from sheer force of will.
No more will she dance, but the dance is not over. Someone will rise again from the embers.
For we all smolder with the same potential.
She dances.
She passes the torch.

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The Day the Sun Collapsed


The day the sun collapsed, Nick One Feather woke up to a black dawn. Mites of dust floated above his bed, barely visible. His skin cracked from the dry air, his mouth parched from open-mouth breathing in the usual high temperatures all night, Nick glanced up from his bed out the window to see only a slate-colored sky resting dully above the earth.

It was dark. Too dark. Although he felt surprisingly rested, Nick felt sure he had woken up hours too early. He sat up, squinting, and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. His vision cleared immediately, but the darkness was not abated. Nick checked his watch: 8:43 a.m. He was late; his body had tricked him into sleeping in too long.

He swung his legs off his bed onto the floor and stretched wearily. The moment his bare feet touched the floor, he recoiled and pulled them up again—an icy jolt had surged into his skin up his whole body, as if the floor had sprouted frost overnight. Hm, Nick thought. It wasn’t like that yesterday. The geothermal heat setting must be broken again. The air around him even felt colder, an observation made apparent now that he was out from under his blankets and his skin was exposed to the unusually chilld air. He shivered and made a point to jot a note down in his record book about the sudden temperature drop.

Standing up now, Nick felt the blood course through his body and he felt more awake. He cursed himself for sleeping in—it seemed there was never enough time in a day. He walked to his living room, where all of his digital tools for record-keeping were kept, and wrote down a couple notes about the temperature drop; and he was about to walk to the kitchen to make his morning cup of coffee—noting regretfully that he had run out of his favorite coffee blend—when he noticed the people standing just on the other side of the kitchen window.

It was quiet, the crowd standing outside, but large; and when Nick had donned his specialized temperature body suit and went outside, hardly anyone noticed his presence. They were all too busy staring up at the sun through their own veiled visors—or, more accurately, where the sun used to be. Now all that was left was a tiny white dwarf star, a pinprick of a dot in the sky that emanated heat beyond its core.

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