| My Love Affair with the Sun |
| Videos Zilker Park 2010 The Sun The Shade Buffalo Apartment 2007 Light on Door Light on Wall Passing Clouds |
Sun Aphorisms
Winter days in Buffalo. Sitting on a narrow old green wooden chair in the corner of the apartment. The sun is
shining at a sharp angle through the window beside me. I tilt the page I am writing on to the light. I see the tiny
fibers that make up the page. They reflect the light. All day I'm following the sun as it wraps slowly around the
apartment. I move my furniture to make room. I move my plant too so that it sits in the path of light. All winter I
chase it in my room. (In the summer I chase it outside.) All day you can find my shadow the wall or floor or
ground. One of my favorite things to do is watch the sun shine into my apartment. It begins and ends and moves
in different ways. Sometimes it starts on the upper wall then moves towards the floor. Sometimes it starts in one
room through one window. Sometimes fast passing clouds make it appear, disappear, and reappear very rapidly.
I think, “light comes and goes, and the air is as it always was” (Proust 422).
Winter day in Buffalo. This morning the ice sheet on my window forms a shadow on my wall while the sun makes
the ice shine like crystals. How each crystal shines in one color, then disappears as I move my head, as new ones
in new colors appear!—how, all of a sudden, the sun melts it away later in the morning, and the frozen water
drips away from the window panes and leaves water drops that light shines through. Then I see the brilliant sun
in the pure blue sky.
Winter day in Buffalo. I woke up and the morning light shone into my eyes. I sat up and crouched against the
wall. I aligned my eyes with the sun and lowered my eyelids so that the sun could not be seen. Then I looked at
the rainbows on the tips of my eyelashes and lost the sense of the rest of my body.
Engorged with sunshine. A day under the sun, swathed in light, rested, in good health, and good spirits. At night
I worked on my book while listening to Vivaldi. (Vivaldi captured the energy of sunlight in his music.) I worked
slowly and deliberately on my book in solitude. I feel like solidified sunshine. I have the sensation that I am pure
white light.
A Spring Morning. It is early spring and quite cool outside. It’s early morning and mostly sunny with a few passing
clouds. The sun is shining directly into my south-facing windows. I open the window in my living room. I lay down
right below it and point my face towards the sun. I have a blanket over my body. I have music playing with deep
bass and thick rhythm. I feel joyful. I am eating sliced pieces of watermelon, the juice trickling down my throat.
When a cloud passes I yell obscenities at it for blocking the sun. And then I think to myself: “One day I will be
famous”—and begin to laugh with abandon. The thought of fame is hilarious to me. I laugh until my stomach hurts
and my eyes tear. Meanwhile I’m still eating the succulent pieces of watermelon with my face pointed to the sun
yelling obscenities at passing clouds under a blanket sometimes shivering because of the cold air. I continue to
laugh hard and loud and sometimes choke on the watermelon juice while my eyes swim in laugh-tears under sun.
A Spring Morning. What a beautiful morning to be alive. I awoke refreshed, renewed and rested, had my shower
and breakfast, and now sit in a corner of my apartment, on the floor, where the rising sun shines through my
window at a slant. My window is slightly cracked, letting in the cool morning air, which is making my long vertical
blinds gently sway. On a day such as this, when my thoughts are a sweet sap that sink to my body, and when my
skin smells fragrant, it is pleasurable to leave my place of solitude and air myself to the world outside. To see
other people observing me in this state increases my pleasure.
Park. I took her to park today. She was sitting with her legs crossed on a colorful blanket. The summer afternoon
sun was shining through a small tree onto her face. Her lips were red and moist and sunlit as she ate a ripe pear.
And all the while she smiled so innocently.
Cherry Blossoms. I grabbed a volume of Kierkegaard and drove to the park. There I sat alone amongst the cherry
blossoms in bloom hemmed in by the noise of traffic.
Slants of light. It was late afternoon and the sun was low in the sky. A sudden break in the clouds on either side
let a few long rays of light through. They looked like slanted pillars upholding the sky.
Business Man. I saw a man in a suit exit the double doors of a tall building. I thought with Blake: “thy crown is
bald old man—the sun will dry thy brains away!”
St. Lawrence River. I just watched a beautiful sunset over the St. Lawrence River while sitting alone at a campfire.
The entire sky was a cloudy dark gray except for a thin strip of clear sky on the horizon where the sun was
setting. As it sank it passed from under the clouds into the clear sky. It lit everything at a horizontal angle. The
trees were serene within this orange glow. It lit the clouds above it—with changing colors of yellowish orange to
reddish purple to pinkish purple. It is the movement of light on the ground and in the trees and in the clouds that
I like.
A Poetic Mood. I had become senseless with beauty, like a sustained sunset—a soft one, where the colors of the
sky mix.
St. Lawrence River. There was a sunset over the St. Lawrence River that gave the sky a mysterious air. Clouds
stretched from just above the horizon to the top of the vault of sky, so that the setting sun was half covered.
Where the clouds broke towards the vault, their tips shone a brilliant white, as if frosting of snow on gray trees.
The clouds around the sun were hazy orange mingled with the gray.
A Sublime Sunset. I have just experienced one of the most sublime things in my life. I am trembling. I was inside
my parents' house when I looked outside and noticed a very strange orange color in the air. I went outside and
was immediately overwhelmed—to the east there was a very large rainbow spanning the sky, with its bottom arc
only showing, the top part covered in clouds. To the west there was a brilliant mix of yellows and oranges and
reds, with fibrous clouds. All things on the ground were colored with this very strange orange color making the
scene feel unreal. It was a mix of yellow-orange with a pale blue sky as a backdrop; on the ground, all was filled
with this glow.
I became ecstatic and could hardly control myself. I ran around my backyard to get better looks of the sky. I
looked to the east, then to the west, then to the zenith, then to the ground. I was unconsciously pulling my hair;
I leaned backwards to the point of stumbling; I ran up to the top of my roof. It all happened so fast. Each part of
the sky and each color on the ground and air changed with every passing moment. And suddenly the rainbow
disappeared, and slowly after it, the orangish-ether glow, and then all the color in the sky became concentrated
in the west, and it deepened and deepened into red. The air became colorless, the sky elsewhere than the west
became dark, with dark gray clouds moving over the pale blue sky. In the west the sky was colored deep red and
orange, with fringes of yellow. But as the sun began sinking slowly the colors in the west began fading, leaving
behind only the pale blue sky and white-gray colors of clouds. At this time the ether-glow all but disappeared and
it became darker and darker at an alarming pace. It felt like summer’s finale—it’s last great display before fall
moved in—for today was the also the first day of that brisk fall air. As the sun finally reached the horizon, the
clouds became gray with a fiery bottom, with clouds higher above still lighter and tinged with a reddish hue. But
the sun slipped farther and farther away until even the red disappeared, and the sky was left blue, white and
gray.
Summer Moon. Tonight I drove along a country road to meet a friend at his house. The horizon was obscured by
trees. But I came upon a harvested cornfield. I was awestruck. The moon was enormous and just rising. “The full
yellow-tinted summer moon left my heart wet with its moonlight—its nighttime sunlight.” (Kenko Essays in
Idleness).
A Summer Scene. Thin, loose clothing touched by a breeze; sitting in the shade of a small tree; the lake glistens;
the sunlight is sifted by the leaves; a goldfinch chirps as it crests; the white clouds floating by. Through the white
fibrous clouds the afternoon sun shines. Together they are creating a rainbow-ring around the sun in the clouds.
Apartment. It is so beautiful to watch the first light of morning sunshine with its dim-yellowish glow at a slant on
my apartment wall. Today I opened the window and took a sun bath on the varnished wood floor.
Apartment. The simple pleasure of sitting at my desk that is near my west-facing window. Outside this window
there is a tree. When the sun is setting, and the wind is slightly blowing, shadows dance on my wall and desk.
The sun is setting in the west. It shines through my window and lights the wall. The sun shines on the leaves
outside; but they are only shadows on my sun lit wall. When a cloud covers the sun, the wall shines no more,
and the moving shadows disappear. When the sun re-emerges the shadows suddenly appear on my wall. The
wind also shifts sunshine and shadows on my face. And I feel lighter. But the sun sets.
An Ideal. An orange-red brick house; thin, strong transparent very clear windows daily washed with pure water;
sunlight that pours freely and radiantly inside; inside, sultry air, distant soft music, varnished wood floors, a hot
stove, and a steady, calm, powerful beating heart at work.
Lake walk. Yesterday I decided to indulge myself. I had the energy to do work but, for most of the day at least, I
did very little. Instead, during the late morning and early afternoon I took a sunbath under an entirely blue sky.
To feel the sun on my face, to smell that combination of sweat and tanning flesh, to watch the sweat glisten
down my chest to my abdomen, and to listen to classical music. When it got too hot for my face I covered it with a
hat. Through the tiny holes of the stitch work of the hat the sun filtered through. Being so close to my eyes, the
bits of light that passed through looked like circular rainbows. Through the lattice-like eyelashes I watched these
little circular rainbows and my blind-spots in them. At the bottom of my field of vision appeared a small spec of
brilliant and iridescent purple.
I was engorged with sun and had an intense craving for watermelon. I went back home, packed a knife and
a container and went to the supermarket. There I hugged a huge watermelon through the store. I then with it to
the park and parked under the bridge near the lake. In my car I cut up the watermelon and filled my container. I
put it in a bag and began to walk to the pedestrian bridge to the lake walk on the north bank. My gait was solid
and measured. My mind was thick and strong. My face was tanned, tight and warm. I wore a black dress shirt,
gold-khaki pants, and sandals. As I walked through the forested and sandy-graveled path, the green and shade
and light shifting through the green was vividly clear. My vision felt crisp and sharp. (There is something about the
vividness of light when you spend much time in introspection.) Thick in myself, and feeling all that occurred in my
own mind was but a dream, the reality of this speckled light beside the shimmering river was starkly beautifully.
Off the main path there was an area right on the water with a steel lattice structure that enclosed a small
space and a decorative stone pew. Vines had crawled up and around the lattice. The sun was descending to the
south bank but was still brilliantly shining in the sky. The water cast its light in its large ripples. I sat on the pew
by myself and pulled out my container stuffed with watermelon. My mouth waters even now when I think of how
succulent it was. After a while I descended into the narrow stone steps, only about two or three, that led directly
into the water. The sun was shining directly on my body and I lifted my face to it. I knew I couldn't stay too long
else I'd burn—but oh how intoxicating it feels to be slightly burned and hot and engorged with sun when it sets
and it is night! The skin feels tight and smells musky and I feel the energy of the sun, captured in my skin and
eyes, coursing through my blood. My mood is exuberant and I listen to exuberant powerful music to reflect this.
Lake. After hours of sunbathing and my skin feeling hot and emitting that sunned smell, to dive into the cold pool
and swim to the outcrop under the waterfall! After that afternoon, in the evening, I felt pure and exuberant.
Tropical nature. It is a sultry summer night. I engorged myself with sunshine all day. I am surfeit! I can taste the
sunlight that soaked my skin in the day. My thoughts and the feeling of my body are lush. It is nights like these
that I wish to gorge on poetry or robust philosophy or the flesh, yet at the same time, do not wish to disturb this
lushness, so indulge in this thick sweet syrupy thought and feel of my body. It’s late. And tomorrow I’ll wake
rapturous, but lazy.
An Apparition. I recall with yearning a summer day in the New Zealand. I meander around Cromwell Park until I
found a tree in the full light of the sun. I leaned against it, sunbathing, reading a comedy of Shakespeare's. Later,
returning to my apartment, I walked down a hill alongside a stone fence. My face was warm and taut and my hair
pulled tight behind me. I felt like solidified sunlight, like pure white light, as light as sunlight—I felt like an
apparition.
Winter days in Buffalo. Sitting on a narrow old green wooden chair in the corner of the apartment. The sun is
shining at a sharp angle through the window beside me. I tilt the page I am writing on to the light. I see the tiny
fibers that make up the page. They reflect the light. All day I'm following the sun as it wraps slowly around the
apartment. I move my furniture to make room. I move my plant too so that it sits in the path of light. All winter I
chase it in my room. (In the summer I chase it outside.) All day you can find my shadow the wall or floor or
ground. One of my favorite things to do is watch the sun shine into my apartment. It begins and ends and moves
in different ways. Sometimes it starts on the upper wall then moves towards the floor. Sometimes it starts in one
room through one window. Sometimes fast passing clouds make it appear, disappear, and reappear very rapidly.
I think, “light comes and goes, and the air is as it always was” (Proust 422).
Winter day in Buffalo. This morning the ice sheet on my window forms a shadow on my wall while the sun makes
the ice shine like crystals. How each crystal shines in one color, then disappears as I move my head, as new ones
in new colors appear!—how, all of a sudden, the sun melts it away later in the morning, and the frozen water
drips away from the window panes and leaves water drops that light shines through. Then I see the brilliant sun
in the pure blue sky.
Winter day in Buffalo. I woke up and the morning light shone into my eyes. I sat up and crouched against the
wall. I aligned my eyes with the sun and lowered my eyelids so that the sun could not be seen. Then I looked at
the rainbows on the tips of my eyelashes and lost the sense of the rest of my body.
Engorged with sunshine. A day under the sun, swathed in light, rested, in good health, and good spirits. At night
I worked on my book while listening to Vivaldi. (Vivaldi captured the energy of sunlight in his music.) I worked
slowly and deliberately on my book in solitude. I feel like solidified sunshine. I have the sensation that I am pure
white light.
A Spring Morning. It is early spring and quite cool outside. It’s early morning and mostly sunny with a few passing
clouds. The sun is shining directly into my south-facing windows. I open the window in my living room. I lay down
right below it and point my face towards the sun. I have a blanket over my body. I have music playing with deep
bass and thick rhythm. I feel joyful. I am eating sliced pieces of watermelon, the juice trickling down my throat.
When a cloud passes I yell obscenities at it for blocking the sun. And then I think to myself: “One day I will be
famous”—and begin to laugh with abandon. The thought of fame is hilarious to me. I laugh until my stomach hurts
and my eyes tear. Meanwhile I’m still eating the succulent pieces of watermelon with my face pointed to the sun
yelling obscenities at passing clouds under a blanket sometimes shivering because of the cold air. I continue to
laugh hard and loud and sometimes choke on the watermelon juice while my eyes swim in laugh-tears under sun.
A Spring Morning. What a beautiful morning to be alive. I awoke refreshed, renewed and rested, had my shower
and breakfast, and now sit in a corner of my apartment, on the floor, where the rising sun shines through my
window at a slant. My window is slightly cracked, letting in the cool morning air, which is making my long vertical
blinds gently sway. On a day such as this, when my thoughts are a sweet sap that sink to my body, and when my
skin smells fragrant, it is pleasurable to leave my place of solitude and air myself to the world outside. To see
other people observing me in this state increases my pleasure.
Park. I took her to park today. She was sitting with her legs crossed on a colorful blanket. The summer afternoon
sun was shining through a small tree onto her face. Her lips were red and moist and sunlit as she ate a ripe pear.
And all the while she smiled so innocently.
Cherry Blossoms. I grabbed a volume of Kierkegaard and drove to the park. There I sat alone amongst the cherry
blossoms in bloom hemmed in by the noise of traffic.
Slants of light. It was late afternoon and the sun was low in the sky. A sudden break in the clouds on either side
let a few long rays of light through. They looked like slanted pillars upholding the sky.
Business Man. I saw a man in a suit exit the double doors of a tall building. I thought with Blake: “thy crown is
bald old man—the sun will dry thy brains away!”
St. Lawrence River. I just watched a beautiful sunset over the St. Lawrence River while sitting alone at a campfire.
The entire sky was a cloudy dark gray except for a thin strip of clear sky on the horizon where the sun was
setting. As it sank it passed from under the clouds into the clear sky. It lit everything at a horizontal angle. The
trees were serene within this orange glow. It lit the clouds above it—with changing colors of yellowish orange to
reddish purple to pinkish purple. It is the movement of light on the ground and in the trees and in the clouds that
I like.
A Poetic Mood. I had become senseless with beauty, like a sustained sunset—a soft one, where the colors of the
sky mix.
St. Lawrence River. There was a sunset over the St. Lawrence River that gave the sky a mysterious air. Clouds
stretched from just above the horizon to the top of the vault of sky, so that the setting sun was half covered.
Where the clouds broke towards the vault, their tips shone a brilliant white, as if frosting of snow on gray trees.
The clouds around the sun were hazy orange mingled with the gray.
A Sublime Sunset. I have just experienced one of the most sublime things in my life. I am trembling. I was inside
my parents' house when I looked outside and noticed a very strange orange color in the air. I went outside and
was immediately overwhelmed—to the east there was a very large rainbow spanning the sky, with its bottom arc
only showing, the top part covered in clouds. To the west there was a brilliant mix of yellows and oranges and
reds, with fibrous clouds. All things on the ground were colored with this very strange orange color making the
scene feel unreal. It was a mix of yellow-orange with a pale blue sky as a backdrop; on the ground, all was filled
with this glow.
I became ecstatic and could hardly control myself. I ran around my backyard to get better looks of the sky. I
looked to the east, then to the west, then to the zenith, then to the ground. I was unconsciously pulling my hair;
I leaned backwards to the point of stumbling; I ran up to the top of my roof. It all happened so fast. Each part of
the sky and each color on the ground and air changed with every passing moment. And suddenly the rainbow
disappeared, and slowly after it, the orangish-ether glow, and then all the color in the sky became concentrated
in the west, and it deepened and deepened into red. The air became colorless, the sky elsewhere than the west
became dark, with dark gray clouds moving over the pale blue sky. In the west the sky was colored deep red and
orange, with fringes of yellow. But as the sun began sinking slowly the colors in the west began fading, leaving
behind only the pale blue sky and white-gray colors of clouds. At this time the ether-glow all but disappeared and
it became darker and darker at an alarming pace. It felt like summer’s finale—it’s last great display before fall
moved in—for today was the also the first day of that brisk fall air. As the sun finally reached the horizon, the
clouds became gray with a fiery bottom, with clouds higher above still lighter and tinged with a reddish hue. But
the sun slipped farther and farther away until even the red disappeared, and the sky was left blue, white and
gray.
Summer Moon. Tonight I drove along a country road to meet a friend at his house. The horizon was obscured by
trees. But I came upon a harvested cornfield. I was awestruck. The moon was enormous and just rising. “The full
yellow-tinted summer moon left my heart wet with its moonlight—its nighttime sunlight.” (Kenko Essays in
Idleness).
A Summer Scene. Thin, loose clothing touched by a breeze; sitting in the shade of a small tree; the lake glistens;
the sunlight is sifted by the leaves; a goldfinch chirps as it crests; the white clouds floating by. Through the white
fibrous clouds the afternoon sun shines. Together they are creating a rainbow-ring around the sun in the clouds.
Apartment. It is so beautiful to watch the first light of morning sunshine with its dim-yellowish glow at a slant on
my apartment wall. Today I opened the window and took a sun bath on the varnished wood floor.
Apartment. The simple pleasure of sitting at my desk that is near my west-facing window. Outside this window
there is a tree. When the sun is setting, and the wind is slightly blowing, shadows dance on my wall and desk.
The sun is setting in the west. It shines through my window and lights the wall. The sun shines on the leaves
outside; but they are only shadows on my sun lit wall. When a cloud covers the sun, the wall shines no more,
and the moving shadows disappear. When the sun re-emerges the shadows suddenly appear on my wall. The
wind also shifts sunshine and shadows on my face. And I feel lighter. But the sun sets.
An Ideal. An orange-red brick house; thin, strong transparent very clear windows daily washed with pure water;
sunlight that pours freely and radiantly inside; inside, sultry air, distant soft music, varnished wood floors, a hot
stove, and a steady, calm, powerful beating heart at work.
Lake walk. Yesterday I decided to indulge myself. I had the energy to do work but, for most of the day at least, I
did very little. Instead, during the late morning and early afternoon I took a sunbath under an entirely blue sky.
To feel the sun on my face, to smell that combination of sweat and tanning flesh, to watch the sweat glisten
down my chest to my abdomen, and to listen to classical music. When it got too hot for my face I covered it with a
hat. Through the tiny holes of the stitch work of the hat the sun filtered through. Being so close to my eyes, the
bits of light that passed through looked like circular rainbows. Through the lattice-like eyelashes I watched these
little circular rainbows and my blind-spots in them. At the bottom of my field of vision appeared a small spec of
brilliant and iridescent purple.
I was engorged with sun and had an intense craving for watermelon. I went back home, packed a knife and
a container and went to the supermarket. There I hugged a huge watermelon through the store. I then with it to
the park and parked under the bridge near the lake. In my car I cut up the watermelon and filled my container. I
put it in a bag and began to walk to the pedestrian bridge to the lake walk on the north bank. My gait was solid
and measured. My mind was thick and strong. My face was tanned, tight and warm. I wore a black dress shirt,
gold-khaki pants, and sandals. As I walked through the forested and sandy-graveled path, the green and shade
and light shifting through the green was vividly clear. My vision felt crisp and sharp. (There is something about the
vividness of light when you spend much time in introspection.) Thick in myself, and feeling all that occurred in my
own mind was but a dream, the reality of this speckled light beside the shimmering river was starkly beautifully.
Off the main path there was an area right on the water with a steel lattice structure that enclosed a small
space and a decorative stone pew. Vines had crawled up and around the lattice. The sun was descending to the
south bank but was still brilliantly shining in the sky. The water cast its light in its large ripples. I sat on the pew
by myself and pulled out my container stuffed with watermelon. My mouth waters even now when I think of how
succulent it was. After a while I descended into the narrow stone steps, only about two or three, that led directly
into the water. The sun was shining directly on my body and I lifted my face to it. I knew I couldn't stay too long
else I'd burn—but oh how intoxicating it feels to be slightly burned and hot and engorged with sun when it sets
and it is night! The skin feels tight and smells musky and I feel the energy of the sun, captured in my skin and
eyes, coursing through my blood. My mood is exuberant and I listen to exuberant powerful music to reflect this.
Lake. After hours of sunbathing and my skin feeling hot and emitting that sunned smell, to dive into the cold pool
and swim to the outcrop under the waterfall! After that afternoon, in the evening, I felt pure and exuberant.
Tropical nature. It is a sultry summer night. I engorged myself with sunshine all day. I am surfeit! I can taste the
sunlight that soaked my skin in the day. My thoughts and the feeling of my body are lush. It is nights like these
that I wish to gorge on poetry or robust philosophy or the flesh, yet at the same time, do not wish to disturb this
lushness, so indulge in this thick sweet syrupy thought and feel of my body. It’s late. And tomorrow I’ll wake
rapturous, but lazy.
An Apparition. I recall with yearning a summer day in the New Zealand. I meander around Cromwell Park until I
found a tree in the full light of the sun. I leaned against it, sunbathing, reading a comedy of Shakespeare's. Later,
returning to my apartment, I walked down a hill alongside a stone fence. My face was warm and taut and my hair
pulled tight behind me. I felt like solidified sunlight, like pure white light, as light as sunlight—I felt like an
apparition.