Sun V Clouds — Day Seven

The Sun Gazing Experiment:

Part I: Cloudy Sunrise

As Brett and I were leaving our morning yoga & chanting session we saw above us an incapacitating helmet of grey, an ominous barrier mocking our attempts to gaze. We knew from our thwarted experience yesterday morning that a trek to the top of the canyon would not intimidate the clouds. At best it would be a stroll into the fresh air; at worst we could end up with a foot full of dog poop and cactus thorns. So we set our minds to gaze today, for the first time since we began our quest, at sunset.

I am reading a book called “The Power of Your Subconscious Mind” by Joseph Murphy, and in it he calls the small ganglionic mass of nerves at the back of our abdomen our “abdominal brain” or our “subconscious mind,” and it’s located in our solar plexus. The idea is that our subconscious mind tends toward harmony and has the power to manifest our desires into physical reality and heal us. That sounds an awful lot like the claims made my NASA and fellow gazers about the effects of the sun itself. So I’m thinking our solar plexus, which houses our subconscious mind, is like a miniature version of the sun radiating inside us. It is a spark, inside my gut, giving me my gut feelings and illuminating me and guiding me from within. Solar energy is the fuel for my intuition. I think when we are sungazing we are charging up our brain as a by product because its right behind our eyes, but the real goal, the coveted result, is to get to light deep into the rivers and canals of our body so it travels down into our center and charges up the solar plexus, which is a charge to our subconscious mind. Sunlight nourishes and makes grow.

The goal of gazing for 44 minutes at the end of the nine months, according to Dwinell in his book “The Earth Was Flat: Insight into the Ancient Technique of Sungazing” is to make sure and expose all of our blood to the solar energy because forty four minutes is how long it takes for all the blood to pass behind the retina. I imagine this light charging each blood cell which in turn carries that energy deep inside me to the small cluster of brain cells in my gut named after the sun. The light comes from the sun deep in the center of our solar system, enters through my eyes and travels back home to the sun deep in the center of my solar plexus. As above, so below, as within, so without. The clouds usually bring with them a sense of melancholy or foreboding fragrance of failure. Now I look at the clouds and smile because they can only keep me from gazing upward at the sky. But they can’t stop me from breathing deep, closing my eyes, and gazing at the sun that lives at home, deep inside of me.

SIDE EFFECTS: It’s been two days without so much as a wink from the sun.

BENEFITS: I will be seeing a sunset today.

Part II: The Sunset

I watched my first sunset tonight since the gazing adventure began. Nikki and I, and our friend Johanna made our way to the beach this afternoon, plopped ourselves down on some beach chairs in the sand near a small cafe playing tropical tunes and waited for the white hot ball of fire to settle down just above the ocean so we could gaze. The pile of clouds that blocked the brilliant blistering ball from our eyes this morning were nowhere to be found now. We had a clear view of the vista of sand and ocean all the way to the sun. As it hovered low just above the horizon it began sinking faster, as if all of a sudden the sun realized it was late for a dinner date and started rushing. So I quickly set the time for one minute and ten seconds, we dug our bare feet deep into the sand and began our gaze. Our friend Johanna gazed as well for her first day and braved the blaze for a daring twenty-five seconds.

I am starting to realize that the tranquility that pervades me after each gaze is almost immediate and happens every single time without fail. The sun was white hot when we arrived to the beach around 4:30, and it became a flickering candle glow of deep gold by the time we were chasing it with our eyes as it sank below the horizon. The gaze felt more substantial today for me, I think due to the lengthening sessions. Seventy seconds is brief in the scheme of things but it feels like a long time to stare at the sun. More happens the longer I stare. The sun opens itself to me. Each day when I stare the brightness fades away after a few seconds and then a pulsing ball of inviting warm hearth light is left floating in the sky, almost taking on the appearance of a slightly brighter version of the moon.

About halfway through the gaze the sun began to change. It started to become transparent, as if it was no longer a ball of fire deep in space, but a puncture in the sky, a window into an entire universe on the other side of the cobalt sheet that covers us, and you can enter that other universe from the hole up there that we call the sun. The yellow light recedes and it is as if that disc is a perfectly round hole that has been cut out the fabric of our sky and the bright yellow is light emanating from the other world that is pouring through the hole.

Again it was hard to look away. It take as much discipline to break my gaze once I begin to look as it does to get myself to the hilltop in the morning in the first place. As we drove home from the beach we were being cradled by the usual giddiness. Watching the sun rush off to his other appointments was a great way to spend the day named after him. This isn’t just any Sunday. It’s the Sunday that we caught a glimpse into another world.

SIDE EFFECTS: I noticed today that I am actually eating less. Not less junk food necessarily, but much less often. I have breakfast and then I don’t even realize I am hungry and should eat again until late evening an easy ten to twelve hours later. This is has been happening for a few days but I only just became fully aware of it tonight.

BENEFITS: A surge of tranquility and giddiness passes from the sun to me each and every time I gaze.

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