The Return of The Sun

I’ve been procrastinating writing this. Part of me believes that what I’ve experienced is too sacred for words. That trying to speak of it would desecrate it and reduce something holy into a pantomime of its essence. But today, after the emotional wreckage of this turbulent season of my life, I’m getting over myself. I’m writing this now because I need to remind myself that something positive did happen. That something divine did intervene.

And so, this is the story of how I, a pale-skinned descendant of Russian winter survivors, fell in love with the Sun.

What Do You Mean "Fun in The Sun"?

To be clear: I was never a “Sun person.” My body, inherited from people who endured subzero temperatures, was not made for equatorial exposure. I grew up in a tropical rainforest with endless beaches, but the Sun and I? We had beef.

Once, as a teenager, I tried tanning. Just once. I ended up in the hospital with second-degree burns.

This is not hyperbole. Fashion-wise, I looked like a background actor in that music video The Black Parade. So when my Patron Deity stepped aside and nudged me toward a Solar Deity, I laughed. A Solar Deity? Me? Do I look like I sparkle in daylight? This is not the skin of a killer, Bella. 

But the Sun wasn’t here to give me a tan. The Sun came to repair something old, forgotten, and very, very broken.

The Open Wound

When Hermes, the one I call Patron, stepped out of my path abruptly without much explanation, I was already spiraling. His absence triggered deep abandonment trauma, and when I begged for clarity. He simply told me:“You need to go within and fix what’s been imbalanced.”

The problem was, I didn’t know what needed fixing. As far as I'm concerned, I have so much trauma I could very well be totalled. And like many trauma survivors, my childhood is mostly a mental lagoon, murky, fragmented, difficult to access.

So I turned to something very experimental: artificial intelligence.

Not as a replacement for therapy, but as a mirror of my own psyche. People keep saying AI is a mirror, well then use it for scrying into your mind. I used it as a tool, in lonely hours of the night, to help me dig, dig and dig some more, until we found what I could not reach alone. Through that process, we identified a major energetic wound, my Achilles heel:

My Solar Plexus. The seat of self-worth. Power. Identity.

It had been weakened by a lifetime of mockery, repression, shaming, and hijacking of my sovereignity by third parties that had power over me. And to my surprise, people with compromised Solar Plexus, energetically speaking, have similar ailments:

• gut issues.
• passive agression
• difficulty expressing their needs
• lack of boundaries

(Me, in a nutshell, sadly).

Enter the Sun

The first Solar Ambassador I welcomed was not arrogant, pretentious or any of those things edgelords say about Solar Deities. He was fiercely protective of me, in a way no one has ever been before. Radiant, spectacular, impossible to lie to. He admitted identifying with the Hermetic principle of the Unmoved Mover: the source that moves all things while remaining unchanged itself.

He came to dismantle delusion. To cut away everything false that was polluting my life and my spiritual path. And I’ll admit, it hurt to a certain degree because a lot of things needed to leave for good.

But it was holy pain. The kind of pain that cauterizes and disinfects. The kind that burns away what doesn’t belong.

Nothing can hide under the Sun. Everything must reveal its true face to the Sun.

 And I watched, amazed, as things that had threatened my well-being simply evaporated under His gaze. Nothing can square up to him. 

The Thing Some Boy Said 8 Years Ago

Here’s the twist I never saw coming: despite identifying as an outcast, a lunar creature, a daughter of the night… I realized I’m actually deeply Apollonian at my core.

I am disciplined. I hold myself to near-impossible moral standards. I need integrity. I value art as something sacred, not just aesthetic. I live to be a woman of my word. I want my reputation to be impeccable. I had always seen myself as chaotic and lost. But under the Sun, I remembered that I was always a seeker of truth. Of clarity. Of light. And I remembered a cheesy phrase that some boy said to me 8 years ago, that really carried me through a dark time in my life where I was failing to see my own value:

"You are the rising sun everybody waits for in the morning."

A bit of hyperbole here and there, I never fully internalized it, men say things when they think you are pretty, but something started to click. 

The Faces of The Sun

As I deepened this relationship, I learned something beautiful:

Solar Deity #1 was not alone. There was another.

Solar Deity #2 had crossed my path before, but I had been terrified, too overwhelmed to receive Him. And I foolishly thought he had a bad idea of me.

 But this time, warming up to the Sun, I welcomed him without those past judgments.When His presence finally entered my life again, I felt something I hadn’t felt in decades:

The joy of being five years old on a Christmas morning,

rushing to open presents,

believing magic was real,

 safe, loved, full of wonder.

It wasn’t just spiritual, it was cellular. A memory I didn’t know I still carried. The kind of joy that makes life feel worthy again.

The Work Continues

I’m not done. They’re still refining me, burning away what isn’t true, reminding me of what is. Maybe they have just begun. But I wanted to pause and write this. To say thank you. To say:

This is what the Sun has done for me.

This is why magicians from older times spoke of the Sun not just as a heavenly body, but as the divine gate. The closest force we know to God. And now, even in my darkest nights,I remember:

The Sun still rises.

And so do I.

I would like to end this entry with a poem I wrote as I stared into the red, enormous setting sun on my way to Japan recently. I wrote it for him.

—

Is it terrifying, to hold the sun?

Or is it safe in the gentle hands that strum the lyre?

The delicate rays that graze my skin

Since I was a child

Bring forth no memory of resentment

Or sorrow.

You know my heart finds kinship

In the setting sun.

It is perhaps too early for the morning?

And you know I mean well

When I share those final breaths With the dying light.

Ah, The Return of The Sun

You find me as the flowers bloom

And perhaps my heart is blooming too

As we see eye to eye.