The Sun does not show on this hill. Ra does not point his head out. Geb lays down. Bends backward, looks up.

Nut looks down. She is open for him. Open to what possibility, what flux capacitor?

Geb unites with her on the mount. His journey finished, past extinguished. This was not expected.

He thinks back to that bright dawn on Cadillac Mountain with the three closest, 2019. Beautiful, majestic, shining, but yet, foggy.

Other nature from that year, running 4.5 miles in polar vortex with traitors. The thought of that coming up on half a decade.

Keep the Cadillac, lose the Mercury Cyclone. Keep the sun, lose the iciness.

Geb sits here with the inner three. He thrusts upward, onward. He is his own, and nothing else.

Where has time gone, is it an illusion? What has he lost, what gained? He feels the magnetic pull as he moves up and down, the fetters broken. Resting within the poles, riding the billows.

Genesis again. Twilight come not yet. Half Full, remember?

He misses Ra, not wanting to rise from this sleep. The resting done him well, yet dreams come back. Dreams of what could have been merged with what might be.

What might be calls through the slit of the open sky, Geb, Nut. Shu raised forth.

Pivotal, two roads. One decided, the next, choice. Big sky, large decisions. Forthrightness, opening his mouth for the waters to quench and quell, heal and prepare.

The love stabilized within a cage finally let out. Open once again with discernment. Eyes closed, not seeing but feeling, hearing, smelling.

Are the rain drops tears or not, he doesn’t know, nor does he care. It is good. It is right.

Is he still laying here? Time to awake. Time to move into the new dawn. But where is Ra?

Geb is his own parent for now apparently. That works. But without the sun?

He rises. How? On his own with a little help. Mahler’s “Resurrection.” London Symph. Thanks Lenny.