The stillness of the dark- Nothing is as still as pure, thick darkness.
My fingers touch the chalky texture of the wall. Even in this darkness, I can feel the colour attaching to my skin. Each little raised mark is known to me. Each image is a part of my skin, my blood. I walk carefully, one foot in front of the other, silently placing my weight into the soft, powdery sand. The light is coming. I can feel it from within me, a warmth growing from somewhere deep and hidden. The secret heart of it. As I walk around the corner, my fingers grazing the wall, I see it ahead of me. It slinks down the incline, shining off every grain of sand that covers the sandstone floor. The light is coming. It is finding its way home to me.
I will swallow it whole. I will carry it within me, into the dark places. I will keep it safe, beneath the earth in the tombs where the shadows lie. The sun rests here, where the dead are kept. As I walk over I bend, my knee sinking into the silk of the sand. I touch my fingertips to the warmth of it, feeling it running up my arm like liquid, like fluid fire. I let it roll into my palm, curling into itself. Slowly it forms into a disk, flat and perfect. It shines back at me, as I squint my eyes as I look at the clear image of my dark muzzle reflected back. Flat on my hand, I carry the sun back down into its home, into the sacred, stillness of the tomblands. The place where everything comes, where every life, every energy lies still and quiet. It is home.
It will leave me, again. I must let it go every day, hand it to the sky, to the people who bask in its glory above me. They think that it is dead, cold and alone, while they rest their heads in the world of dreams. But it is here with me. It is in its second home, I am the keeper in the dark, of the things that slip out of sight. Every moment I hold it in the secret places, is a moment of my heart beating in time with the pulse of the sun. It is as much mine as his, whether they see it or not.