The sun's heart burns like fire cannot burn. Crossing the sky, it kneels to kiss the earth -- and is swallowed by a wine-dark sea. We see everywhere the reason for the sun: It is life, light, time. But to it, are we larger than a pebble, circumambulating the mountain like a homesick flea? The sun's heart burns without purpose. It loves only to know love; showering the emptiness of space, unbounded, always giving, never conscious of return. Today, two white orbs, dotted with green reflect a light that can never be contained; swept a million miles into dream by a Heart more ardent than flame. Even as a sun's love finally created the hearts who adore it: Love only to love, and the Beloved will appear.