The Sermon of Skin: Why They Called Me a Slut for Praying Right
They called me a slut for showing skin.
Cute.
Skin is not shame. Skin is the altar where the real Son/Sun preaches—and the sermon has always been written in light.
Growing up, I was told my body was dangerous. Flesh was temptation. Exposure was rebellion. My worth was measured in how well I could hide the very thing that was designed to keep me alive.
The irony? My body knew the truth long before I had the language for it.
The Summer the Sun Saved Me
One early summer, I was a kid recovering from a stomach bug that had swept through the whole family. I dragged myself outside because that’s what I did—dawn to dusk, barefoot, wild, trying to forget the world by disappearing into it. But that morning, I didn’t have it in me. My body felt heavy, fever-warm. So I did what came naturally: I found a patch of soft dirt, dug a shallow hole just big enough for my body, and curled up in it like an animal returning to the earth. The sun was already high, hot enough to sting, but I didn’t move. I fell into one of those blackout naps where time disappears, the kind that resets you on a level deeper than sleep. When I woke hours later, I felt new. No nausea. No headache. Just the strange, electric hum of feeling alive. I never forgot that day—the smell of dirt, the weight of sunlight, the way my skin felt charged, like I’d been plugged back into something ancient. I didn’t know it then, but that wasn’t just rest. It was biology.
The Science They Never Told Us
Your mitochondria—the tiny organelles that decide whether you thrive or decay—are solar-powered. Food only recycles electrons; light charges them. At dawn, before the sun even breaks the horizon, infrared and red wavelengths begin slipping into your skin. They penetrate deeply, activating cytochrome c oxidase, flipping on ATP production—the energy currency of life—and triggering melatonin, not just as a sleep hormone but as the body’s strongest antioxidant. Morning light lowers inflammation like a built-in detox. By the time the sun climbs to about 30° above the horizon, UVA begins its work—releasing nitric oxide, expanding blood vessels, improving circulation, and activating vitamin D pathways before UVB stress dominates later in the day. This early window is your circadian software update. Miss it, and your cells run outdated code.
That dirt nap wasn’t magic; it was sunlight, electrons, and grounding—nature’s original biohacking stack.
The Esoteric They Tried to Erase
Ancient cultures weren’t worshiping the sun because they were primitive; they were encoding truths we’re only now proving in labs.
The Egyptians crowned Ra with a solar disk because they understood that life force traveled on light. Vedic texts revered Surya not as a deity to fear but as prana embodied in photons. Even the Bible hints at it: “The Son of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings” (Malachi 4:2). The word “wings” translates to “rays.” The Son is the Sun. Dawn light was communion. Bare skin was prayer. The mystics knew the body wasn’t sinful—it was the antenna. And every time I lay in the sun, even as a child, I was tuning into something holy, whether I knew it or not.
The Real Rebellion
When I hit my teenage years, that truth was buried under shame. Mothers’ groups whispered about the way I “tempted” boys. Youth pastors gave sermons about girls like me. My hemline was policed like national security. I used to feel small under their stares. Now I feel neutral. Their “modesty” was never holiness—it was disconnect. They traded their biological birthright for man-made rules written by people terrified of women’s power.
So yes, they called me a slut for showing skin. But I was the only one praying right. The Son/Sun has been preaching this sermon forever. They just never learned how to listen.