It’s called the solar anesthetic.  A powerful narcotic, not for the weak of heart.  It tends, in extreme doses, to drive its subjects to ultra-hysteria.  It
consists of an energetically imposed state of total bodily possession
wherein the Sun beats down so hard that mindlessness alone would
constitute a heroic act of genius. 

Unlike other anesthesia that numb all sensations, the solar anesthesic allows one to continue to feel.  But only one sensation: absolute inner desolation. 

Solar anesthesia quickly numbs the capacity to think, the ability to relate.   Common
comments by those not yet fully under its influence and still able to
muster a last thought and articulate words are: “It’s as hot as hell.”  And, “It’s so damn hot that I could easily die.”  But most often, onset is so rapid that only disconsolate, disconnected thoughts and words are forthcoming. 

An unspoken yearning for a fantastic element named "water” invariably occurs.  At this point, some subjects have been reported to mouth a word or two that sounds something like “mother” or “wawa”.  In
either case, this is clinically viewed as an obvious ontological lapse
back into a pre-birth safety suit of long-departed micro-oceanic
friendliness.  In any case, this hope for the miracle
of “water” is soon abandoned with the final, awakening realization that
anything as delightful as “wawa”, under the circumstances, must purely
be self-delusionary.  A classic instance of, one seems forced to concede, "that if it sounds to good to be true, it just can’t be."

Yet
if one remains aligned to the solar anesthetic (that is, not
counteracting its effects by tripping-out in some mundane WaterWorld or
similar surrogate), fulfills the rite of passage, and
survives its stripping rigors (like a satellite barreling toward the
Sun in order to be slungshot out to the remotest reaches of space), it
ultimately transforms its own effacing effects within body and
self into a heightened realization of post-solar energetic
synesthesia. 

Experience or just imagine: Beyond the commanding baptismal dessication of the blinding Sun, the
whole world opens up as never before.  A newly-revealed tidal
cosmos influx, commendations soaring true, returns one to a
watery darkness.  One begins to
re-constellate fluidly in deep post-birth to new
meaning-place and purpose.  Rebirthed by fire, with but
a single drop of that remaining magic water within, one yields to
all that is greater with the unifying concession of "Tat twam asi"  - That is thyself.

Every summer, running deliriously in the Sun, I seek this solar anesthesic.  To the destructive element I submit.  I choose this death.  Because the reincarnation awaiting is pure merge with a reclaiming ocean, a sacred abyss beyond dimension.