An astonished doctor once said to me "well, I wouldn't have believed it until I saw the whole family."

He was referring, of course, to the unusual paleness of my skin. After an exhaustive series of tests to determine organ function, metal poisoning and all other forms of blood deficiency, our family doctor finally sat slack-jawed as my father, mother and older brother gathered around him in his tiny, sterile office.

"You're all so pale. It's almost a blue white pale, isn't it?" he said, while quickly scribbling notes in his folder. "You all must have very strong blood."

Born and raised within the clutches of icy Canadian weather on the high northern prairies, my entire family certainly did have strong blood and, for lack of sunshine, unusually pale skin. So, through its own imperial research science was, once again, proven right. Funny how that works.

I, of course, am much more interested in the cycles of the sun than in my suspicious lack of a tan. Although definitely not a sunbather and certainly no scientist, I have noticed over the years that the sun's hue and intensity has changed. And, ironically, I remember the day it started.

Back in the early 1980s and while on my way to a particularly feisty Comparative Philosophies class at the University of Alberta, I stepped outside my front door on a warm June morning. It was unmistakable: the light had changed.

The sky seemed a bleached pale blue, colors were less vibrant and daylight glared more harshly. Being a particularly pale person my first thought was, of course, to call the police. Instead, I gathered my courage and hurriedly rushed through the dazzling summer sunshine. Once safely inside I defiantly announced my observations to several of my classmates. Although they agreed, none seemed unnerved.

Fools, they: definitely the sun had changed and, to date, it has never changed back. It would still be years, however, before the words 'ultra-violet light' and 'UV index' would become common phrases in our language.

And the changes continue. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s the sun's solar minimum and maximum cycles sped up and slowed down like an irregular heart beat. Solar winds and spewing fiery streams raced, lumbered, stilled and raced again. For years the sun labored like a gulping fish. And then in mid-to-late 2007, strangely and without warning, the sun began pulsating rhythmically while generating an unprecedented number of sunspots.

Scientists were baffled by the sun's behavior but nevertheless presented several detailed and reassuring theories: evolving solar maximums, unpredictable dark matter and processional cosmic cycles were among the more captivating.

And then, again without warning early in June 2008, it all stopped. No solar winds, no sunspots; not so much as a warble: nothing, absolute calm, for months and months and months.

And I have to say; it's just a bit creepy.

As a student of astro-theology and as an amateur observer of the cosmos, I know the sun's behavior is always extremely meaningful. The great scientists throughout history have all studied the sun's movement. Every culture on the face of the earth has charted the sun's journey, planted by her rhythms and metaphorically translated their religious beliefs through her life-giving cycles. The sun is important; it is very, very important.

And so, what to make of the sun's bizarre progressive behavior?

I suspect something big is coming. Perhaps the sun is preparing to grow larger or tilt on its axis or ignite an incoming sister sun. As a childish, arrogant and extremely naive species, all theories are in play. Politicians tell us the earth is warming, scientist tell us the earth is cooling, modern physicists ask us to be patient while they create an artificial black hole, the ancient Mayans tell us the world will soon end and NASA tells us pretty much anything that ensures its funding.

But when all is said and done, I have to rely on my light sensitive eyes, my tender white-blue skin, my deeply felt instincts and my astrologer's heart: something much larger is happening, something more spiritual.

The ecliptic procession of the cosmos can not be ignored. Soon our little corner of the sky will be boldly facing the ominous and cryptic center of the universe. There will almost certainly be unprecedented cultural events, prophetic visions, intensified social perceptions and dramatic newscasts. There may even be earth catastrophes.

But beyond that there may also be a window of time when the more perceptive among us can witness other dimensions, be they good dimensions or evil. There may even be a time when skin tone, medical conjuring and scientific pronouncements don't matter. And there may be a time when we can, after laboring through a painful birth, begin to understand some of the magic.