The sky was a palette and the sunset was mixing every shade between red and orange. Across from me, a woman under a beach umbrella took out her phone. She was trying to catch the fire in the sky. I looked further and saw three, maybe four others doing the same.

Facebook culture, I thought. Instead of living the stillness, they rushed to capture it — to pass it on. Some, maybe, were moved by kindness: let distant friends enjoy it too, those stuck in hot, dusty cities.

Others had different reasons. Some wanted to say: look at me, how deeply I feel the world, how beautifully I freeze it in a frame. And others — well, they wanted to show they were someone.

Reasons vary. But one thing is certain: a sunset over the sea, on a quiet summer evening like this, holds something that brushes the edge of the magical.

Maybe it’s the colors — dozens of warm shades born from the playful mix of red and orange and gold. Then it spreads, reflected on the water, setting it all ablaze. But more than that, it gives the moment a beauty, a gentleness — like two lovers sitting quietly, in perfect accord.

And it stands out. All day, the sky had been plain. No change, no story. Just a summer sky. But now dusk was moving through, dragging shadows between the trees, brushing the ground with a deep blue — nearly black — that made the fire above stand even brighter.

Perhaps the spell lies in the symbols. Sunset is the end of day. But in your mind, it becomes more. The end of everything. Dying, leaving. And still — it’s a soft goodbye. A beautiful one. One full of space and tinged with longing. And it promises return. Morning will come. And you wish this kind of ending for yourself, and for all those you love.

Still, the magic of sunset may have little to do with ideas. It may not come from the mind at all. Maybe it rises from the body, not the brain. From feeling, not thought.

Because the sunset brings a moment when reason slows down. When thinking fades into sensing. When you feel you are slipping out of yourself, melting into the world. When the beyond feels close.

To escape the tyranny of logic and rest in the stillness of feeling — that, perhaps, is the real crossing over.