That morning I watched as the sun awakened, fully aware that, later in the day, it would be partially covered by the moon. The birds were singing. The dogwoods were in bloom. The sky was full of cumulous clouds that were touched by the sunrise and had light traces of pink along their edges.
I can still recall the last eclipse I saw in August of 2017. My younger son and I stood mesmerized in our backyard, eclipse glasses on. With that eclipse, we were in the path of totality, an ominous sounding description that carries a definite hint of foreboding. It still did not prepare us for what was going to happen. “What you see in an eclipse,” writes Annie Dillard, “is entirely different from what you know.”
Though it feels like a slow process, the shadow of an eclipse travels at speeds between 1,100 to 5,000 miles per hour.
As the sun diminished, our sense of wonder expanded.
What we had not expected was the darkness and the silence that came with a total eclipse. It was as if one of the scrolls of Revelation had been opened. The darkness was tangible. You felt this in the base of your being.
I understood the how and why of a solar eclipse but all understanding is gone in those four minutes of darkness. When it felt like night, one could even see stars, but the streetlights did not come on.
All birdsong stopped.
One forgets that it’s the moon. It just looks like darkness. An eerie twilight where everything was still and silent. It struck awe within us by the change it brought on our world for that small period of time. It was what pioneering astronomer Maria Mitchell called “the un-sunlike sun.”
Neither of us spoke as we watched it. We didn’t dare tread on sacred ground with mere hollow words that would fall short of what we were experiencing.
After it was over, my younger son went back inside. Probably to play video games. But I just stood there, trying to process what I just experienced.
I thought of my ancient ancestors and wondered what I would have made of just such an event if I had no grasp of what was about to happen and for how long. What if there had been no warning, no understanding of such a celestial event. If I didn’t know that this would only last for four minutes. How terrifying would it have been. To have seen this all through the lens of believing that things were either punishment for our wrongs or blessings for our goodness.
I thought about how would we be changed if such an event lasted hours instead of mere minutes.
Even in my understanding, this was a moment of science, poetry and divinity touching in a way that is as overwhelming as if we had encountered some wild, ancient god.
The one we were going to have on this day would only be a partial eclipse. I would teach my kindergarten class about an eclipse all day. We watched videos, we did crafts, and I re-enacted an eclipse using a flashlight and a small cutout of black construction paper. I had one kid turn off the classroom lights and showed them.
That afternoon, as we were out on the playground for recess, the eclipse began slowly. They put on their eclipse glasses and gazed upward. The slowness of the eclipse led them to sighs, boredom and returning to play with their friends. After school, I picked up my younger son from his high school and headed home. As I drove, it was clear that the shadow was blocking more of the sun as it became somewhat darker as if the sky was covered in dark gray rain clouds.
By the time we arrived home, the eclipse was nearly at its peak.
My younger son, my daughter-in-law and I headed to our front yard to watch. Unlike the last eclipse, all of our neighbors had gathered outdoors. This was more communal. We even took turns sharing our eclipse glasses with those who didn’t have any.
I loved that we all gave ourselves over to this even that was something beyond our control, beyond our daily plans, beyond ourselves. We gave the eclipse our full attention, all were present and aware. It was a sacred and spiritual moment of connection to each other, to that which was occurring in the sky. Despite knowing the science behind what was happening, I still felt awe and reverence.
During the partial eclipse the birds still sang.
During the total eclipse, I forgot anyone was around me. Not so with the partial eclipse, as we chatted with neighbors who seldom come outside and we generally only see in passing.
There was something beautiful about this communal experience of watching the eclipse. To know that all about the country everyone was waiting and watching with expectation with what was going to happen. In the moment of the eclipse, all differences in people were gone. There was no discussions of those things that divide us. Just like our ancestors, there were still those who saw the eclipse, along with the recent earthquake in New York, as signs and portents.
In the past, some peoples considered an eclipse to be an omen of death. The Vikings believed an eclipse occurred when the wolf Skoll, who pursued the goddess Sol across the sky, finally caught her.
Some believe eclipses to be both a time of darkness and spiritual renewal - a period of profound spiritual transition.
For us, we all just felt a collective awe that we were alive to witness it.
During this eclipse, it was a time when my neighbors and I were outside together, enjoying this grand event. Though this was only a partial eclipse, it was no less miraculous because of the sense of community we felt during it.
Even when we weren’t looking up at the eclipse, we were dazzled and delighted by our driveways stippled by tiny crescent moons amidst the shadows.
As if the excitement of an eclipse was not enough, I also spotted a Bluebird perched on the branch of one of the old oaks in my yard. Camera in hand, I snapped several photos of it. Perhaps, because of the eclipse, it did not move much, did not fly away. This felt just as wondrous to me as the eclipse itself.
In the midst of an eclipse, science does not matter. All one feels a heightened sense of the great depth of mystery that is our grand universe.
I also felt a sense of disappointment as my neighbors all ambled back into their homes and I could not help but wonder if this was a single solitary moment of collectiveness. I hoped not. I hoped that a greater miracle had occurred, that we all grasped our connectedness. Perhaps these four minutes showed us that we needed to come out of our sequestered solitariness, out of our homes, out of our single stories to find that we are all apart of each others. This was my hope.
Perhaps that’s why, in the midst of this, I spotted the bluebird. Bluebirds are symbols of hope, love and renewal. They are seen as very good omens. I would now take it as one.
Yet I am one who believes hope is not merely a wish but something that must be worked for, worked towards. That is exactly what I would now do - use this event as a springboard to create community with those who live around me.
I walked back to my house, changed, transformed and with a purpose. If only all of us could experience such an event in this way. Perhaps then, this world might change for the better.
I felt the same way! We were fortunate to be in the path of totality, and you are right, nothing can prepare you for the experience when the “light goes out.” I loved sharing the moment with others in our community and the collective gasp when the diamond of light burst forth. If only we could find more moments of magic to bring us together … they are all around us like your beautiful bluebird. Thank you for sharing your thoughtful experience.
It was a wonderful experience of the reality that at the root of everything we really do all want something like this to join us together, to override all those things that are dividing us. At heart, we are a communal people. Also, I love Mako's comment on the eclipse and hope he elaborates: "Such a profound convergence of celestial bodies must shape how we might encounter them now. It was an “apophatic” experience."