A few nights ago, I came home from the beach and watched the moo low in the sky. It reminded me of those nights in Uruguay when I felt peace.
Plasma throwing out radiation and solar flares 93 million miles away. Burning through 600 million tons of hydrogen every second. Just far enough away to keep us warm instead of vaporizing us. A thermonuclear reaction softened by layers of atmosphere. Pretty!
Last semester, there was a total solar eclipse passing through the US. I put on my stupid glasses and left the library with Eli. We watched the sun become a little less big, then full size again. It was mildly interesting.
Then came the reports from those in the path of totality—an indescribably profound, perspective-shifting, life-altering experience. Solar eclipses happen when the moon passes directly through the invisible line connecting the sun and the Earth, which doesn’t happen very often because space is big and the line is very skinny.
Even though we didn’t get the full eclipse experience, there was still something surreal about watching the sun get partially covered up for a little while. When giant celestial bodies line up just right and we get to witness it. Sometimes, my mind, heavy, forgets we live on the edge of a tiny rock in vast space. Mary Oliver: how wonderful to be who I am, made out of earth and water, my own thoughts, my own fingerprints— all that glorious, temporary stuff.
There are about 70 total solar eclipses every century, each resulting in a thin path of total sun blockage. For most of history, there was no way to know when or where they would happen. Only the very lucky few who happened to be in the right place, at the right time, with the right weather, got to experience a total solar eclipse. Today, you can ensure you see one. I know there’s a partial one later this month. Will update then.