I rode my bike a few miles out west to Woodlawn Lake for the total eclipse last Monday. It was the best I could do. It wasn’t total but it was plenty dark for a couple minutes.
It was weird. Twilight and sunrise don’t happen that fast and my eyes couldn’t adapt, they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing. Basically a sunset and a sunrise all in about 20 minutes. It seemed to happen in quantum hops not gradually and smoothly like I would logically expect.
I had been there for about an hour and a half before, staked out on a park bench overlooking one arm of the lake. Just looking. Just looking around. Seeing and watching. Seeing and noticing. The lake, the trees the skyline, the birds flying thru the sky, the kids on the other side of the water swinging on the swing set, yelling. Noticing light itself. Noticing sight. It was like a healing modality for my tired eyes. Waiting. Sitting in silence.
I watched two Grackles nearby who were patrolling the grassy area for bugs. Whenever they would flush one out they would hop on it right away and snatch it up with their beak before it could escape. They didn’t know about the upcoming eclipse, presumably. ‘Probably they’ll start looking for their evening roost and then, oh wow, it’s morning again.’ I thought to myself.
I wonder what that does to a Grackle’s brain. Can you ever really trust twilight and sunrise again? Or do they just go with the flow, no explanation needed. If it’s twilight I’ll go to bed, if it’s morning I’ll get up. Hard to say what a Grackle thinks.
What I thought was wow, I can almost sense Mother Earth and Sister Moon. And the Sun god too. All in relationship with one another, moving and intersecting. Like huge and far away,
It’s a cosmic celestial event I thought to myself. But then I realized cosmic celestial events are happening all the time. The Earth turns, the stars shine, the Moon glows. Every sunrise and sunset is a cosmic celestial event.
After the healing session with my eyes I was ready to see something and that’s when the eclipse started to happen. Another person had joined me on the park bench so we were making pleasant talk and waiting for the show to begin. Actually he was on a bike too so I guess that’s why he joined me because I was on my bike too. So anyways the eclipse started happening even though the sun was totally occluded. Means you couldn’t see it. Thick clouds everywhere. You couldn’t even tell where the sun was in the sky the clouds were so heavy. But the light changed. It certainly did. And it grew darker, as dark as deep inside a forest is what it seemed to me.
Back in the day, when there were deep dark forests, there was darkness like that. No light beam was able to hit the forest floor through that canopy, only diffused light, reflected off leaves and vines. That’s where all the spooky stories come from.
It was something like that, spooky, watching the light change. This is primordial, this is familiar, this is an ancient memory.
We have masked the power of Nature with our cities and our highways but a solar eclipse puts it back in perspective. Huge and far away. Ancient forces aligning in the sky, swooping down through one second of its orbit to paint its shadow on planet Earth. Spheres zipping through their entangled arcs, pathways in space. That’s what I’m feeling too. Now in retrospect.
We are like aliens on our own planet. We don’t even know this place. Yeah scientifically maybe but not really, not like if we were actual partners in the biosphere, not like a friend who we know and love and have an intimate relationship with.
What if someone watched the eclipse who didn’t have any scientific information about it, they had no idea what was going on but they felt awe. Somebody somewhere probably saw it that way.
podcast music by Darkside, the track is called - Hot Sand 01:16:36
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total eclipse