Nothing could have prepared me for that moment when the last sliver of sun disappeared, and the corona burst forth. Not gonna lie – I started crying, taking in the dark sky and my dimmed yard, astonished that that last tiny sliver of light had been so mighty.
This week’s total solar eclipse was stunning beyond anticipation and almost beyond comprehension. Sitting in the warm, bright sunshine on April 8 waiting for it to begin and listening to the birds, it was hard to imagine what was coming, adding a layer of clothing as the eclipse progressed, feeling the loss of heat as much as the loss of light.
To experience the totality and the corona and the silence defies description. You can look at pictures from the best photographers (and thanks to our local greats who shared them) and nothing prepares you for the impact of that process -- that shift from a tiny sliver of sun to the corona with the surrounding skies so dark.
And then that first sliver of sun returned, and that tiniest sliver offered so much light, followed by the glorious return of all the light and the sun’s warmth on our upturned faces.
It was a deeply profound experience to watch the sun go away and return. It’s hard to find the words to frame it. I may never look at the sun -- provider of light and heat and all the processes that sustain our planet -- the same way again. I was left with immense, humbling gratitude for our universe and our small planet, and our existence. It was an incredible reset on what matters.
Millenia ago, our forebears, on seeing an eclipse must have thought the world had ended. They must have cried from fear and then joy at the return of the light. Perhaps that is the deep DNA memory that caused us to weep.
The Sun Never Says
Even
After
All this time
The sun never says
To the Earth,
‘You owe me’
Look what happens
With a love like that,
It lights the
Whole sky.
-Hafiz
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