Reflections on a Solar Eclipse

Solar eclipse

We didn’t know what to expect.

How could we? None of us had seen a total eclipse of the Sun before.

Those of us who were astronomer enthusiasts read a lot about it, had seen pictures of it, memorized myriads of facts about it and had all kinds of preconceptions. But except for the fact that for six minutes and fifty-two seconds on this day in this place we would be standing beneath the Moon’s shadow, none of us really knew what to expect.

For myself, at least, I think that not knowing what to expect is what made the excitement build up to such an intense level.

The “scientist-astrophotographer” in me was experiencing increasing unrest.

ASA 125 or 1000 film?

To focus on the Moon’s disc or on the solar corona?

Will the tripod adjust to allow me to aim my camera freely at the zenith?

At the same time, the “introspective seeker” part of me began to contemplate the vastness of this event.

From Hawaii to Brazil there would be millions of people gazing up in earnest (as only we humans do) to view this special celestial event. Millions of others would be able to view this event on television. What beauty to behold? What meaning and understanding would be found there? All the while another part of me, my “indiscriminate worrier” (which insists on worrying about things that cannot be changed) kept asking, “What if it is cloudy?”

Rendezvous with the moon’s shadow

There were more than forty of us gathered together on the spacious patio rooftop of our bed-and-breakfast hotel. Astronomically and aesthetically, it was a superb viewing site. In every direction were unobstructed views extending to the horizon—the vast Baja California deserts, distant barren hills and the infinite blue of merging sky and ocean. It was July and it was hot, and not a cloud was in sight. The anxiety-evoking clouds of early morning had completely dissipated leaving my “indiscriminate worrier” with little to do but watch the clock.

Now that tripod, telephoto filter and camera were set up, it would be just a matter of time.

I recall those moments leading to the eclipse

In truth, it was more than “just a matter of time.” At least, it was more than just a matter of clock time. My watch seemed irrelevant, futile. I had little interest in the sweeps of the second hand or the configuration of the minute and hour hands. After all, the “scientist-astrophotographer” part of me was waiting an eclipse! In my mind was an image of the movement of the Earth, our rooftop viewing platform rotating eastward, the sun in its illusory way rising higher in the mid-morning sky.

But mostly, I could imagine the Moon coming from the west, gliding along towards it predestined rendezvous with the sun. Four hundred times smaller than the Sun, but four hundred times closer, the lunar disc was on a collision course which would blot out the Sun. Here was not only “gravity­ bending space-time” but “time-in­ motion”. Reliable, objective and predictable time. With charts, computers, and the know-how of Isaac Newton, they could predict this. “They” say it will happen today and happen here. My “indiscriminate worrier” laughed at the thought, “What if ‘they’ are wrong?”

The “scientist-astropho­tographer” part of me “knew” they couldn’t be wrong.

(A mat­ter of faith, perhaps?)

I marveled at the ancients of the great civi­lizations who had learned how to predict eclipses.

A different sense of time

I began to slip into a sense of “earth time” or “solar system time.” Slow, inexorable-a time that was long before human beings appeared on the scene. Time unheeded. Dispassionate time.

“First contact!” The daydream­er within me awakened in an instant. “First contact!” Another shout confirmed it. Most of us were aware of exactly what that meant. The eclipse had begun. Through our telescopes the evi­dence was clear. The inky black silhouette of the Moon had taken its first nibble out of the Sun.

Bigger bites would progressively follow. Slowly, relentlessly, the Moon was engulfing the Sun. Totality awaited us. Yet only our noisy exclamations gave any indi­cation that the event was in progress. Looking around, there was still no hint that the Moon had begun its blockade. The Sun continued glaring down indiffer­ently. An eclipse will thrust you into a strange, new world. Do not allow yourself to be hypnotized solely by the beauty of the eclipse itself; remember to observe its effects on the landscape all around you.

Solar eclipse in the moon's shadow

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw

I recalled such admonitions from the accounts of eclipse observers that I had read previous­ly. But none could prepare me for what was happening. It was startling, this rapid rush of events just prior to totality. An eerie, incongruent world created by forces far beyond my control was descending upon me. It was a world which would overwhelm my senses.

An unfamiliar coolness had already settled over the Baja desert. The air temperature had dropped more than 10 degrees F. Gentle breezes could now be felt where before there was only still, hot air. Were these the “eclipse winds,” convection currents gener­ated by air cooling down in the shadow of the Moon? And as sub­tly as the temperature had dropped, so too had the sunlight dimmed. The difference at first was barely discernible. Now the light of day had become down­ right spooky. We found ourselves immersed in an unnerving hue of dim, shimmering, blue-grey haze. By this time we could hear dogs howling in the distance and soar­ing birds were seen circling aimlessly. City lights that were con­trolled automatically had turned themselves on.

A tiny pet dog belonging to one of our group began to shiver and whimper and gratefully accepted an invitation to rest in the security of its owner’s arms. Indeed, I remember looking up to the sky in these moments, and a voice in my mind was ask­ing almost fearfully, “How much more weird must it get before totality?”

The moon’s shadow rushes toward us

“Look!” someone shouted, pointing to the western horizon. “Look over there!” We all turned and saw a stupendous sight. The shadow of the Moon was rushing at us. A thin, linear streak of black quickly grew. At first a distant cloud, its borders expanded in all directions to rapidly obliterate the remainder of dark blue sky over­ head. As one of us ceremoniously pronounced to everyone (and to no one in particular), “It’s the Moon’s shadow traveling at 1500 miles an hour and coming down upon us like a tornado out of the “Wizard of Oz.”

And in that instant the “tornado struck.”

Sudden darkness

Suddenly there was darkness like nighttime and overhead numerous planets and stars were plainly visible. At the same time, a glance at the distant horizon to the south (far past the edge of the Moon’s shadow), revealed a still pale blue sky and ocean. Then another look overhead and all eyes where on the totality.

Solar eclipse viewed over sea

A gleaming, radiant gem could be seen suspended high above. At the center, the Moon was like a dimensionless hole, a perfect circle blacker than black, cut through the dome of darkness. Hypnotically emanating from this hole was the streaming radiance of the solar corona. Shimmering and iridescent, effervescent brightness born of the moon’s darkness.

It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in nature.

Overwhelming, transfixing, this glorious splendor majestically reigned above us.

Totality passes in a timeless instant

Six minutes and fifty-two seconds of totality seemed to pass in a single instant. A huge pulse of light suddenly flashed down upon us. “Third contact!” someone shouted. I returned to reality as the “astrophotographer-scientist” within me was taking several last photographs, perchance to catch the diamond ring effect.” The “introspective seeker” within me was stunned. The eclipse was immense. My “indiscriminate worrier” was already busy asking, “What if the pictures don’t turn out?”

The Moon continued on its way. The returning sunlight rapidly restored our usual and customary world. Blue became blue again, and noontime was bright and hot. And we were all on a high. With animated gestures and jubilant voices we shared with one another our impressions of this experience. It was utterly fantastic. Smiles and laughter, genuine openness, camaraderie prevailed. We were all floating on the joy of having been transported to another world─fleeting yet timeless, a world of beautiful shadow and dazzling light.

Looking back and wondering what was this all about

It has now been nearly a year since I witnessed the total eclipse of the Sun. I look back and wonder, “What was it all about?” I will never forget that special time spent beneath the Moon’s shadow. The proud “astrophotographer-scientist” often looks up to see the eclipse photographs hanging on my office wall for all to see. In those moments, the “introspective seeker” still revels in the transcendent beauty of that experience. And the “indiscriminate worrier” within me is reduced to merely speculating. “What if something happens to the negatives?” But still I wonder about the eclipse, “What was it all about?”

Connecting to humanity

I have the notion that perhaps the varied responses I observed within myself are no different from the responses of human beings throughout the ages when they have confronted the totally eclipsed Sun. I consider that the reactions associated with my “indiscriminate worrier” may correspond to the responses of ancient and primitive peoples. After all, even though they often predicted eclipses, it seems that the motivating reason was fear. Humankind saw eclipses as worrisome events eliciting dread, terror and demanding appeasement of the gods. Even to this day, there are many people along the eclipse path who chose to remain indoors, implementing timeworn charms and rituals in order to avoid the maladies of the “eclipse rays.”

On the other hand, I perceive that the “astrophotographer-scientist” within me corresponds to humankind in more recent times. These were people who, by and large, were free from superstition and fear. They confronted nature armed with empiric knowledge and aware of the power of direct observation. Trekking equipment to remote areas of the globe, they spent the precious time beneath the Moon’s shadow peering into primitive cameras and spectroscopes: The wonder of the eclipse measured in helium spectra and displaced stars.

Finally, I see the “introspective seeker” within me as an expression of that unique propensity of humanity to look up and absorb the expansive beauty and mystery of the heavens. Whether we witness a splendid sunset, a full moon rising or a magnificent rainbow, these are times when we literally stop in our tracks. We are transported, uplifted. For a few moments life stops, is “put on hold.” Worries evaporate. Noisy voices within become silent. We have no roles to play, no images to project.

These are ecstatic, blissful, lucid moments.

These are moments of transcendence.

Eclipse and eclipse watcher became one

Reflecting back now, I realize that for me the eclipse was just such a moment of transcendence. There was no longer a “me” looking out at “that.”

Rather, I became that.

Eclipse and eclipse-watcher become one. Fear and anxiety are transformed into awe and wonder. Objective knowledge is tempered with respect and reverence. And finally, an insight into the mystery of life is revealed. Beneath the Moon’s shadow, the “introspective seeker” was able to catch a glimpse of unity─the oneness of the light of the human spirit within each of us and the light of the streaming solar corona 93 million miles away.

“The light that shines above the heavens and above this world, the light that shines in the highest world, beyond which there are no others─that is the light that shines in the hearts of men.”

The Chandogya Upanishad

This article first appeared in Seeds of Unfolding

after a solar eclipse in 1991.

About the Author(s)

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Robert Wellauer is a physician living in southern California. His lifelong interest in observational astronomy and astrophotography served to immerse him in expansive, transcendent realms and, along with his inner spiritual path, would accompany him in his busy daily life. Now retired, he was delighted to be in Waco, Texas on April 8, 2024 to view a second total Eclipse of the sun.