Eclipsed

Ben Xue
Ben Xue
Aug 23, 2017 · 5 min read
Ste Genevieve, MO, p/c Matt Nicholas

Today, America found itself on the path of a crazy celestial coincidence.

And it was spectacular.

Science has steered us on a reliable journey, injecting predictability into otherwise coincidental happenstances. Yet the remarkable scientific explanation alone does not come close to explaining how solar eclipses, events so astoundingly beyond our control, have manifested themselves into as widespread of cultural symbols as they have.

If you were lucky and privileged enough to have been one of the estimated 12 million new people to have actually witnessed the total solar eclipse, then you will know what *does* fill the explanation gap: the experience itself.

To say that this was, by a wide margin, the most incredible spectacle of my life, is a statement that is both true, and also dripping in confirmation bias. It is so clear to me now why people invest massive amounts of time and effort to simply witness to 2 minutes of eclipse time. With that, I hope to share with you what my eclipse experience was like, in St. Louis, on the path of totality.

Our group was comprised of my STL brothers, Drake and Chisom, and our good friends from VFA, Matt and Steph, who came all the way from Detroit just to witness the eclipse. Matt’s unbending desire to see the maximum window of 2:30 of totality drove us to Missouri’s rural wine country — a further 40 miles south of St. Louis (so worth it). Optimal viewing conditions of this daytime eclipse flew in direct opposition to the colloquial heart-of-summer Missouri advice to “stay in cool, shady places”. Clearly, direct sun fueling a 98-degree humid day was not enough to stop the over two-thousand people with whom we shared our open, elevated eclipse-watching field with.

The hour-long phase leading up to totality was calm and relatively stable. Around us, everyone partook in normal picnic rituals (lawn chairs, summer sports, and casual conversations around baskets full of morsels), but unique to this moment were the foolish-looking attempts at sun-filter-photography, the occasional expletive directed at pesky cloud formations, and the frequent one-handed eclipse glasses technique of short, assuring glances — to personally verify that the moon’s silhouette was still inevitably advancing across the sun (not like this).

Suddenly, the scene began to morph. It was getting noticeably darker now, but not in a normal way. The contrast of the color spectrum decreased, making the whitest objects look light gray. We stopped sweating as the sweltering heat began to break. Our senses were having trouble adjusting to these novel environmental changes. Though still searingly bright, the sun was merely a crescent now. It was both stimulating and unsettling.

The air was cooling quickly now. Our shadows had disappeared. The colors had really lost their glow. The field was rushed with activity as people hastened back to their spots. The crickets began chirping. Darker still.

Rapid changes now! Everyone in their seats. Excitement building.

Glasses secured. All eyes on the sky!

A line! A sliver!

Totality.

Totality, shot in Ste Genevieve, MO by a dude next to us.

It. was. stunning.

Once the glasses came off, everything just stood still. Above us, a singular orb hung exposed, safe to view by our naked eyes. There it was: A jet-black circle of perfect proportions surrounded by hundreds of dancing, sparkling lines. I’d never seen anything remotely like it before.

The changes to the environment were profound. The sky closest to the combined sun & moon was covered by what appeared to be a typical night-time blanket. A hue of midnight blue was sprinkled with the twinkling of distant stars — usually hidden and outshone by our very own day star. Where the sky met the earth, loose-clouds swirled amongst soft purple & orange gradients, creating an effect that can only be described as “a sunset from every horizon”.

“A sunset on every horizon” p/c Drake Berguland

The longer I stared at the eclipse, the more empty the depths of the moon region seemed to be — like a lifeless black-hole that had just ripped open the sky. In oppositional harmony, the sun’s corona was teeming with life — like a bright pot of water that had just started vivaciously boiling. The contrast between these two cannot be overstated, yet their union was unquestionable. We were witnessing our two favorite celestial bodies overlapping, and making sweet eye-gasmic love.

And that was simply it. Here we all were, unified around one incredibly singular spectacle, and for just a moment, forgetting the complexities of our individual lives. Here we were, casting our differences aside with a sudden spike in humility, and letting go the politics and idealisms that divide our country so deeply. Here we were, collectively expanding our sense of wonder, some of us even bursting into tears from not knowing how to handle the fantastic scene before us:

Sun and moon merged. Night and day in tandem. Dark and light as one. It was mesmerizing.

But also fleeting.

In a sudden moment of anxiety, I acutely realized of how short-lived this moment was due to be.

How long had passed? A minute? 2 minutes? I began fumbling for my phone. I hadn’t yet taken a photo! How will I remember this moment without a photo? How will the world know that I was here?

I looked towards my group. I couldn’t really see them well (it was quite dark still). In a characteristic series of lucid actions, I exclaimed my deep gratitude for being spatially here with everyone, took a half-hearted photo for the memories, and fell to the grassy floor will the fullest intentions of spending the rest of my eclipse time being as comfy as possible.

10 seconds later, the diamond ring formation burst out from the 2 o’clock of the orb.

And just like that… the eclipse was over.

Today, America found itself on the path of a crazy celestial coincidence.

And it was spectacular.

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