384,400 km Shadow

Mario Vasilescu
Published in
1 min readAug 22, 2017

I remember when I saw a total eclipse as a kid in 1999, in Bucharest. The vivid memory is of all the stray dogs, and birds in the trees, suddenly erupting into a cacophony of howls and anxious song, as day seemed to become an out of place evening.

When I see the sliver of darkness eaten out of the sun, it’s not an abstraction.

It’s not just an aesthetic spectacle.

It’s me standing with my two feet planted on the Earth, and watching the moon, over three hundred thousand kilometres away, slowly cut across the sun that we’re whipping around at over one hundred thousand kilometres an hour.

It becomes as real and relatable as your heartbeat.

It’s seeing that deep-in-your-guts universal understanding — our place in an infinite, mind boggling place — spelled out.

“X. You are here.”

Silently, smoothly. Understated.

All while down here the planes are whirring through the clouds above, the cars are honking a few blocks away, a lawnmower is being pushed absentmindedly next door, and 7 billion little human bodies are frantically scurrying over the nooks and crannies of a pale blue dot.

And we glance up for a second. A second of our collective instant, literally floating in space and time on a glowing rock. Spaceship Earth.

A little dose of literal perspective, a fusion reactor shadow show in the sky.



Mario Vasilescu

Rethinking the attention economy and wonder wandering.