A moment of unity, on Earth and in space

Perhaps it will take an extraterrestrial event to unite this broken country.

For a phenomenon that has spanned the country from the disputed southern border to the edges of New England, Monday’s eclipse attracted very few conspiracy theories or accusations.

From where I stood in Buffalo, New York, the biggest threat at the time was the forecast of heavy clouds.

We use sinister metaphors:

We don’t have the slightest idea where we’re going.

This year the eclipse passes through America. Here comes the rain again.

Perhaps she was too ready to search for meaning, having found unexpected meaning in… last great eclipse which crossed the country on August 21, 2017.

I needed.

Experience

Tired of the chaotic turmoil of the presidency Donald Trump and desperate for a vacation, I told my family that I wanted to see something in this country that Trump couldn’t criticize, alter, destroy, or tarnish.

I wanted mountains, rock structures, landscapes and panoramas that gave me the feeling that this too shall pass and the planet will continue to exist.

We decided to spend 10 days in South Dakota, starting with Mount Rushmore and ends in Badlands.

I didn’t realize that in the midst of all that permanence, the most fleeting vision would be the most profound.

This wasn’t South Dakota at all; I was half a day into Wyoming.

We set off early in the morning on what became evident to be a pilgrimage route to the zone of totality.

The streets, which in the previous days had been empty like the prairie, were full of cars; Gas stations had become community hotspots selling all kinds of Eclipse-branded items and souvenirs.

Eclipse Beef Jerky in Lights Out Original flavor, anyone?

People had parked at random intervals along the route, closely following a galactic game.

I racked my brain to figure out why our destination, Casper, Wyoming, seemed so familiar:

What birthplace of the author, what milestone? – before realizing we were headed to the former vice president’s hometown Dick Cheney.

But Casper’s main street looked more like one global village.

More than a million visitors had come to the state, a good number of whom traveled to a city with a population of about 58,000.

The main street had been cleared of cars for the Wyoming Eclipse Festival.

A giant map with pins available for visitors to mark their place of origin was positioned along a section of the wall.

America was dotted with pins like a holly in full bloom.

There’s no more room to score anywhere near New York.

But the map of Europe was just as populated;

People had also traveled from Japan, Patagonia and South Africa.

Strangeness

As the moon crossed the sun, a strange banana-yellow hue fell over everything, unlike any natural light I’d ever seen: closer to sepia than twilight.

My three children, then ages 8 to 12, marveled at the way the light hit their hands and transformed the color of their shirts.

“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience,” my youngest son mused aloud as he walked alone across a field in the park where we’d camped, a short walk from downtown.

My older children seemed almost frightened and waved their arms at the particular brightness of the sun.

Everyone remained silent as the sun disappeared.

The temperature dropped significantly.

The birds seemed to be silent.

At 11:42, the moment of totality, and with the sun one with the moon, a unity palpable in the silence here on Earth.

Then there was an audible burst of elation.

Some people say that an eclipse causes a feeling of insignificance and loneliness in the grand scheme of the universe.

I had a slightly different reaction, more of a communal alignment with nature.

For this atheist it was the closest thing to a religious experience, a sort of monolithic moment.

Here we are, just a group of primates, seemingly so advanced in intelligence and power, but still amazed by the depth.

Seeking that same strange feeling, I set out for Buffalo this year.

Like many Umbraphiles, I booked my train tickets the day they went on sale.

The rest of my family dropped out of the program when the prognosis became poor, but for me, the slightest chance of experiencing wholeness was worth the risk.

In the early afternoon I parked at Buffalo and Erie Counties Naval and Military Park, chosen for its proximity to the centerline of totality and clear views along the Buffalo River.

Food trucks lined with crowds of families on lawn chairs.

People helped each other with their tripods; A roll of tape was passed around to hold the cameras.

At 2:02 am, a few blue spots dotted the cloudy sky.

Two minutes after the partial eclipse, the sun appeared and applause erupted throughout the park, as if, against all odds, we were all rooting for the same team.

At 2:55 the clouds darkened and the atmosphere was gloomy.

But every time the sun rose, there was another wave of cheers and cheers, and whistles when the clouds won.

At 3:18 a.m., the eclipse reached totality under cloud cover.

The park became dark as night.

You couldn’t see the sun, but you could feel the eclipse.

What looked like a sunset broke over the horizon and the entire park shouted with joy.

Sometimes, just sometimes, we all want the same thing.

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