Eclipse Impressions

Recently I traveled more than halfway across the American continent to view the “Great American Eclipse” of 2017. I chose to travel from Virginia to the state of Wyoming, because it had an excellent chance of experiencing clear skies during the event. We also have friends out there who set us up with a superb viewing location.

For several months prior to the eclipse I did lots of research, in order to better appreciate the event. This Great American Eclipse promised a unique experience. The eclipse path would travel diagonally across the country, right through its middle. I bought the requisite solar eclipse viewing glasses—which allow you to stare directly at the sun, without frying your eyeballs. I also bought a filter of the same material, to place over the lens of my camera to allow photos. I was ready!

I was aware of the fact that viewing a solar eclipse requires one to be gazing at the sun for about three hours, as the Moon first begins to block the sun, until it again exits the scene, leaving behind a full sun again. Those three hours sandwich less than three minutes of totality—when the Moon fully covers the sun. So you patiently wait for well over an hour for totality to finally occur, and then experience a darkened sky for only a couple of minutes. It all happens just too quickly.

So I prepared well. I was ready with camera, with charts describing the event's timing, and with past eclipse stories in mind—all very objective kinds of preparations. What I was not prepared for was the emotional experience. I knew from my research that to witness a total solar eclipse was a very subjective and moving experience. All Earth's creatures expect to continually sense the sun's rays all day long, and then to experience several hours of nighttime, until the sun reappears in the morning. It's a pattern we come to presume is always there. But if the sun is suddenly turned off for a couple of minutes in the middle of the day, we become disoriented. We emotionally respond.

It is hard to describe the feelings that came over me at totality. I wish, like Joshua, I could have stopped the sun in its tracks for a couple of hours, in order to have more fully soaked up the emotions. It's over far too quickly. All you have time for is to be amazed and dazzled by the sight in that brief time frame. It's truly the experience of a lifetime.

One interesting reaction that endures for me, a few weeks later, is that the Moon I saw eclipsing the sun that day was an alien moon. I am quite a Moon freak. For most of my life I've been fascinated by the Moon. I gaze at it at length. I follow its phases through the month. I've photographed it many times. I've come to have an intimate relationship with it. I have written about it several times in this blog.

But the eclipsing Moon I saw on 21 August 2017 was not my Moon. It did not have the varied features and contrasting topography that my Moon does. It was not gray or orange. It did not shine brilliantly like on a dark night—when it illuminates my pathway through the woods. The eclipsing Moon was a black circle that slowly obliterated the sun. It seemed to be a two-dimensional disk—a flat circle without features. It did its job and then it was gone! The renewed brilliant sun banished it from the sky. Fortunately, a few nights later I once again spotted my old, familiar Moon—now a thin, bright crescent that I knew would soon wax into a round, brilliant, orange-gray ball, that would dominate the night sky, in a few more nights. My Moon will be back!

Immutable Moon

When I wander through the woods, I note the scenery around me changing, as I approach and pass trees, wildflowers, and shrubs. The faster I walk, the faster the scenery changes. That's a big reason why I sometimes stroll slowly along: it gives me ample time to gaze at the passing wonders.

There's an interesting phenomenon (one we often pay no attention to) caused by my changing perspective, as I walk along: close, small objects (like shrubs) quickly pass and recede behind me, while distant, large objects (like trees) stay in my view for a longer time period. An extreme example of this phenomenon is looking at distant hills as I walk—it takes far longer to put them behind me... maybe all day!

But the ultimate examples of this perspective phenomenon are the Moon, the sun, and the stars. They are so far away that I could walk all day and all night long and they'd never move from their location in the sky. If, for example, the Moon is directly overhead tonight, I could even jump in the car and drive for hours in any direction and Mr. Moon would remain exactly overhead.

If we think about it for a moment, what I've been describing is obvious and even a little trivial sounding, but I have learned over the years to pause and give so-called obvious thoughts a second look. We humans have a tendency to become accustomed to common events, to the extent that we almost become oblivious to them. We don't allow them to show us something a little different that we've not noticed before. We can become jaded—been there, done that—let me move on to the next novelty.

I was slowed down and caught up by a fascinating perspective on this issue the other evening, when I took a few moments to pause and take another look at what happened when I saw the Moon. I stepped outside and casually noted where the Moon was hovering that evening, by noting where it was located in the upper branches of a nearby tree. Then I walked a few feet in a familiar direction, knowing unconsciously how my perspective of the overhead trees would change, when I looked up again. As I did, I was momentarily taken aback by the fact that the Moon hadn't moved with the trees. What I had expected—without really thinking about it—didn't happen: the trees fell behind me, but the Moon had not! It was keeping up with me.

When I was a kid I heard the expression, “The Moon is following me.” Of course, it doesn't.. it simply stays at the same location in the sky wherever one moves. As you pass trees and buildings, the Moon can't be passed up, no matter how fast or far we move. It just “keeps up” with us.

Another interesting example of this phenomenon is the moth that keeps circling a candle or streetlight. Evolution has taught the moth to use the immutable Moon as a guide when flying at night. Since the Moon stays at the same location, the moth can set course and fly a straight line from one point to another. But evolution did not prepare the moth for these late-comer humans, who build and install night lights. The poor moth keeps trying to keep the streetlight off to its left, but is forced to make circles around it, since it did not “keep up” with the moth.

It's nice to pause now and then and tune into what's really happening at the moment; to allow the everyday events to capture (or recapture) our attention and show us a fresh perspective. They may seem routine and mundane, but they can also bring us little surprises and fascinating reflections.

Lunar Gratitude

I love to gaze upon the nighttime sky when soaking in my outdoor tub—especially on those clear, cold winter nights, when the stars shine brightly and steadily from the black background. Of course, whenever the Moon is in a phase that places it above me on a given night, my attention is drawn from the stars to its far brighter countenance. That happened the other night, as I contemplated it for a couple of contented hours.

There are many moons in our solar system (something over 60, at the latest tally); they have many fascinating stories and are gorgeous in NASA photos. But the Moon is our moon. It's close, it's big, it's constantly changing phase, and it's simply beautiful. I found myself feeling gratitude for our Moon that night—mostly for its loveliness shining down on me—but in the process, several of its other wonderful features came to mind. Let me recount four of them.

I will begin by an appreciation for its beauty. It is thrilling to watch at all times of the year and under all conditions: as it sets, rises, is full, is a luminous sliver, when peeking from behind skittering clouds, when I happen to spot its subtle face in daylight, or when I gaze into its patterns of craters and mares, and imagine many images beyond simply the “Man in the Moon.”

I am also grateful for the Moon's stabilizing influence on Earth's movements. Without our Moon's gravitational sway, the earth would wobble a great deal, as it orbits the Sun. That wobble would prevent Earth from having uniform seasonal changes, which would make our planet a far less habitable orb; in fact, life may never have gotten off the ground here. Our one and only natural satellite does a great deal to help keep our climate unwavering.

Third, the Moon creates a lovely lunar calendar by which we can keep in tune with nature's cycles. Every 29 days or so it completes a cycle, from full to new and back to full again. Every night you can see it in a slightly different part of the sky, in a slightly different phase—slowly circling us every month. The Moon's recurrent period doesn't zip by as fast as the Sun's daily cycle, nor as slow as the year's passing. It's a nice intermediate pace. Its varying phases through the month help me keep track of time. In fact, the Latin root of the word Moon is mensis, which also leads to menstruum, meaning “menses.” Many women's menstrual cycle is in sync with the Moon. In turn, those Latin words derive from another Latin word, metiri, which means “to measure.” Aha! We're back to the Moon as a time keeper!

Finally, the moon's size and distance from us makes its apparent size almost exactly the same as the Sun, and from time to time they play peekaboo and we get the spectacular result of either a lunar or a solar eclipse. It's one of the most thrilling celestial events we get to witness. Even people who rush about their urban business, rarely looking up at the sky, will pause to enjoy an eclipse.

I know that if I could live on some other planet of our solar system, I could watch some pretty spectacular lunar events there, but this planet is my home and I feel blessed to have been gifted with the lunar orb we've got. You go, Moon!

Apollo 11 at 40

Forty years ago on July 20 I excitedly jumped out of bed at the sound of the alarm clock—at somewhere in the vicinity of two am. If things were going well, NASA’s lunar lander, the Eagle, would be spiraling down to the moon’s surface in another hour or so. I dragged three sleepy kids from bed, to allow them to witness this incredible achievement. They sat sleepy-eyed and I teary-eyed, as Neil Armstrong coolly piloted the lander to its resting spot, with a few precious seconds of fuel left.

I didn’t feel pride at America’s beating the Russians there, or even see it as the culmination of some long-held national dream. As an engineer, I was simply thrilled by the success of such a bold effort. It was a first for the human species, which compared in my mind to building the Pyramids or the creation of the first alphabet. And I was present to witness it!

The Apollo program had come to fruition in an amazingly short time. From Kennedy’s brash speech in 1961 to the lunar landing: eight brief years. Unfortunately, Apollo then faded even faster. The public’s attention was diverted elsewhere, the last three Apollo missions were cancelled, and NASA stumbled on to other efforts—never again rising to the heights scaled in the 1960s.

Much has been written and debated about the subsequent triumphs and flops of NASA. Many questions have been raised as to the general inconsistency of the American space program, the failures of the Space Shuttle and the dubious scientific value of the Apollo program and the International Space Station. The relative merits of unmanned missions to the planets, as compared to low-Earth orbit manned missions have been passionately argued.

I have no space or inclination here to enter those contested arenas. It simply seems a shame that the American public and Congress have been so fickle in their support of the space program. A consistent, well thought-out direction has been utterly lacking. How much farther in space exploration we could have been by now, with coherent planning and commitment! I’ve always thought it strange that the public readily accepts huge military budgets that have created so much suffering around the world, while begrudging the tiniest fraction of that money being spent on something positive: the acquisition of knowledge about the marvelous universe we inhabit.

Now at Apollo 11’s 40th anniversary we see humans regaining an interest in the moon. But I fear the efforts are just as political and are motivated by petty national competition as they were in 1969. It feels too much like grandstanding. Give me a quiet little Mars Rover any day!

To the Moon

Sitting in the outdoor tub the other night, gazing at the first-quarter Moon: It was so beautiful that I spontaneously saluted it, as if making a toast, and said out loud, “To the Moon!” That tributary phrase hung in the air for a few moments, as I savored the view. Then the same expression got dredged up from my deep memory banks, when I heard it repeatedly used half a century ago by Jackie Gleason, in his show “The Honeymooners.” Playing Ralph Kramden, he would get a threatening look in his eye, as he warned his TV wife (played by Audrey Meadows), “To the Moon, Alice.” The warning was similar to Archie Bunker’s demand that his wife Edith “Stifle it!” (Ah, the good old days, when husbands’ threats were condoned.)

I continued to sit there and let the expression linger in the air awhile longer, wondering what other examples might come to mind. That phrase “To the Moon” has been used in so many ways—other than in homage or admonition.

Jack Kennedy used it when he launched the US on the Apollo Mission: “We choose to go to the Moon…” And we did. We went and then we abruptly stopped, nearly 40 years ago. Today many countries are showing a renewed interest in lunar exploration. People are again going “to the Moon.”

As I sat and continued to soak, I conjured up other unrelated ways in which this catchphrase has found use. Of course, there are countless poems, songs, and books that have employed it. The pop tune “Fly Me to the Moon.” Jules Verne’s 1873 classic book, From Earth “to the Moon”. A British spinoff: The Hitchhiker’s “Guide to the Moon.”

It’s been used more than a few times in high-school science classes. A quiz question asks, “What’s the distance to the Moon?” Or the teacher might describe a lunar eclipse as happening when the sun sends the Earth’s shadow “to the Moon.”

In the days of yore, when people believed in an Earth-centered universe, one might make a list (in order of distance from Earth) of what were then considered to be the seven planets rotating around us: 1. the Sun, “2. the Moon”, …

Enough!

Reading Something Into It

We humans have a quality that most other creatures don’t: an inclination to interpret our sensory experiences through the use of symbols that we create in our heads. While most animals interact in a very direct way with their environment, we translate our experiences into symbolic terms that get stored somewhere in our brain. It’s those symbols we deal with, not necessarily the real thing itself.

For example, I look at the full moon and I see craters and maria—casting different highlights across the moon’s disc, creating patterns. My mind—particularly my cultural mind—tends to interpret those patterns in a certain way. An animal, in contrast, just sees patterns. If I was told as a child that what I see is a “Man in the Moon,” I learn to interpret those features as a face. It becomes so familiar to me, I periodically have to remind myself that what I’m seeing is a lunar landscape, not some open-mouthed visage in the sky.

I was an adult before I became aware that other cultures saw something quite different in the full moon. Some see a rabbit, some an old woman, etc. Several years ago I tutored a Mexican-American young lady during her high school years. Together we once explored a book about Mexican mythology and read about the “Rabbit in the Moon.” I explained to her my culture’s perspective. She tried hard but could not see the man. With practice, I began to see her rabbit.

There are, of course, countless examples of contrasting perceptions of different cultures. Even within a particular culture people of different backgrounds will carry disagreeing interpretations. Someone from a high-income bracket will tend to look upon a welfare mother quite differently than a social activist will. A Pakistani Muslim perceives Mideast problems very differently from an American mainstream Christian. A Wall Street banker’s cut on our economy differs from a factory worker in Ohio. A common thread through these contradictory perceptions is the symbolism we’ve been taught.

The viewpoint of any one of us is fragmentary; our senses register only a portion of the reality of our world. We grasp that fragment of reality, transform it into a symbol, make up a story about it, and stash it into our imperfect memory. When we repeat this a few times (often ignoring an increasing amount of reality as we do), our symbols, our stories, get cast in erroneous concrete. When we encounter someone from a different background, we’re often struck by how strange and misguided their symbols and stories are. It can be very hard to let go of our beliefs, to accept that they are not necessarily the correct or complete ones.

So I sit and gaze at the full moon, trying to see the rabbit as readily as I see the man. Sometimes I think I can even make out the old lady.

Moon Shoots Through Trees

Soaking in the outdoor tub,
Steam rising lazily skyward.
I'm transfixed by the waning, fat moon
Shooting toward me through the trees.
I watch the lopsided white globe
Crawling slowly heavenward.

It peers at me through the branches.
Patterns of twigs and trunks are
Silhouetted upon its face,
Ever changing as it climbs.
Like canals once seen on Mars.

The universe smiles upon me tonight.
Just for my delight, the moon shoots its beams
Through twisted black branches,
Straight into my waiting gaze.