The Day All My Worlds Aligned
meditations on the eclipse, the power of shadow, and the grace of radiance
What a trip to be alive on this timeline where solar eclipses happen and we get to witness them.
It’s been two weeks since the solar eclipse this month, and I still feel fortunate that circumstances aligned in such a way to make my dream of seeing one come true.
Even though weather forecasts that Monday said it would be cloudy in Toronto, I was relieved that where we had set out to catch the solar eclipse would see much clearer skies than the city.
My lady, her best friend, and I had left at around 8:30 AM and embarked on a three hour journey to Point Pelee: the southernmost part of Ontario. We’d have been blameless for any reluctance to go the distance and come back in one day, but we were game.
At times the adventure there felt to me like a rite of passage or even an initiation—the journey, a long riddle of moments between presence and reverie, reflection and realization, quiet and conversation, intention and surrender.
Misty morning in our rearview and sunshine shoring up over the road ahead, I was moved by the ways of sky—how it hides from some and uncovers for others. From the right vantage point, horizons turn road after road into mirage, and heat mirrors clouds on the highway so clearly you’d think you’re driving into a tiny heaven or a little flood, but it was just more road.
Between mirages we’d marvel at how surreal this was—Monday off from work, traveling on the path of totality to catch a once in a lifetime celestial event—Casual, right?
Of course, the science-bound part of me knows it’s only a natural occurrence: solar eclipses happen unceremoniously in other parts of the world like all the time (twice a year apparently), but I confess the myth-obsessed part of me still felt chosen by higher forces knowing we wouldn’t have to go very far to honor the cosmos as our ancestors once did.
I’m no expert on what happens out there, but I’m no stranger to its splendor either. I’ve been mystified by space since I first locked eyes with its true face in the campos of the Dominican Republic. I’ve seen what she can do, especially at night.
I’ve seen braids of stardust unravel in such milky ways I forgot I was on Earth. I’ve lost my hands reaching through the thick, moonless sky only to find them glowing like ghosts beside me the whole time.
I’ve been it like a banshee in a game of tag, and I’ve haunted hills quiet as a specter in a game of hide and seek. I’ve been a howling little jackal, and I’ve put that pale, feral animal to bed too.
Whenever I was done being whatever that was the night before I’d wake up at dawn to Venus gleaming outside my window. Some days I’d see the moon high in the bright blue sky at noon and think it looked just like me, transparent for the same reason stars twinkle: turbulence.
If you ever look into the night sky and can’t say whether you’re seeing a star or a planet, know that turbulence in the atmosphere makes knowing Vega from Jupiter easy because planets don’t blink when you look at them, only stars do.
I was there in 2017 too for the partial eclipse. It took me from the Bronx to an old friend’s rooftop in Brooklyn, and it took from me the names of those I saw it with and the parts they played in my life as well.
This time around, the prospect of catching the solar eclipse had all my wheels turning. The world is never not going through something and we’re never not feeling it one way or another, consciously or unconsciously. That much I know. It’s already been such a wild year of revelation and re-evaluation as it is, but something about the thought of seeing two familiar celestial bodies come together like this had me questioning a lot.
I’ve always thought the symbol, shape, and story of the solar eclipse is one of choice and decision. That’s why I placed one on the cover of my first book, The Sun Underground & All The Colors in Between. What prevails in the end—the dark or the light? You decide. The question of “what will win in me?” has been so prevalent in this season of my life too. Fear, ego, and old habits have sneaky ways of overriding your love, humility, and desire for change when you’re at the cusp of making a difference.
But I’ve been praying more lately. For the world. For peace. For clarity. For a break in the clouds to show me the way from here, because I can’t lie, I’ve been doing my damnedest to put my best foot forward and get a leg up on life, but it seems I missed some steps way back when that are only now creating friction for me.
Now I’m not one to get too tripped up on what collapses or slips through the cracks, you can find me making a dance of each moving part instead, but it’s taking everything to stay firm in my vision, honor my boundaries, and keep faith in what’s coming to fruition. And this is where the solar eclipse comes in with its own gravity, chaos, rhythm, and grace. It came right when I was ready to feel cradled by something greater. Reminded of our size.
That’s what gets me about space stuff. It’s such a part of our lives even if it’s all the way out there and we’re all the way down here. You don’t have to identify with it, you don’t even have to find it magical or poetic, but you never quite forget the comets and bright starry nights even if you forget how you got there or the context in which you saw it. You are initiated by these otherworldly moments—they constellate with you.
When we arrived I knew that I would never forget this moment: the welder in Leamington who so kindly invited us to view the event on his deck. His son, our age, soft spoken, shy, and all smiles. His dog curious about us in the window. His wife on the way. My wife preparing lumen prints. Our friend and the homeowner chatting. The sound of Lake Erie, the eerie yet comforting silence of the hour. The view. The view. And the awe of knowing what was on the horizon.
Then the countdown began, but we didn’t need it. The sky had already darkened and the temperature dropped. That was enough.
You have all these ideas of how you’ll feel as it happens—Saved. Absolved. Transformed. Different? And during the lead up, you feel all of that and none of it at the same time. All your expectations are eclipsed by the reality of the moment. Sensations eclipse emotions and feelings eclipse senses as your attention waxes and wanes between stimuli. You are many things at once: at peace and uneasy in the humbling silence, hopeful and anxious, tiny and expansive, estranged and familiar.
Your skin cools to a hue you only see at dawn or dusk except it’s 3:00 PM, and in spite of the big bite mark on its cheek, the sun is so high and bright in the sky you still need eclipse glasses to look at it. And then you don’t.
Suddenly the sun goes off and lands on you like eye contact.
The corona grows radiant and you know you’ve only got two minutes tops to take it all in.
It’s hard to describe it: seeing the sun & moon become a third thing.
What it does to the sky & how gently it happens.
It looks just like the pictures, but you’ve never seen this: the sun this soft. The fuchsia flare on the edge of the black moon’s silhouette. You’ve never seen a diamond ring in the sky. You’ve never seen it so dark so high, yet so bright in your periphery. You’ve never felt the air this shade of indigo before. You’ve never seen your lover in this light. Your friend. A stranger. You’ve never heard the lake this still. Not the clouds. Not yourself.
You close your eyes and remember the solar eclipse much closer to you than it was while it was happening. It looks the way glowing would sound.
You look around and realize you’ve seen two sunrises and two sunsets in one day now. Then what came into alignment is undone and goes their separate ways. Light returns as though it never left and everything carries on as it does after dusk or dawn.
Reflect
What’s eclipsing in you? What decisions do you find yourself faced with making?
Did you see the solar eclipse? Where were you and what stood out to you about it?
beautiful reflections. I saw the eclipse in Texas and went through a similar range of emotions. while this big celestial event was happening in the sky, there was so much changing in my immediate surroundings, on the ground, the shadows, the light, the soil. as above / so below.