The Great American Eclipse has passed…

The shadow of the 2017 solar eclipse ran its predicted course over a troubled and turbulent United States. The event of totality made the mainstream news along with the aftermaths of appalling tragedies in Charlottesville, VA and Barcelona, Spain. The natural perfection of the sun-moon alignment contrasted with the moronic rantings of presidential speeches and tweets, and with the beyond-appalling US war threats towards Syria, Russia, Venezuela, North Korea, and Afghanistan. All the while, a monster storm brewed in the Gulf of Mexico, threatening Texas with wind devastation and a week of flooding. 

[At this point, Hurricane Harvey has come onshore near Rockport, TX and moved inland, still a category 1 storm. It shows signs of manipulation and will be held in place for some 5 to 7 days. This is a horrific event, likely to be worse than was Hurricane Katrina in 2005.] 

Did the eclipse herald all this? In a way, I think. It at least was an underline, for anyone watching, of the turbulence and insanity of current events. Potentially, there is much worse to come, unless some critical mass of humanity wakes up. 

But there is also instruction in the contrast of horrific events and a natural wonder that happens, indifferent to the machinations of humanity.

I did experience the eclipse. Though obscured by cloud and chemtrail, the shadow’s passing reached me with the cosmic energy of its novelty, and perhaps of its portent. Some around me felt it as well and expressed being moved by the event.

There had been much popular hype leading up to the eclipse, of course, and I remained aloof from much of it. I was drawn in, however, by writings about it in articles and a couple of ebooks that I reviewed. I decided I didn’t want to miss it, especially after my wife bought “eclipse glasses” to facilitate our family viewing.

I was at work, when the time came (8/21/2017 — totality occurred at about 14:40 EDT).

Some 40 minutes before totality, the afternoon had grown noticeably dimmer. I looked at the sun through my eclipse glasses and the moon was about 1/3 in transit over the solar disk. It was a fascinating sight, but I didn't look for too long. I had reservations about prolonged staring at the sun, even through protective lenses.

A lot of clouds threatened rain, especially towards the northeast, but the sun-and-moon moved through an open space. It seemed we had a good chance of seeing the very moment of totality.

People from my office building came out, took a glimpse through eclipse glasses, and then retreated back inside (faithful workers). Some tried to take pictures with their smart-phones but the results were either nothing or red dots—even when photographing through the lenses of their eclipse glasses. Based on those poor results I decided to not risk damaging my phone in a futile effort. So I took pictures of my surroundings to log the onset of darkness in the mid-afternoon. 

At about 15 minutes from totality, it was decidedly darker. The temperature was dropping and the wind picked up. The sun was a waning crescent now. The northeast looked rainy and clouds gathered directly overhead. They surrounded the sun-and-moon but did not cover it.

At ten minutes from totality, the sun was a thinner crescent, but still bright enough to light the day. Such is the power of our local star.

More people were outside now. These were the die-hards who would see it through. On the west side of my building complex, people had gathered in the parking lot and around the large pond there. They reclined in lawn chairs or on car hoods, watching through eclipse glasses.

Then at five minutes from totality, clouds covered the sun-and-moon. I heard a lot of "ahh's" of disappointment, but it didn't really dull the experience for me. The day steadily darkened, as if the sun was setting. I took pictures, thinking I could surely aim my phone-camera at the sun now.

I noticed at this point, a plane spraying at high altitude. Maybe 15 degrees below the sun-and-moon, it left a definite chemtrail as it arced towards the south. They had been spraying pretty heavy since the early morning and so all this was happening in a chemtrail haze anyway. I had wondered if the haze would cause some ghastly auras around the totality as it often did around sunsets, but that would be concealed now. Even so, the spraying made an apt statement of the indifference of the geoengineers to a natural miracle.

Then, behind the clouds, the moon and sun aligned into totality. The darkness of sunset settled over everything. A cool, moist, breeze stirred. Streetlights came on. Cicadas sang in the trees. People stood silhouetted in front of my building's lighted windows as if in a night scene.

In my readings on the eclipse, it was averred that solar eclipses emit a particular energy. Some folk traditions warn that it is best to stay inside during the event. I did pick up on some energy, vibration, or feeling. Maybe it was just the strangeness of the ambiance of dusk when the sun was high in the sky. It seemed to affect my family as well, and I received several excited text messages from them when it was over. I replied with one of my photos.

The event lasted only some three minutes. Then the daylight steadily returned. The watching groups broke up. People went back to work and I returned to my office. Email exchanges spoke of what we had just experienced and I heard at least one "Did you see it?" pass down the hallway.

I've noted in my related journal posts that this eclipse is joined with certain astrological alignments that indicate the event as a presage to a time of great changes--worldwide, national, and personal. Or maybe not so much change, since change is continuous in life, as passage. Like moving from the Age of Pisces to the Age of Aquarius, we may move to an entirely new phase full of constituent endings and beginnings.

And whether for good or ill, you can be sure your new phase is full of potential, and perhaps nourished on the mystical energy of this total solar eclipse.

[Special note: As I write this, much pain and suffering has begun in south Texas. May God have mercy.]