Then, wow, the clouds parted.The eclipse had begun. We could see that the moon had begin its transit, taking a little bite out of the sun. And then the clouds covered the sun again.
Then, again, the clouds parted, excitement, and we could see that a little bit more of the sun was covered. This breaking through happened multiple times. It was like still photography-flash, flash, flash-of the stages of the eclipse. The light was becoming bizarre, neither twilight nor cloud-shadowed, and the clouds near the sun were chiaroscuro. The light was breathtaking.
A minute before totality was due to start, the clouds again covered the sun, and we all thought, okay, that's it. Sigh, disappointment...and then, right before totality, the covered sun broke through, and we saw Bailey's beads-- a phenomena I had only heard of the day before--and, then miraculously, for the duration of totality, the eclipse was visible. We took off our glasses and with our own eyes beheld the moon-covered, haloed sun. The reddish corona. The temperature dropped four degrees, and Venus came out. It was not as dark as I expected. The darkness and hush was that of a cloudy snowless December night. The crowd was jabbering and shouting with excitement. “Look at that, everybody,” said Bill Nye ( the Science Guy.) “You may never see this again in your life.”
The NASA scientist--this was her first eclipse--was onstage, almost sobbing, "this is why I became a scientist!" Bill Nye, the Science Guy, quietly reminded us to put our glasses back on when instructed. "The thing about an eclipse," he warned, " is that you can't pull your eyes away." I felt tears running down my cheeks.
Countdown, 3-2-1, glasses back on--and just before my glasses were in place, the diamond ring. Then, the clouds rolled decisively back, and our eclipse was done. Bill Nye reminded us that the moon still needed to leave the face of the sun, so the eclipse wasn't actually over, but the crowd began to pack up and move out. Tom and I waited and waited, however, hoping to see more, but the clouds were done with peek-a-boo. We went for a walk on the prairie instead, and, like Mary at the Nativity, we kept all these things and pondered them in our hearts.
Was there a word to describe the experience? "Awesome," in its original meaning, awe-inspiring. Some people said "spiritual" and "religious"--I find these terms trite although I have had to summon religious references to try to communicate profundity. "Marvelous?" "Fantastic?" "Powerful?" "It was...neat," said the young woman who offered us a lift back to Beatrice. Sometimes words are inadequate.
I realized that l had had a hope that was disappointed. I had hoped that sharing the eclipse would somehow create a sense of bonding, of community, for the strangers gathered there, some consciousness of a larger cosmos and higher purpose, but it remained a private, personal experience. Maybe the eclipse will take time and sharing of stories to make sense. Maybe it was a narrative, or a metaphor, that has not yet been fully expressed. Or maybe seeing the eclipse will have no further meaning, just serve as a powerful exception to our individual daily rounds.