From light to dark to light

Why notice the world?

Beauty is anything seen, felt, or realized that charms or delights the better part of us into wanting to live on, in order to see, feel, and understand more without the scared part of us being in charge of what it wants the world to be.           
                                                                                                                         Martin Prechtel

“I don’t know what all the fuss is about.” my mother says.

I don’t either. And yet there is an invitation for me, to show up for the total solar eclipse - a phenomena that will not happen here for another twenty years. I read about Air B&B’s booked up along various hot spots of potential full-spectacle viewing and I think wow, the online world has not completely taken us over yet if we are still lining up for the miracle of moon and sun.

My husband Wes buys five pairs of protective glasses. One each - for the three of us - and one each for my parents, who are flying back to Newfoundland the day after the eclipse. Wes says “Drive to Belleville, that will be the best place to view it.” I reject that idea due to the 401 distance. He tells me he will find somewhere closer for the four of us to go. He won’t be permitted to leave school, even though his students will be sent home at noon.

Wes loves researching everything, especially anything happening in the sky and beyond. He tracks SpaceX and watches all of their rocket launches, so I think the eclipse somewhat parallels his deep love for the mysterious universe we live in. He always appreciates beauty. I can trust his accuracy (most of the time), as he’s continually on websites that determine whether other websites are publishing accurate information. I trust him over anyone else’s fact checking, that’s for sure. He suggests we drive to Port Hope, a tiny town on the edge of Lake Ontario, about 90 minutes east of Toronto. My parents-in-law also invite us to drive to Hamilton, which is a messy 401 drive - at the best of times - and a little too close for comfort, to the extra half a million people flooding the edge of Niagara Falls waiting for the clouds to part.

Mom, Dad, H and I land in Port Hope just over an hour before the 55 second total eclipse that will happen exactly at 3:21 pm. As usual, before anything else can happen for me personally, while visiting a new town, I google the most highly rated cafe’ and I find The Main, which is ranked 4.7/5 by 54 people. Life is just too short to drink stale coffee.

The Main has sold out of most of their treats due to the steady lineup of tourists like us. We order our drinks and a short while later, I sip my Flat White while searching for a parking spot. After several loops I settle far enough away for an easy escape after the sky does its thing. The four of us find a sheltered place to stand with hundreds of other viewers on the triangular-shaped East Beach. Billowy clouds obstruct any speck of blue and now I have even less expectation for what we might see since my weather app has been predicting clouds for a week. The wind is here too, and the only person dressed for it is my father, who is wearing his wool hat and gloves. I choose a location next to a man with three cameras aiming towards a focal sky point. He must be pretty serious about the eclipse location so I lead my family towards him. We follow H towards the water’s edge, where the white caps of the Great Lake are captivating my girl.

First she draws lines in the sand with a pine tree branch. Then she takes off her shoes and squishes sand between her toes. She marvels at lake artifacts, “Momma, look at all the broken shells!” Her hood is pulled tight to stay warm. I scold myself silently for not considering the cold April wind. Lucky for me and her, she braves the cold better than most of us.

While we wait for 3:21 pm to arrive I take individual selfies with my mother and father and her. Then I hand my iPhone to the serious photographer to snap one of all of us with our special glasses one. Another photo to mark our last day together for many months. I didn’t realize he took this candid shot until later. My father, trying to pin his pair to his face, fumbling to tuck the floppy glasses ear under his hat. Hannah is the only one ready, already posed with her signature smile.

Only half of the crowd are wearing their eclipse glasses. Everyone is shivering as wind whips our hair into our mouths and eyes. I think it’s laughing at us. My parents are good sports - at 75 and 71 - going most places I ask them to go. They show up for me, as they always have, even when we cannot understand each other.

I feel calm and present. I mark this sensation, in this moment, deep into my body’s memory. I encountered mindfulness nearly eight years ago, when I read “The Big Leap,” by Gay Hendricks. I was convinced to start meditating, right away. In the past four years I have been diving deeper into this “new age” (it’s actually ancient) concept of learning to be in the moment. Learning to trace my thoughts, to develop insight and awareness of what I’m actually focussing on. It is the hardest thing I have ever learned how to do.

There are some days - like this day - when mindfulness feels easier. A large body of water always helps. Despite the crowd, the intensity of the wind and anticipating the eclipse I feel like I am fully present. I know there is almost no chance the four of us will be together for the next Canadian total eclipse. I think there is a pretty good chance I will be here, and even a better chance H will. But we don’t even know that for sure, do we?

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We have a finite amount of energy every day before becoming exhausted. Mindfulness helps you use your energy wisely, spending it on situations, people and causes that bring you the most joy, meaning and peace. THICH NHAT HANH

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Within a matter of seconds, our sky darkens past the first two twilights and becomes astronomical, the darkest and final twilight before a sunset. It happens so fast that H buries her head into my coat and scarf and begins to cry.

“I am afraid, Momma.”

I wrap my arm around tightly her, pulling her as close to me as possible, while keeping my eyes peeled to the sky, pulling off and on my glasses, to see beyond the black plastic lenses that completely obliterate my vision. There is no halo anywhere to be seen amongst thick, billowy clouds.

And just as fast as it came, the sky brightens into a luminous sunrise-style sky and we are right back to where we were less than a minute ago. The clouds did not part. We did not see the sun’s ring around the moon. We stand, wondering what to do next.

“Is it over, yet?” H asks, still buried in my coat.

“Yes, my love, you can take off your glasses and come back out.”

I remember the last time her and I saw the sky darken like this, right before the tornado uprooted and hurled hundreds of trees into roofs and windows, destroying hundreds of homes and properties throughout Uxbridge in May of 2022. No wonder H feels afraid. She will tell me later that it was scary because it was shocking how fast it happened.

What is actually happening?

The moon, the feminine.

The sun, the masculine.

These Divine energies meeting exactly over our heads. The moon, which gets all its light from the sun, for which to give us our nightlight, suddenly takes out the sun, leaving only a halo of light rimming the moon. But we do not see this from East Beach in Port Hope. My husband also does not see it from his school’s parking lot in Markham. The clouds steal the show. I heard rumours that they also missed most of it in Niagara. But my mother-in-law shared what she saw from their deck view, naming it a “celestial event” and it turns out that the drive to Hamilton might have been worth it after all.

Photograph credit Mary Guldemond

Did I need more proof that the eclipse was full and solar in order to feel appreciation for this “celestial event”?

Maybe the sky’s transformation from light to dark to light is enough for me. My dad describes his interpretation - in this exact way - when he gives thanks before we eat dinner together, all five of us, later on that evening. Thank you for giving me the idea and title for my blog, dad.

Perhaps this beauty, this recognition, is enough of a reason to be here.

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In order to give life’s inevitable losses a face whose voice speaks a beauty that can keep us all from this spiritual deep freeze, these details of life truly seen and loved must be there for us to begin to speak. Martin Prechtel

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