Stop and Smell the Eclipse

So, how about that supermoon, eh? I know it was over hyped and your news feed was jammed with blurry cell phone photos of glowing white orbs that may or may not have been the moon.  I know many of you think it was silly or overrated or not worth your time.  I didn't check out Sunday's lunar eclipse because Facebook told me to, because I subscribe to the mystical powers of blood moons, or even because it was an event that had not occurred in thirty-some years.  I dragged my beach chair into the front yard and looked skyward because the eclipse was genuinely neat.  Maybe, in this era of YOLO and extreme everything, "neat" is a quaint ideal that no longer has much cachet, but, man, sometimes the simplest joys are where it's at.

I found the the eclipse truly awe-some.  Maybe I was feeling a bit philosophical Sunday night because I had a rough day at work and Mother Nature reminded me there is so much more to my universe than unreliable employees or  selling books to angry old women. Maybe I was worn down by the failings of my fantasy football team.  Or maybe the eclipse was actually exciting.  I forgot that nature is actually exciting.  I sometimes don't look up from my phone or television or book long enough to appreciate nature's beauty.  Even the clouds that moved in, threatening to derail the show, were amazing to see.  I remembered to not be disappointed in what I might not see, but to appreciate what I could. And there was much to appreciate.  Whether you believe in God or Science or both, I think you could see the magic in the moon marching across the night sky.  Watching the sky, I felt the same way I do standing in the ocean-tiny, admiring the vastness laid out before me.  This weekend at the shore, with the surf non-negotiable and the wind-driven sand trying to peel flesh from leg, I couldn't help but marvel at the enormity and power of the sea.  Similarly, Sunday, watching the moon succumb to the shadow, I let my mind wander.  Thoughts, ranging from the serious to the silly, drifted by like the clouds drifting through the air.  I thought of my late father, eternity, space travel, werewolves, the new Star Wars movie and gentle painter Bob Ross (Let's give this little cloud a friend, shall we?).

As crickets' songs and the far off honks of traveling geese served as nature's soundtrack to the moon's show, I was reminded how rarely there is stillness and quiet in my life, inside my head or out.  We are always on the go; work or play, we stuff our lives with activity.  At work, crappy music, the bark of blenders and coffee grinders, and customers' bleats ring in the ears.  At home, sounds of music or a ball game or a jumping/laughing/shouting six year old fill the air.  Except when I try to meditate or write, both of which I do all too infrequently, the house is buzzing.  It felt so good to feel the gentle breeze, listen to the nature songs and watch the eclipse through my binoculars.  Then after about an hour or so, much like saying a word over and over again until it becomes unrecognizable, the magic ended and the moment was lost.  But the lesson remains:  Make time to enjoy the universe's grandeur.  Getting lost in it might just help you find yourself.