December 20, 2010
5:25 p.m. – The brilliant full moon rises before me, its perfectly full orb not far above the horizon above Washington, the alabaster city where I work. From somewhere deep inside I feel the impulse to sing a song of praise, a hymn of joy, a greeting to the shining white face floating in the east. Beautiful moon and sun risings and settings move me. I wish I had a liturgy to greet the moon and mark the celestial show about to begin.
6:05 p.m. – How can reflected moonlight shine so brightly? I’ve never understood it. Though it’s completely dark and the moon is at least 45 degrees above the horizon, not appearing as large as even a few minutes ago, its stark, silver, reflection paints a path across the river. I imagine I could read a book, it’s that bright. I want to go down to the river and float in a boat on its shimmering, shifting water.
7:15 p.m. – I’m mincing homegrown garlic to season spinach and pickled hot peppers over pasta we’ll be eating with homemade baba ganoush and humous. Standing over the chopping board I trace, with my mind’s eye, the moon’s trajectory, its inexorable journey to a convergence of two events that hasn’t happened since 1638: a full lunar eclipse on a winter solstice. The simple, satisfying meal seems right for this moment.
9:15 p.m. – Stepped outside to see the moon, though it is still over four hours till the eclipse begins. I’m glad I did, because I also see my old friend and guide Orion striding across the heavens with the bright, full moon hovering above him as if on a string, as if the great hunter would take a stroll holding a balloon. I have long welcomed Orion’s return in the late fall and winter, my guide through the icy cold barren months to another spring.
11:20 p.m. – Getting ready to sleep for a couple of hours, I wanted to look at the moon again before lying down. Orion has continued his night walk and now, still with his balloon, is almost directly above me. The stage is set. I’m tired and ready to sleep, but expectant, excited, ready for the show to begin.
December 21, 2010
1:30 a.m. – I slept lightly though enough to be refreshed for the big show. So here I am now, standing outside in the cold and maybe my hopes were too high, but my first reaction to this heavenly event is disappointment. The edge of the full moon looks a little blurry, like someone needs to adjust the lens or something. That’s all there is for now. I’m going to lie back down for a half hour more.
2:00 a.m. – So impatient! I should have stayed up to watch the transformation. The moon now looks two thirds covered with a giant fingernail which is the shadow of the planet I’m riding. The sight invigorates me. I wish I could light a bonfire, like the ancients might have done, lighting the night against the impending double-darkness of eclipse and solstice. I also feel overwhelmed and small, vulnerable to the vast movements of heavenly bodies, made obvious by the earth’s shadow moving across the moon. I am powerless to do anything but acquiesce and stand in awe.
2:32 a.m. – The earth’s shadow that at first darkened the moon, now completely covers it, turning its face a glowing orange-red. What was bright and white and cheering just a few hours ago has become a fiery ball in the sky. More than ever I have a sense of the big universe that moves and spins and transforms the silvery moon red. I am keenly aware of how small and inconsequential I am in the midst of these vast doings. Little that I do, that anyone or any nation does will change the primal movements of the universe set in place by the Creator. I am painfully aware of the arrogant pretenses I create, the half-truths I weave and wear like an ill-fitting suit of clothes. The cosmic dance above me moves me to shed the falsehoods I hide behind: false pride, false humility, the half-truth that I matter and the one that I don’t; all pat answers, quick responses that keep me from knowing and living my place in this cosmic dance authentically, without guile and unfeigned. The December air bites and chills me, a reminder that though small I am alive and vital, a beloved spark.
2:45 a.m. – After a few minutes, I gather my things and go back inside. I have seen the cosmic dance and felt my vulnerability before it. That realization, brought home by the ruddy glow of the moon, makes me more grateful for who I am and who loves me: my family, my friends, my God.
6:50 a.m. – Though exhausted, I had a hard time getting to sleep earlier this morning. The time on the clock draws me into the new day of work and relationships, food and drink, work and rest. My moment of knowing my place in the universe seems hours ago yet still now. The fearful joy of knowing, of feeling, of enacting and confessing my vulnerability before God moves me, invigorates me, as I make the coffee, take my shower, and get ready for another day.
Traveling to its eclipse
Vast Celestial Dance
