My TOTALITY experience (and other omens)
An account of witnessing the total solar eclipse on April 8, 2024, and my subsequent reflections and insights.
The day before the solar eclipse, I was walking back from the store (after picking up a new eyebrow pencil and discounted Easter chocolate) when a torn piece of paper near the path caught my eye as I passed a playground…
Clearly it was a page torn from a children’s book.
“The end,” said Buzz.
Fly guy said, “Herozzz!
“Superheros,” said Buzz. “Want to read it again?”
“YEEZZZZZ!”
I am always receptive to synchronicities, messages and omens from the Universe - especially during my walks outside. This one felt like a wink from Mercury retrograding through Aries.
If you read my previous post where I discussed the warrior and hero vibes of Aries, then you too, can likely see the earthly reflection of the cosmos in this little discovery on my path!
Furthermore, Mercury is the planet of books, and being that it is retrograde and retracing its path in Aries it makes sense that it would like to read this book on superheros yet again!
That night, as I made tuna sandwiches for our last minute totality adventure the next day, I pondered this little message.
Do we get a second try at being heroes? At braving the adventure? At stepping out into the unknown? Basically: if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again?
Sounds like Chironic Aries symbolism to me.
***
I live on the East Coast of Canada, a few hours off the path of totality. This means that with eclipse glasses on, I could watch the Moon take a few big bites out of the Sun -and yet, according to what I had read, seeing a partial eclipse was incomparable to witnessing the Sun’s diamond corona as its core was completely obscured by the Moon along its path of totality.
Throughout the week preceding the big day, I wondered whether I should try and make it out to see the full cosmic show. The path of totality was so close… and yet still a long drive.
Would it be worth it? What if it was cloudy? What if the superstitions regarding the dangers of being beneath the eclipse’s shadow had some truth to them? Would the direct visual experience live up to the hype, or would it be just as cool to look at other people’s photos of the eclipse?
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In 1982, esteemed author Annie Dillard published a captivating essay describing her experience of numinous awe and terror when she witnessed a total solar eclipse from a hilltop in Washington state on February 26, 1979. In 2017, The Atlantic magazine was given permission to republish the essay online.
Like so many others, Annie Dillard seem to think that the difference between a total and partial solar eclipse was like night and day (literally):
“I had seen a partial eclipse in 1970. A partial eclipse is very interesting. It bears almost no relation to a total eclipse. Seeing a partial eclipse bears the same relation to seeing a total eclipse as kissing a man does to marrying him, or as flying in an airplane does to falling out of an airplane. Although the one experience precedes the other, it in no way prepares you for it. During a partial eclipse the sky does not darken—not even when 94 percent of the sun is hidden. Nor does the sun, seen colorless through protective devices, seem terribly strange.” ~ Annie Dillard
I had been present to a partial eclipse before - the 2017 total solar eclipse that crossed the United States appeared as a partial eclipse from where I was situated.
I didn’t have protective eclipse glasses at the time so I had tried to make one of those home-made pinhole projectors where you attempt to capture the eclipse shadow on another surface.
I messed up somehow. It didn’t work.
It was an insignificant, frustrating event.
I wanted to experience TOTALITY.
On Friday, plans suddenly came together with some family members (initiated by my mother who has Sun, Moon, and Mercury in Aries): myself, my sister-in-law, and my mother would drive up to New Brunswick on Monday!
As soon as I knew it was a sure thing, the external yes resonated powerfully with my internal yes, and my core let me know how deeply I wanted to witness this.
It wasn’t a little desire, it was a big desire.
It was a top-of-my-bucket-list-need-to-see-before-i-die kind of desire.
Unfamiliar with the east coast of New Brunswick, we studied maps and queried Google repeatedly, trying to find the most ideal location for eclipse viewing that would bring us as close as possible to the center of totality.
At 5 am Monday morning, my mother realized that there was a national park right on the coast.
Koochibouguac National Park.
It looked perfect.
We left at 9 am and arrived by 12:30 pm.
The parking lot for the visitor’s center was rather crowded for a Monday afternoon in April.
“Is this typical for this time of the year, or is this all because of the eclipse?” I asked the person at the information desk after waiting in line for a few minutes.
She laughed as she handed me a map.
“Oh everyone is here for the eclipse. Typically there’s barely anyone visiting the park at this time of the year. It’s great - it’s keeping me busy on a weekday!”
Before arriving we had scouted out Kelly’s Beach in Koochibouguac, using Google. It looked amazing.
Kelly’s Beach was basically a long sand dune (or sand bar?). The only way to reach it was a long, beautiful boardwalk that took you out over the water. Therefore, we suspected it would likely have a great 360° degree view of the horizon.
The Moon was going to start eclipsing the Sun at about 3:30 pm with totality beginning at 4:34:24 pm and ending at 4:37:32 pm.
Since we were on the east coast of Canada, with the Sun gradually moving West to eventually set on the western horizon, we figured we should try to clear the trees as much as possible, not knowing how low in the sky the Sun would be at that time.
We asked how long it would take us to get to Kelly’s Beach.
“Well, the roads that would take you to the beach and campground are still closed and won’t be open until the summer,” the person at the information desk told us.
“You’d have to walk there. We got a lot of snow last week so it will be a bit messy. I hiked into the campsite area last week and it took me about 1.5 hours. Kelly’s Beach is beyond that; it’s about seven or eight kilometers from the footbridge that takes you to the trails.”
We hadn’t anticipated the road to the beach being closed.
While quickly eating our tuna fish sandwiches in the “footbridge parking lot”, we debated the different routes we could take.
Maybe we should just drive along the road until we find a clear area? Or stake out a spot on the wharf?
Not knowing the conditions of the trail nor how long it would take us to get to Kelly’s Beach, I was worried that totality would find us buried in a thicket of trees on the trail.
The clock was ticking. It was now after 1 pm.
With the map in hand and the eclipse glasses in our pockets, we decided to take our chances. We set our course for Kelly’s Beach.
The trail was indeed messy and challenging. For most of the trail, where it was protected from the sun by trees, a thick layer of crunchy snow thoroughly blanketed the path and required us to invest double the effort. It was ideal for cross-country skiing… too bad we only had hikers and very wet socks!
Thankfully we didn’t know that the trail to Kelly’s Beach was actually 10.5 kilometers long when we started, and that it would take us nearly 2.5 hours of steady hiking to arrive - if we had known ahead of time, we may not have attempted the journey!
We saw only three people on the trail - and they were all headed back in the opposite direction.
I reflected out loud as we trudged along, that the day’s events so far seemed appropriate for an eclipse in Aries (a spontaneous sign of adventure and risking the unknown) ruled by Mars applying to a conjunction with Saturn (a duo that aligns with physical effort, signifying the need for endurance and perseverance to overcome challenges).
Finally we began to round the head of the Kouchibouguac River and experienced the relief of snow-less walking again as the trees became more sparse, allowing more sun to penetrate the trail.
We hadn’t even witnessed the eclipse yet and already nature was stunning us with a surreal landscape.
The Sun shone brightly, unbothered by the Moon’s first contact with its brilliance.
The contrast of the sand bars suspended between the blue of the water and the blue of the sky looked like an idyllic painting.
Two park staff were sitting on large ATVs at the entrance to the boardwalk. They commented that there were only two other small groups on the beach to see the eclipse and they advised us to have the park’s toll-free number ready on our phones in case we encountered any challenges trying to get back to the parking lot.
Were they going to watch the eclipse as well?
Yes, they had their eclipse glasses with them, but the park had been surprised by how many people had turned up to witness totality.
Across the Kouchibouguac River we could see a long stream of cars lining the road and congregating at the wharf parking lot.
“I hope there’s no emergency that we need to respond to,” said one of them with concern.
By now it was after 3:30 pm.
Even though it was impossible to tell from looking at the environment around us, the Moon was just beginning to eclipse the Sun.
We walked across the boardwalk full of excitement, anticipation and wonder.
The beach was beautiful.
One of my absolute favourite things to do in life is to run across a long ocean beach in my bare feet at that point where the waves meet the sand.
Savoring the warmth of the Sun (while it lasted) I gleefully took full advantage of the opportunity to do this, marveling at this magical dune beach.
We then laid out a blue tarp and from our backpacks pulled out chocolate covered acai berries, dried mango, a thermos of tea, and of course - our eclipse glasses!
Somewhere I read of someone comparing the process of watching a partial eclipse through eclipse glasses, to watching someone play Pac-Man.
I agree. It definitely reminded me of Pac-Man.
When looking through protective eclipse glasses, the sun looks like an orange circle. Because the glasses are so dense, the orange circle is the only thing you can see when wearing the glasses.
Gradually the darkness around the orange circle began to encroach on the orange circle itself as the Moon slowly crossed in front of the Sun, as if it were biting into the Sun and consuming it.
4:00… 4:15….
There was now only a thin orange crescent when we peered through our glasses at the sky.
It was also rapidly getting colder. Whereas I had been frolicking on the beach in a spandex top and bare feet, I found myself reaching for the parka I had carried with me.
Five minutes later I zipped it up all the way. It was freezing!
The camera re-adjusts the lighting automatically so it was hard to capture how the light was changing in the final moments before totality, but it seemed like an otherworldly form of twilight - everything seemed to shimmer with a silvery or metallic hue.
My body was surging with restless anticipation. I wasn’t sure quite what to do with myself.
The four young adults who were with us on the beach went to stand on top the sand dunes. I began to follow them… putting on my eclipse glasses, taking them off, trying to take it all in… the changing light, the darkening sky, the disappearing crescent of the sun… just seconds now… What do I do?! Where do I look?
I watched the tiny glowing crescent nearly disappear through my glasses but not quite. I then took them off and noticed that the horizon had manifested a sunset all around me - a 360° sunset anchoring the darkened sky with hues of yellow, pink and orange.
I heard the people in the other group exclaim loudly, which brought my head back around and… oh my god. I gasped.
All of a sudden I was staring at it.
The Sun’s corona.
At this point you don’t need eclipse glasses. The only time when it is safe to look directly at the sun (or I should say, where the Sun used to be) is during the few moments of totality, when directly in the path of totality.
If you were to keep wearing the thick protective glasses it would be like staring at a wall - you can’t see a thing.
The Sun was gone.
What remained to be seen at this point, through the naked eye alone, was the Sun’s corona - which is not the body of the Sun itself, but the outermost part of the Sun’s atmosphere shimmering like a halo around the edges of a black disc… a black hole… the Moon, to be precise.
The Sun’s corona derives its name from the Latin corona, which means “crown” or “wreath.” It’s the root of the word “coronation;” the act of crowning a king.
As a related example, the family of coronaviruses were consequently named as such because the protrusions on the virus reminded researchers of the Sun’s corona.
When I was mentally preparing for this journey over the weekend, knowing totality would last for just three minutes, I had set an intention to not worry about taking pictures, to be fully present and absorb it all in some kind of peaceful, meditative state.
Um. Yea. I totally lost my mind. I was overwhelmed. I was freaking out. It was wild. It was surreal. I did not know what to do with myself.
I’ve since gone searching for written accounts of other people’s experiences of totality and I laughed when I read this paragraph by Tim Urban of Wait But Why:
“Only half of my brain was focused on the eclipse because the other half was frantically trying to figure out how to best use the precious minutes. I told myself I wouldn’t spend more than 30 seconds doing stuff with my camera, but I was not gonna not take pics.”
I laughed because it was extremely relatable.
I didn’t take many photos, but I did take some with my phone, and ultimately, although I wish I had managed to be a bit more “present” I’m grateful that I (and my mother and sister-in-law) took some photos during totality.
There are many beautiful, perfect photos of the Sun’s corona out there, but we were in a special location having a unique experience and I wanted to somehow capture that from my own perspective.
This is my favourite photo from totality that I found myself returning to every day throughout this past week when my brain needed evidence that it wasn’t all just a dream:
It was amazing to witness the eclipse in such a secluded spot in nature, away from the crowds, but I also found myself appreciating sharing the experience with a few other strangers on the beach and hearing their exclamations of awe joining our own.
The photo captures them against the horizon, standing on the sand dunes as we were, staring up at where the Sun once was - a shimmering circle of light with a black hole at the core.
As I reflected back on the experience of witnessing totality, a couple of scenes from The Truman Show came to mind. (spoilers below)
In the film, Jim Carrey stars as Truman Burbank, a man who has grown up on a contained reality show film set that revolves around him as the main protagonist - without him being aware of this.
Near the very end, as he is becoming more and more aware of the truth, while trying to escape, his little sailboat crashes into… what he thought was the sky… but what turns out to be the solid blue wall of the set dome. He then discovers stairs rising from what he thought was the ocean… and at the top of the stairs, there is a door.
At this moment, the reality show director, Christof, speaks like an ultra-creepy manipulative god in the sky through a microphone (you can watch the last scene on Youtube, or read the dialogue below).
“Listen to me Truman. There’s no more truth out there than there is in the world I created for you. Same lies. Same deceit. But in my world you have nothing to fear. I know you better than you know yourself.”
Truman exclaims with frustration: “You never had a camera in my head!”
“You’re afraid. That’s why you can’t leave. It’s okay Truman. I understand. I have been watching you your whole life. I was watching when you were born. I was watching when you took your first step. I watched you on your first day of school. The episode when you lost your first tooth. You can’t leave Truman. You belong here. With me.”
“Talk to me. Say something.”
Christof loses his composure. “Well say something goddammit! You’re live to the whole world!”
Truman provides his catch phrase: “In case I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight!”
Truman then bows and exits the film set.
ARE WE LIVING IN A SIMULATED REALITY SHOW SET DOME???
Watching the eclipse kinda gave me the same surreal feeling.
Was the black hole at the center of the Sun an accidental set blip we weren’t supposed to see??
Was it a portal to the “real world”?!
Annie Dillard writes of her totality experience as being beyond anything she could cognitively understand at the time:
“From all the hills came screams. A piece of sky beside the crescent sun was detaching. It was a loosened circle of evening sky, suddenly lit from the back. It was an abrupt black body out of nowhere; it was a flat disk; it was almost over the sun. That is when there were screams. At once this disk of sky slid over the sun like a lid. The sky snapped over the sun like a lens cover. The hatch in the brain slammed. Abruptly it was dark night, on the land and in the sky.
I saw a circular piece of that sky appear, suddenly detached, blackened, and backlit; from nowhere it came and overlapped the sun. It did not look like the moon. It was enormous and black. If I had not read that it was the moon, I could have seen the sight a hundred times and never thought of the moon once.” ~ Annie Dillard
Normally we perceive the Moon as a white or silver-colored luminescent orb or crescent. This is also how it is illustrated in children’s books.
Ah, the sweet Moon, the lover of romance and lullabies.
To witness the Moon as a black pulsating disc at the heart of the Sun, was truly mind-blowing.
This was an expression of the Moon’s essence that I had never experienced before, nor even imagined - fierce and devastatingly powerful.
Annie continues, haphazardly traveling back and forth in time as she tells the tale, as if she were actively attempting to organize the incomprehensible into something with a thread of coherence:
“The world that lay under darkness and stillness following the closing of the lid was not the world we know. The event was over. Its devastation lay around about us. The clamoring mind and heart stilled, almost indifferent, certainly disembodied, frail, and exhausted. The hills were hushed, obliterated. Up in the sky, like a crater from some distant cataclysm, was a hollow ring.
You have seen photographs of the sun taken during a total eclipse. The corona fills the print. All of those photographs were taken through telescopes. The lenses of telescopes and cameras can no more cover the breadth and scale of the visual array than language can cover the breadth and simultaneity of internal experience.” ~ Annie Dillard
It’s so true.
I’m grateful for the photos we took because they support my sustained memory of that special time and place, but witnessing a total eclipse is a profound sensory experience that evades all attempts to capture it in a photo.
That said, we tried.
Here’s two more great photos taken by my sister-in-law:
You can just see Venus glistening below the eclipse.
Totality was coming to a close and I realized I didn’t have a picture that included Jupiter, which was above the eclipse.
So I pulled out my phone again. It’s blurry because I was rushed, so the Moon isn’t visible, but I was thrilled to see Venus and Jupiter glimmering in the sky on either side!
It was a special treat to see Venus in particular, because during this part of her cycle she sets before the Sun.
On April 8th, Venus was just beginning to depart from her morning star phase (where she could be seen in the east shortly before sunrise), and move beneath the beams of the Sun where she would become invisible regardless of what time of day it was.
“I really don’t know what to do with myself,” I said, as I stared up at the mind-bending, mesmorizing shining halo in the sky while standing between my mother and sister-in-law.
“I feel like I should drop to my knees,” I said suddenly.
So I did. I dropped to my knees.
And then… it was all over.
A beam of sunlight escaped the Moon’s dark disc and sped toward the beach where we stood. In mere seconds the beach was awash in the light of day once more.
I pulled my family members close for a group selfie, our faces full of awe and exhilaration.
Again, I thought of The Truman Show and the scene where Christof orders his assistant to “cue the sun!” - and the sun suddenly rises abruptly, much earlier than it was supposed to.
It was all so fast.
So abrupt was the return to light, that I swear someone somewhere must have been yelling: CUE THE SUN!
Within a minute or two we were packing up; stuffing the blue tarp into a backpack along with the thermos and the near empty bags of chocolate-covered acai berries and dried mango.
We slipped the eclipse glasses into our pockets and began our 10.5 km journey back over the boardwalk and through the woods to reach our car, occasionally pausing to look upward and watch the Moon gradually release the orange globe back into the sky.
In retrospect it seems a bit strange that we left that beautiful spot in such a rush, not waiting around to witness the last remaining hour of the (now partial) eclipse. We were quick with packing up, but the other group was even faster and were well on their way before us!
Granted, it was freezing and we were physically uncomfortable.
But when I read Annie Dillard’s account and her similar post-eclipse reaction, I wondered if there was something else going on…
“When the sun appeared as a blinding bead on the ring’s side, the eclipse was over. The black lens cover appeared again, backlit, and slid away. At once the yellow light made the sky blue again; the black lid dissolved and vanished. The real world began there. I remember now: We all hurried away. We were born and bored at a stroke. We rushed down the hill. We found our car; we saw the other people streaming down the hillsides; we joined the highway traffic and drove away.
We never looked back. It was a general vamoose, and an odd one, for when we left the hill, the sun was still partially eclipsed—a sight rare enough, and one which, in itself, we would probably have driven five hours to see. But enough is enough. One turns at last even from glory itself with a sigh of relief. From the depths of mystery, and even from the heights of splendor, we bounce back and hurry for the latitudes of home.” ~ Annie Dillard
Perhaps on a primal, unconscious level, we were fleeing the scene, propelled by a phenomenon that invoked both wonder and terror - a phenomenon that our body and mind couldn’t fully make sense of.
After witnessing totality in the early morning, Annie Dillard and her partner sought comfort from a nearby restaurant as they sat down for breakfast along with other eclipse watchers. She writes:
“Later, under the tranquilizing influence of fried eggs, the mind can sort through the data. The restaurant was a halfway house, a decompression chamber.”
It was a quiet return journey, our hikers sliding over the snow that had now turned to slush.
“That was crazy,” I kept saying. The image of the black hole in the sky outlined by a shimmering white halo was burned forever into my brain.
“That was crazy. I can’t believe that really happened.”
Back in the parking lot, the key turned in the ignition, the car’s engine rumbled on, and… we stared at the dashboard screen, our brains trying to compute what we were seeing.
“The Eclipse Sessions”?!
It was a song from a Spotify playlist. The album was titled The Eclipse Sessions, by John Hiatt. We had no idea who this was and we had never seen the album cover before. It was a song on a random playlist, but this is what we saw the moment the car turned on, just after seeing a total eclipse.
I hit up Google - apparently the name of the album was inspired by the total eclipse of 2017 that crossed the United States, which is when it was recorded!
It was a fun synch to complete our experience!
There are three more sections to this essay below:
Decompression and Integration (initial reflections on my experience, the relevant astrology, and on how witnessing totality is like witnessing death)
The sky’s luminaries and the organ of sight (how my eye-health paranoia meaningfully paralleled the eclipse experience and an exploration of the fascinating connections between the eyes, the Sun, Moon, and eclipses)
My recommendations for future solar eclipse totality experiences (practical suggestions for making the most of the next one!)
Decompression and Integration
It took me a few days to decompress from the experience and I’m still integrating it.
In the hours and days that followed, I found that, accompanying my gratitude and awe, was my worry that I was not as present as I should have been, or could have been, for those precious three minutes. I worried I may have used up too much time taking photos or checking how much time was left.
I worried that I should have focused entirely on opening up my sensory gateways as wide as possible to allow the moment to penetrate through all layers of memory collection in order to preserve a vivid and multi-layered record of this rare experience in my body and brain - noticing the breath in my lungs, the cold breeze on my face, the feeling of sand beneath my toes, the sound of the waves, the shared energy with the people around me, the 360° sunset, Venus and Jupiter… all the while gazing at the Sun’s corona and the impossible, incomprehensible, unbelievable, black hole in the sky, letting it resonate deep into my bones…
If only totality had lasted fifteen minutes instead of three minutes! Then I could have gotten over my initial shock and settled into the experience more deeply.
I did some research:
The period of totality can range from about one minute, up to 7.5 minutes at maximum. It is incredibly rare for it to last 7.5 minutes; we were very lucky to get just over three minutes of totality. (source)
Such a short, fleeting amount of time to witness something so sublime! Something that felt so surreal that the memory of it lingers like a dream, a mirage.
I wondered if this was part of how I was experiencing Mars (the ruler of the eclipse) conjoining with Saturn in Pisces.
In my previous blog post about Aries activations I wrote about how Mars is a planet that wants to take fast action, while Saturn’s response is one that is slow, careful, and grounded. Saturn can also be the unmovable limits of the situation we find ourselves in - the limits that Mars protests against.
I offered the following question prompts for guidance in navigating this conjunction which perfected on April 10th, but was active throughout the week:
After experiencing several very challenging Mars-Saturn conjunctions over the years, the wisdom I have gleaned is this… In situations that are moving very quickly, that may be hemmed in by some really inflexible constraints, responsibilities, and limitations, carefully assess: where do I have agency and where do I not?
Where and whenever possible, in the midst of high speed situations that feel time-pressured and rushed, look for moments and methods where you can locate the brakes or the pause button (this also literally applies to vehicles as well). Ask yourself, where I can slow down, even just a little bit?
Totality felt like a time-pressured situation.
We had committed to a long and determined Saturnian journey - we had driven over three hours, hiked for over two hours, waited for an hour, for a spectacular three minute cosmic show.
Yet Saturn also outlined the hard parameters of the experience we were waiting for (as he does with life itself): 4:34:24 pm - 4:37:32 pm, no longer. He was not going to budge on the length of this natural phenomena.
My agency lay in what I did during those three minutes.
Do I wish that I had really grounded myself and brought some Saturnian slowness and gravity to my system instead of feeling gripped by the adrenaline and chaos of Mars?
Yea, I do, but on the other hand, as was reflected back to me: “Being dysregulated and freaking out was the natural response to something like that. I would have been worried if you were standing there silently and peacefully meditating!”
Gradually I began to accept that the ephemeral transience and rarity of solar eclipse totality, was part of its gift. It was part of its magnificence, its magic, its Mars-Saturn message, reminding us of how precious life is.
Slowly I began to realize that what I thought was regret, was actually grief. A big grief that was both existential and personal, a grief that extended its reach far beyond the moment of totality that prompted it.
***
Dr. Kate Russo is both a psychologist and a dedicated eclipse chaser. She has seen thirteen total solar eclipses from six continents over the past twenty years.
Dr. Russo has written several books about totality (i.e., Total Addiction: The Life of an Eclipse Chaser and Being in the Shadow: Stories of the First-Time Total Eclipse Experience) in addition to founding an Australian-based consultancy whose mission is to help people get into the path of totality to experience the wonder and awe of a total solar eclipse.
Dr. Russo’s quotes on her website include the following:
“There is no need to be fearful of the dark. Chase it, welcome it, embrace it. “
“The path of darkness leads to the most interesting of places.”
“You MUST get into the path of totality at least once to experience the incredible awe and wonder of being in the shadow.”
“If everyone experienced a total solar eclipse, the world would be a better place.”
Dr. Russo also wrote a wonderful article for Aeon titled: How chasing solar eclipses opened me up to the awe of living, where she describes her life-changing experience of first witnessing a total solar eclipse.
She concludes with this:
“Totality is the perfect metaphor for life – it is intense, terrifying, awe-inspiring, beautiful, fleeting, and then it is over. Let’s chase these moments that inspire and connect us. Open yourself up to awe, and find meaning in moments that are there for the taking. Make your every second count.” ~ Kate Russo
The moment when the Moon moves in front of the Sun, blotting out our life force and turning the daylight to darkness, is described by many as an experience symbolically akin to death.
Indeed, we all know that if the Sun were to cease to exist, so too, would life on Earth.
As we hiked back to the car after witnessing totality, I found my thoughts orbiting around the death of my beloved dog last December, remembering how jarringly fast she crossed the threshold. I found myself thinking about my own life; its many past chapters and my memories of peak experiences. I thought of the extraordinarily special and beautiful moments I had lived, like this one, that gleamed like jewels dotting my linear history, infinite in their value even as I was left with only the imprint of them.
John O’Donohue writes:
“In the presence of death, we are reminded of the beauty and fragility of life, and the profound interconnectedness of all things.”
Standing before a total solar eclipse is like (among many things) standing in the presence of death.
Encounters with death can transform us in the way that they bring into focus what really matters during our short and precious lives.
Similarly, witnessing the portal of totality felt like another invitation to shed the chains that bind me to social conditioning, fears and obedience - anything that inhibits the expression of my most authentic self.
True to what I wrote about this solar eclipse being exactly conjunct Chiron in Aries, I felt like I accessed a new reservoir of courage to take action toward my biggest dreams and goals while accepting the vulnerability that comes with this as I potentially expose myself to public judgment.
One of my reflective question prompts for the solar eclipse in Aries conjunct Chiron was:
What authentic desire is awakening in me and coming out of the shadows? How can I step forward toward a soul-led call of opportunity with both courage and vulnerability, even bringing fear along for the ride if it insists on accompanying me?
Now that we are over a week into a lunation cycle that launched with the solar eclipse, how is this question landing for you, regardless of whether you witnessed totality or not?
The sky’s luminaries and the organ of sight
I’m going to briefly back-up to four days before the eclipse in order to trace another thread of symbolic meaning through the totality experience…
On April 4th I nearly gave myself a panic attack.
I had found a blind spot in my field of vision.
The night prior I had been talking to my mother who recently had laser eye surgery to resolve increasing intraocular pressure that was causing Glaucoma. The post-laser surgery prognosis is very good, but she will be followed closely for a while to monitor her vision. Understandably the situation made her nervous.
I have had a long-term, low-grade concern about my own eyes largely because of the symptoms from ongoing eye strain, and probably also because the initial symptoms of my Dad’s eventual end-of-life health issues first emerged as a vision problem (because a pituitary tumor was pressing against his optic nerve).
So even as I encouraged my mother with her positive prognosis, I think the health-anxiety was contagious and I found myself testing my field of vision late that night while sitting in bed. Not a good idea.
Thanks to a few quick Google searches about “a blind spot” I realized that by closing one eye, I had accidently located my natural blind spot - the blind spot that occurs where the optic nerve enters the eye.
Unless you are an octopus or a squid, you have one too, in each eye.
If you want to freak yourself out you can easily locate your natural blind spot by doing this exercise from All About Vision:
Close your left eye.
Hold your left thumb at arm’s length.
Look at your left thumb with your right eye.
Hold your right thumb next to your left thumb.
Keep looking only at your left thumb while slowly shifting your right thumb to the right. Your right thumb will vanish when your thumbs are about 6 inches apart. That’s the blind spot in your right eye.
After you discover the blind spot in your right eye, move your right thumb around to tell how big the blind spot is.
To find the blind spot in your left eye, repeat the steps above with the opposite.
Unfortunately this explanation didn’t fully put my mind at ease and I continued to be sucked down an anxiety spiral, researching all kinds of eye conditions and diseases…
And then, just days away from the eclipse, I began to reflect on how interesting it was that I was having an anxiety spiral about losing my vision and plunging into darkness, when I was at the same time, also nervously preparing to see a total solar eclipse where the Earth’s source of illumination would be obscured.
Interesting indeed.
As we walked toward Kelly’s Beach, against the backdrop of white snow gleaming under the bright sunlight, little dots and squiggles appeared to dance and swirl in front of me. Even though, in reality, they were actually inside of me.
In recent days, consumed by my health paranoia, I had also been hyper-focused on my eye floaters.
Eye floaters are pieces of collagen fiber and cell fragments that clump together in the vitreous humor (the jelly-like substance in your eyeball). As they float around in the vitreous orb they cast a shadow on the retina. The scientific name for eye floaters is muscae volitantes, which is Latin for “flying flies.”
The brighter your environment, the darker their shadow and the more irritating these flying flies in your eye will be.
Eye floaters tend to be associated with the aging process (or direct trauma to the eye) which leads to the gradual degeneration of the vitreous humor. The vitreous humor is initially completely transparent at birth (although not always - children can have floaters too). Over time, the jelly-like vitreous substance begins to liquify and shrink, which dislodges and stirs up the tiny pieces of cell debris and collagen fibers, making them prone to clumping into strange cobwebby or worm-type shapes.
Like so many others, I had developed eye floaters in my 30s. I attribute this to increased stress, tension and inflammation affecting my eyes and likely propelling the early degeneration of the vitreous humor, which has also been expedited by the constant use of digital devices.
It is unclear to me in the research whether floaters can fully resolve on their own (i.e., un-clump or be re-absorbed), but most of the time, they will either gradually settle at the bottom of the eye, outside of the viewing region - or else the brain will adapt and learn to omit these mysterious dancing shadows from the incoming visual data.
Throughout our long hike toward totality - as I anxiously monitored when the trees disappeared in my peripheral vision and watched flying flies dance inside my eyes - I thought about how the mechanism of seeing eye floaters as shadows crossing the retina when looking at a bright light…
…was somewhat similar to the mechanism of a solar eclipse when you replace an eye floater with the Moon, and planet Earth for the human retina.
Even if I hadn’t been having personal eye issues and concerns at the time, the topic of eyes and eye health was hard to miss in the days around the solar eclipse.
All the news articles about the eclipse, for example, never failed to mention how staring directly at the Sun would burn your retina and damage your vision - thus it was essential to take necessary precautions and wear certified protective eclipse glasses at all times.
This only fed my eye paranoia further.
Were our eclipse glasses good enough? Was I going to damage my eyes while observing the eclipse?
I thought about how ironic it was that the Sun’s power can destroy the eye and its vision, but its light also is what makes vision possible.
Furthermore, the Sun is often perceived as a symbolic representation of the eye itself.
Last summer I listened to a relevant episode by Joshua Schrei on his beautiful podcast, The Emerald. The episode is called "The Eyes Have It: The Optics of Creation and Consciousness."
In the episode, Joshua explores the symbolism of the eye, from numerous cross-cultural perspectives.
He talked about eyes as windows to the soul; eyes as consciousness; eyes not simply passive receptors receiving information, but also active emitters; the ubiquitous "evil eye"; protective eye talismans, paintings and mirrors used around the world to deflect the evil eye; the mysterious third eye; spiritual sight and "seers"...
I wrote down this quote from the podcast nearly a year ago:
"So the eye is a reflection of the cosmos, have you ever noticed that? Why is the eye round? Because the world is round.
What's right at the center of the eye?
A fathomless black dot. A singularity. A black hole from which no light escapes, which is why the pupil is black. It absorbs light into it and then radiates out into the spectral display of the iris. Which makes the eye a whole lot like a galaxy. Or a spiraling storm with stillness at the center. Or a universe unto itself." ~ Joshua Schrei
Again, interesting.
The eye like a fathomless black dot. Kind of like a total solar eclipse.
I knew from medical astrology and other recollections from various readings throughout the years, that the right eye is believed by many traditions to represent the Sun, while the left eye is representative of the Moon.
Joshua Schrei spoke to these associations on his podcast as well:
"This vision of the right eye as the sun and the left eye as the moon is found in India, in Christian Alchemy and probably springs originally from ancient Egypt. Sun, Moon and Fire is a common way to describe the three eyes. Within this triangle of the three eyes is the trinity of creation.
The right and left eyes are the sun and the moon, yin and yang, the left energy channel and the right energy channel, the dualities of creation. And the third eye, the third point of the triangle, is the transcendent universal light of consciousness from which all dualities spring." ~ Josh Schrei
I have often wondered how this association with the luminaries manifests for me personally, both physically and in my natal chart. The Sun rules my ascendant, while the Moon rules my 12th house.
Stories of my birth have always included the anecdotal comment that I was born with one eye open, and the other squeezed shut - and that this one-eyed squint frequently reappeared during my early morning moments of awakening.
I wonder which eye was doing what?
The far-sightedness in my left eye is significantly worse than in my right. So I can get away with not wearing glasses most of the time, but it means my right eye (the Sun) is always working extra hard trying to compensate for the weakness of my left eye (the Moon).
In the summer of 2023, I creatively explored this luminary-eye connection for my “44 days of Instagram posts;” a challenge I had designed for myself to push the edges of my visibility fears alongside Venus’ 44-day retrograde in Leo. I messed around and created these two videos below, inspired by the symbolism of the Sun as the right eye, and the Moon as the left eye. (if you are reading this via email you may need to click through to the blog to view the videos)
Our eyes work so hard for us.
The nose receives smells, the skin receives touch, the tongue receives taste and the ears receive sound.
Compared to the other sensory organs of perception, our eyes have one of the furthest reaches. Our eyes can arguably offer us the most detailed information from both near and distant sources when we are scanning for threats in our environment.
In this stressful world, full of people with a lot of unprocessed trauma, it is (unfortunately) very common for the eyes to be in a near constant state of hypervigilance.
A lot of my eye strain comes from focusing on digital devices for too long (especially when I’m not wearing my glasses), but certainly stress and hypervigilance also contributes to my eye strain (which mostly afflicts my right eye).
I have to frequently remind my eyes that they don’t have to try and leave their sockets when rushing to assess incoming visual information; they can relax and allow the world to come to them.
I often focus on pulling my energy to the back of my skull and my spine, allowing this to be my anchor of safety, so that my eyes can begin to work a little less hard.
In the aftermath of totality, I reflected on how my eyes work so hard to detect and assess threats so that I can (ideally) be perfectly prepared.
And then I thought about how I felt like my eyes (and I) were working rather too hard when witnessing the solar eclipse - trying to figure out what to do, how to take it all in, how to preserve the memory perfectly… rather than letting it come to me and wash over me, through me.
I wondered, with all of this eye anxiety in the days leading up to the eclipse, on a metaphysical level, what was I afraid to see?
With my tension headaches at their worst, my head caught as if in a tight vice grip, and my right eye aching as it strained to compensate for my left eye’s near-sightedness, I wondered… what stories and experiences does my left eye carry?
As I journeyed to gaze up at the dark shadow of the Moon, the sky’s left eye equivalent, while fearing blind spots and shadow-casting-floaters, I wondered… what might my left eye know (the moon) that my right eye (the sun) was fighting so hard to protect me from?
What might it be like to surrender, even for just three minutes, as the sun surrendered?
I reflected on how the total solar eclipse itself looked like a cosmic eye in the sky - the Moon as the black center pupil with the Sun’s rays as the iris.
It’s the black pupil, the hole in the middle of the iris, that sees. That saw me.
It was me, my eyes, staring back at the all-seeing Moon, being seen by the cosmos.
I thought I was there to witness the eclipse.
But perhaps it was I who was being witnessed.
To see and be seen.
We yearn for this even as it terrifies us.
Within 24-hours after the eclipse my sister sent me the following quote by cognitive psychologist Donald Hoffman (for reasons unrelated to the eclipse), which had been reposted on Instagram by a photographer:
“We do not see what is really there, but only what we need to see… The perceptual systems we have developed for one reason only, survival, do not represent the truth; they are simply a species-specific behavioral guide.” ~ Donald Hoffman.
Donald is a researcher who is challenging the belief that we perceive reality as it really is.
Later, when watching a video on eye floaters, this related quote jumped out at me:
“But the majority of the time, entoptic phenomenon, such as floaters and blue sky sprites, are just a gentle reminder that what we think we see, depends just as much on our biology and our minds as it does on the external world.”
There are so many protective barriers to truly seeing, and being seen, that are erected within us and in the surrounding culture.
Ironically, as so many mythologies suggest, it may be that darkness, which is created by a lack of light - a situation that is considered to be a barrier to visual seeing - is the portal to unlocking a much larger, truer, perceptual field and more intimate connections.
In the days following the eclipse, I began to relate to my body’s anxiety and tension with more compassion and receptiveness, rather than frustration, and gradually it started to soften. When I asked why it was so afraid, when I truly took the time to listen to the messages beneath the eye paranoia, my body replied that it was afraid of taking action, of moving towards my goals, when it knows from experience that everything can change in an instant.
Life is an unpredictable and often chaotic experience. My body-mind carries memories of losing everything I had worked for, of having everything solid melt away, of no longer being able to trust anything or anyone - and worst of all, not being able to trust myself.
So many of us carry embodied memories like this in our cells - a Chironic wound, one might say.
When my body expressed its fear of plunging into darkness, of falling into a chaotic spiral yet again, I gently reminded it that after three minutes, the Sun returned.
We gazed up at the dark all-seeing pupil of the Moon with our naked eyes, stripped of all protective barriers (such as eclipse glasses) as the Earth turned cold and flipped our reality upside down as day became night.
And then three minutes later our faces were aglow in the light of the Sun, our trust in the source of Earthly life and vitality restored.
And this would happen again and again and again.
We could trust the Sun to return.
I made a deal with my body: I would do my very best to take it to witness totality again, and in return, it would practice trusting me as together, we took steps forward into the unknown.
***
In the corner of my office there is a space that unintentionally became “the sun corner.”
The room was painted pumpkin orange nearly two decades ago, far before I began to occupy it. Then, when I exiled the rather tacky sun-shaped mirror I purchased in my early twenties from my bedroom, it ended up in my office because the colors matched. When my sister got rid of her globe salt lamp because it no longer worked with her aesthetic, that too ended up in the corner of my office.
I’m a Leo rising and it is hilarious to me that my environment has conspired to help me embody this sun-ruled sign when I make my first impression on zoom calls - it’s this sun-centric corner of the room that is most visible from the webcam.
Although I try to avoid it, sometimes my chair shifts slightly and from the perspective of the other person on the zoom call, my head appears perfectly placed in the center of the sun-mirror - consequently my head literally has sun rays sprouting from it!
What someone can’t see from the webcam, however, is the painting that is in front of me, behind the computer screen. This painting highlights the other luminary of the sky during a dark, winter, nighttime scene.
The painting was a gift from a family friend who purchased it from the artist whose inspiration for creating the image was a prophetic word my father had given him many years ago - my father shared that he had received an image of the artist walking forward carrying a ball of fire, which was brought to those living in cold, barren, lonely places.
Shortly after it was painted - while the artist lived further north, fulfilling the prophecy - my father lost his ability to walk, talk, eat, or make any intentional movement.
If one were to stare closely at the painting, little specks of dried pureed food can still be found - reminders of the days when my mother used a large syringe to send nutrients down a tube that went through my dad’s nose and into his stomach. Sometimes the pressure from the syringe would cause it to spray sideways.
It is so interesting to me that both the Sun and the Moon found their way into my space, without much conscious intention on my part.
Looking at the painting now as I write, I’m thinking about how fire offers itself as the Sun’s substitute during the night, as the Moon glows gently in the sky.
Based on my dad’s prophetic vision, the artist painted it as “a reminder of following the Spirit’s lead.”
The painting was born from a context that was unique to the artist, but I think it can be a relevant reminder for anyone that even when the light and heat of the life-giving Sun is obscured, whether literally or metaphorically, there is a fire we contain within, our own inner Sun, that we carry with us wherever we go - and it can lead us through the dark when we allow it to.
***
The experience of writing this post has felt like being in orbit, circling around the eclipse phenomenon itself, collecting insight from different angles and perspectives.
My process of digestion and writing has not been linear.
I hope that among these threaded fragments of thoughts and reflections, you may find something that lands for you.
My recommendations for future solar eclipse totality experiences:
I want to close this piece with some practical suggestions on how to prepare for viewing future eclipses, based on my first-time totality experience on April 8, 2024.
Aside from the total solar eclipse that will be visible from the west coast of Alaska in 2033, the next time totality visits North America it will be August 23, 2044 - over two decades away. However, if you are willing to jump on a plane and fly to another continent, you have more options!
Like Spain, August 12, 2026, at 8:26 pm, just before sunset.
(See you there??)
Weather
Unfortunately bad weather can ruin the totality experience and this is the most challenging unknown variable to navigate for those who are traveling to see an eclipse. Even a mild cloud cover could lessen the stark and dramatic effect of the Sun disappearing behind the Moon and a bright sky suddenly becoming dark. Bad weather could obscure one of the most visually stunning parts of the eclipse - seeing the sun’s corona.
If you are in the privileged position of being able to change your location at a moment’s notice, then you may want to have several good eclipse watching locations staked out on the path of totality as you monitor the changing weather.
Choice of viewing location
I would also consider choosing a location with as few artificial lights as possible. The less city lights around, the darker the sky will be, and the more likely you are to see planets or even stars pop out of the darkness to say hello!
My biggest learning from witnessing the 2024 eclipse is this: Experiencing totality highlights the relationship between the Sun, Moon, and (you on) the Earth. It’s not solely about what the Sun and the Moon are doing in the sky. I believe the experience deepens when this relationship becomes the primary focus.
For example, I wasn’t expecting the 360° sunset effect on the horizon - the place where sky meets earth, a place of direct relationship. The entire sky blew me away, not just the dark center of the eclipse.
In order to fully witness this sunset effect you’ll need a clear horizon. Standing on a beach, an open field, or the top of a hill would be ideal (a hill is also a prime viewing location for witnessing the Moon’s shadow race across the land).
Kelly’s Beach was essentially a sandbar out in the ocean, only accessible via a long boardwalk from the main shoreline. When standing on top of the sand dunes, the horizon line in all directions was quite clear.
Photo-taking
Unless you are a photographer whose main goal is to take photographs of the eclipse, I would think carefully about whether or not you want to take photos ahead of time - and if so, what kinds of photos?
The modern urge to reach for one’s phone to preserve a special memory is overpoweringly strong!
The greatest risk here is that you could spend the precious few minutes of totality fiddling with phone settings and primarily viewing the eclipse and its effects through a screen rather than with your own eyes.
I love the photos we captured of our experience, and yet I still feel I reached for my phone too many times.
Unless you have a high quality camera, the Sun’s corona itself is likely going to appear on your phone as a hazy blur. It’s clear now, in retrospect, that the most meaningful eclipse photos for me are the ones that capture my particular context and environment - my setting and the people I was with. My favourite photo is the one of the three strangers standing on the sand dunes with the Sun’s corona and Venus above them. It’s the one that best captures the “feel” of the moment.
So after you’ve settled into your chosen location, decide whether there is a particular vantage point or scene that you want to capture from this memory.
And if you are anticipating only one minute or less of totality, but you still want to capture images to help preserve this incredible memory, you may want to forego all photo attempts and snap a post-eclipse selfie when the sun comes out! Another of my favourite photos is one of me, my mom and my sister-in-law with the fresh glow of the sun on our faces.
The value and limits of using eclipse glasses
Eclipse glasses were a hot commodity! We luckily managed to track down a few pairs locally because it was too late to order them when we made the decision to travel to totality.
You may be able to reuse your eclipse glasses if you have them. If they comply with the ISO 12312-2 safety standard and remain unscratched and undamaged then you should be able to use them indefinitely. I’ve also read that some glasses expire in three years, so I advise doing your own research.
If you don’t anticipate being able to see an eclipse in the near future, you can donate your glasses to non-profit organizations such as Astronomers Without Borders who will vet them before distributing them to other countries where eclipse glasses are less available.
I’m glad we had the eclipse glasses (and I would recommend not looking for them last minute like we did), but during my next experience of totality I will *mostly* ignore them!
As I said, my biggest learning from my recent eclipse experience is that totality highlights the relationship between the Sun, Moon and Earth.
Watching the eclipse through the glasses was like watching Pac-Man as I mentioned. It felt very detached; like I was looking at a computer screen, perceiving something digital.
I am grateful for the eclipse glasses because obviously I wouldn’t have been able to look up at the Sun during the initial partial eclipse without them - I think they were fun to use a few times as the anticipation of totality was building. We could directly track how much of the Sun still remained visible, and it was neat to see the Sun appear as an orange waning crescent, similar to the shape the Moon takes at the beginning and end of its lunation cycle.
However, next time I would mostly put the glasses aside for the last 10-15 minutes and focus entirely on the changes occurring in my surroundings, the environment around me - such as the dramatic temperature drop (which can be up to 20 degrees Fahrenheit!) and the changes in color.
Other eclipse phenomenon beyond the Sun: colors and shadows
Before the 360 degree sunset occurs during totality, in the final minutes before totality, the landscape takes on an eerie silvery-gray hue (which Annie Dillard describes so captivatingly in her essay).
Except for the color green, apparently.
The color green will become more vibrant, while warm bright colors like red, will darken and become muted. This is called the Purkinje effect, and some folks recommend wearing red and green so you can fully appreciate this color transformation (you also get to look like a Christmas tree).
Just before totality another cool visual thing that occurs are the shadow bands, or the more mysterious “shadow snakes,” where the Earth's atmospheric turbulence refracts the weak light of the crescent sun causing ripples of light to move quickly. This is best observed on light-colored surfaces. If you want to witness this, it may be best to lay out a white sheet or blanket.
I noticed neither of these effects myself, but I also wasn’t looking for them.
One visual experience that I wish I had observed directly, is the Moon’s shadow speeding across the land in the seconds preceding totality. I learned about it from Annie Dillard’s essay, which I read afterwards, and given the dramatic way she described it I wondered how I could have missed it. Luckily my mother had taken a video of the transition to totality and we were able to see the Moon’s shadow rolling across the land when we reviewed it later, but I suspect the incoming shadow of the Moon would be much more noticeable if you were standing on a hilltop, as Annie was:
“The deepest, and most terrifying, was this: I have said that I heard screams. (I have since read that screaming, with hysteria, is a common reaction even to expected total eclipses.) People on all the hillsides, including, I think, myself, screamed when the black body of the moon detached from the sky and rolled over the sun. But something else was happening at that same instant, and it was this, I believe, that made us scream.
The second before the sun went out we saw a wall of dark shadow come speeding at us. We no sooner saw it than it was upon us, like thunder. It roared up the valley. It slammed our hill and knocked us out. It was the monstrous swift shadow cone of the moon. I have since read that this wave of shadow moves at 1,800 miles an hour. Language can give no sense of this sort of speed—1,800 miles an hour. It was 195 miles wide. No end was in sight—you saw only the edge. It rolled at you across the land at 1,800 miles an hour, hauling darkness like plague behind it. Seeing it, and knowing it was coming straight for you, was like feeling a slug of anesthetic shoot up your arm. If you think very fast, you may have time to think, “Soon it will hit my brain.” You can feel the deadness race up your arm; you can feel the appalling, inhuman speed of your own blood. We saw the wall of shadow coming, and screamed before it hit.
Less than two minutes later, when the sun emerged, the trailing edge of the shadow cone sped away. It coursed down our hill and raced eastward over the plain, faster than the eye could believe; it swept over the plain and dropped over the planet’s rim in a twinkling. It had clobbered us, and now it roared away. We blinked in the light. It was as though an enormous, loping god in the sky had reached down and slapped the Earth’s face.” ~ Annie Dillard
In the last 10-15 minutes before totality, the colors in the environment are gradually changing as if moving toward twilight, but the Sun is so bright that even when it is 99% obscured, it still feels like daytime.
In contrast, the mere seconds involved in the final transition to totality create quite a sudden and dramatic shift in light as the Moon’s shadow races across the Earth.
As we hovered at the edge of totality, standing on the sand dunes on Kelly’s Beach, adrenaline and excitement coursing through my body, aware of how time-limited this experience would be, I didn’t know where to look or what to do!
I ended up watching the final seconds of the Sun’s orange crescent disappearing through my eclipse glasses and this is something I definitely wouldn’t do again! There is so much else to notice and absorb in the surrounding environment.
I’ll hang on to my eclipse glasses for sure, but I don’t think they are a necessity -
A necessity if you want to look directly at the partially-covered Sun without burning your retinas, but not a necessity for getting the most out of the experience (in my opinion). Even during the full hour prior to totality, I think I’d be happy to spend most of that time playing with shadows rather than wearing eclipse glasses.
You can use anything with small defined holes to create a shadow effect, projecting tiny crescent suns onto other surfaces. Colanders and spaghetti spoons work well, and you can also use card paper that has been hole-punched. Depending on the type of trees that surround you, you may even see carpets of crescent suns quivering along the ground as the light passes through the leaves (for more ideas check out this site).
Getting to know your sky, eclipse or no eclipse
Finally, while a total solar eclipse is one of the most spectacular visual phenomena you can witness in the sky, there’s always something to look at up there!
Visually identifying and tracking Moon phases and locating planets in the night sky for example, has profoundly deepened my relationship with both the Earth and the Cosmos.
You can use an app like SkyView to get started, but if you notice a very bright star shining alone in the sky in the early evening, just know that you are likely looking at a planet!
Jupiter, Venus, and Mercury in particular, can shine quite brightly and they will appear in the sky before the stars pop out.
I find it thrilling that we can easily see these planets with our naked eye! Under certain conditions, the reddish hue of Mars and the faint glimmer of Saturn may also be visible.
If you have witnessed a total solar eclipse before, I’d love to hear your experience and how it impacted you!
Wow!!!