Looking at the sun through dark lenses is underrated. It is fantastic: the proof that it is really happening, like science predicted. When I saw it today I thought of Galileo seeing the craters of the moon through his telescope for the first time and the people who accused him of hiding the image inside the telescope. It is hard to believe the eyes. It is pure awe. I had heard on the radio, from an astronomer, that going through life without seeing a solar eclipse is like going through life without ever falling in love. And he was right.
He didn’t mention, though, that the shadows were part of the show. Very slowly, without advertising, the little spaces between the leaves became pinhole cameras. On the floors, on the ground, on the walls, mini eclipses were reproduced without shame, with no hurry, quietly, but also shy, like they were trying not to steal the spotlight of the ideal, platonic image. It happened so delicately, so slowly, so silently. A quiet song that had the sun and the moon as drums, the little mini-eclipses as playful, happy violins, making fun of the their parents.
Light and shadow can not exist without each other. I think of that as I contemplate my fears, my mistakes and my own darkness. I prefer to think of them as quiet, joyful little eclipses.