27 July 2018
Blood Moon Eclipse.
It was dark at the beach-side café. The moon had risen already blacked out. And it was black, darkness like never before all around, shocking against the memory of the big bright moon that shone the night before. As if to reconjure that light, to protest its disappearance, an explosion of life happened among the people assembled for drinks and tapas or dinner. The sound of voices, talk and laughter, the clatter of plates and silverware, the clinking of glasses swelled to a life-affirming tsunami of noise that swept up everyone, couples, whole families from grandparents to babies.
All except one: a little blond girl, at the head of a long table, her back against the invisible moon. She sat, quietly centered, in a world all her own, playing with small things on the table—a teaspoon? Bits of paper napkin? Totally absorbed, at play in her creative universe, she leaned forward as if concentrating, imagining maybe the next move, when from the side big hands brutally grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her back, sat her upright in the chair. A table away, I gasped.
The moon realized it was time to show its face again. And so it did. Watched with the naked eye, it appeared as a thread of light, then a wafer-thin slice that thickened and gradually nibbled away at the red disk and unstoppable, inch by inch, minute by minute, blossomed into full luminosity. Like the slow-motion flowering of a yellow rose.
Watching the eclipse unfold felt like peering into the unceasing movement of the cosmic clockwork governing all life. Against this majestic background I caught a glimpse of my unrelenting, ridiculous, paradoxical effort to keep up, catch up, struggle with time. I saw how whenever I fight, try hard to make things happen, I get caught in the gears of the clockwork. But when I trust, give up and relax, I’m switched into sync with the cosmic movement, and whatever needs to be done happens as if of its own accord.