Viewing an eclipse, the difference between 100% totality and anything less, is a factor of thousands. 

We learned this in 2017, when we were able to drive a few hours from our home in Salt Lake City, to a remote area on BLM land in Wyoming. We climbed to the top of a mountain that had a view of the Wind River Range. We watched through our eclipse glasses as the sun gradually became a thin crescent, then disappeared as we saw the edge of shadow sweep across the range and cover us. Mike quickly reminded me to remove the glasses so I could see. In totality the aura of the sun flared out from the shadow of the moon, and was a new creature in the sky. The sudden sound of countless crickets was as loud as a plane taking off, and a rim of sunset light rose from 360 degrees of the horizon. We were so overcome, we were sobbing, and breathless, and shouting, unable to comprehend what we were seeing or feeling. 

In a few moments, it was over, and we had to put the eclipse glasses on again before we could look at the slim crescent of sun appear again in the filter, and gradually thicken to a complete circle. 

We began planning for this year’s eclipse soon after that. Mike followed photography tutorials about camera settings for the eclipse. We researched weather patterns along the path of totality, looking at what areas would statistically have clear skies in April. We used satellite images to find possible places we could park our van, and set up cameras the night before. As the eclipse was finally weeks away, and the forecast kept changing, we looked at difference sites, and kept adjusting plans, ready to shift up until the moment we left. We discussed each update that was posted on the multiple sites we checked, and finally selected a small historic town in Indiana as the most favorable. Since we were driving, and sleeping in our van, we could adjust our plans to the last minute. We wanted to be certain, but knew there was no guarantee. 

We drove for 2 days, stopping at rest areas to sleep. We followed reports about the General Conference talks going on, and hoped for messages of healing. Mike and I had been having conversations about grace, and learning to see barriers to it. We had taken on looking at past events, some long ago, some recent, where we struggled to offer or receive grace or forgiveness. We had experienced betrayal from leaders at work and at church years ago. The wrestle with this has been heavy for years. In those hours of sharing and talking while we made our way across the plains that had been walked by our ancestors, we helped each other see what we hadn’t seen before. We broke through some barriers to grace, and found some light where it hadn’t been before.

We drove through fierce headwinds across Wyoming and Nebraska. The wind calmed by the time we were in Illinois, and the redbuds were blooming everywhere. The satellite map images of Franklin, Indiana did not prepare us for this little historic town that had become an excellent host for festivals. This place was welcoming the world to come view the eclipse. There were beautiful murals and art installations among the historic buildings. The thriving artist community had created eclipse images on banners, shirts and posters everywhere. Volunteers encouraged us to put pins in a giant map to show where we were from, and we saw that people had come from all over the world. We knew we would have the parking lot of the small LDS church house to ourselves, since it was conference weekend. 

We woke to clear skies the next morning. The new high school on the edge of town was raising money for its band by selling concessions and asking for donations to park there. It was surrounded by fields and forests and wetlands, and was a perfect spot for viewing. The band parents shared advice about avoiding traffic afterwards, and made it worth much more than the requested donation. We were the first to park and set up, before more groups came. Mike set up several cameras. My sister and brother-in-law spread out a sheet under a tree so we could see the crescent shadow effect as the eclipse progressed. Several families set up near us, and their children covered more and more of the parking area with chalk drawings as the hours passed. One of the adults set up a telescope and let us look at the sunspots through it. We found instant community with those around us, sharing our interest, and history, and study, and hope for the eclipse. 

The moment we noticed the beginning of the eclipse, we kept our filter glasses on, watching the shifting shape of the circle, and noticing the changing patterns of shadows. As the sun crescent thinned, the spaces between shadows of leaves, or pinholes, or fingers held up, became dancing crescents. Even as the edges of some shadows shimmered in these crescent shapes, other edges sharpened. I could see sharp lines of individual shadows of the hairs on my head that looked like they had been drawn by a fine pen. 

Unlike in 2017, I watched carefully for the moment the thin line of the sun disappeared in the glasses, and I quickly removed them so I could see totality. 

Everything, everywhere, all at once…

The light changed. In videos, it looks like night suddenly fell. That is not it. The light changed, and there was incredible clarity of detail. Everything was in sharp focus in this unusual light.

Colors changed. Especially red and green. I don’t have a way to describe what they changed into. These colors are not in my usual palette.

When air moved leaves or plants, they shimmered and vibrated. Life seemed to be breathing in a different way.

The sun became enormous. The aura of the solar waves and flares fluoresced far beyond the eclipsing moon. As the sun suddenly grew, the moon did as well. Red spots of flares glimmered where the two merged. 

The air was different, and I was gasping or sobbing, trying to draw this celestial oxygen deep into and through me. These incomprehensibly large and distant spheres not only became larger and clearer to my eyes, I suddenly felt intimately connected to them because their shadow was touching me, surrounding me, bringing with it a deeper breath. I was just a speck of a being, who suddenly was connected to immensity beyond language. 

In order to experience this, I had to remove the filter from my eyes. 

The moment of totality is unlike any other, yet it reminded me of some of my God moments.

Two specific times come to mind, when I was in pain and confused, pleading for help. Sometimes for hours, sometimes for months and years. I thought my righteous pleas ought to be answered, and despaired at the lack of results. It was only in a moment of letting go of expected results, exhausted and no longer pleading for God to fix things, to fix people, to fix me, even though the fixing pleas were about God making sure people felt loved. In that moment of exhaustion from trying to make things makes sense, and match up with what I thought it should be – only then did I see my filter. I did not have room for any response except for God to fix it. Something seemed to shimmer around me for a moment, and the words, “Ask a different question” seemed to come from the edge of a shadow in me. I took off my filter of thinking God could only answer the way I wanted. 

The no-filter, no fix-it question came. 

“Is there love?”

Instantly, God and love and all eternity was so much more, great enough to fill all of everything and everyone. It poured into me and over me. I opened my eyes expecting to see something of an indescribable color spilling out of me onto everything around. What seemed so distant, so out of reach, it was now connected to every molecule. I was breathing air that created new ways to exist and see and feel. The love and awareness and presence of God was so palpable, how could I have wondered about limits and conditions? Somehow I got that this had always, and would always be there, yet in the moment anyone was forced to receive it, or live it, it could not exist. The filter could only be removed by me. By each of us.

Why is it that I would ever let a barrier or filter be in the way of such clarity? But it still happens, and I miss out on the totality of what this is. Anything that suggests something can lessen or diminish this totality of what God is – this love and grace and connection that is beyond our language or human experience, it is there offering greater life, no matter how much I cling to filters – the difference between less, and total, unfiltered experience of it, is a factor of infinite numbers. 

In the path of totality with God, I take off the filter. I see the world with clarity in a different light, let colors transform, breathe air that fills all parts of me. They invite me to a deeper life of love, living creation, wide as all eternity.