The Stars Danced with Black Holes, Angels Marveled and the Heavens Wept

Since Apple releases a new version of iTunes about every five minutes it's barely worth notice ... except this version. iTunes 8 has a visualizer so incredible it sent chills through my whole body. It seems we now have an answer to the question, "What would it look like if the universe danced?"

"The Watchers" and "The Oblivious"

Sorry, no sarcasm or partial nudity in this post. What kind of trash rag do you think I'm running here anyway? You probably think this is the sort of blog that will use any and every excuse to shoehorn nipples into totally unrelated topics. Well ... it is. But never mind that. I want to talk serious stuff today ... life, the universe and everything.

Imagine my delight at discovering I had quite unknowingly booked a vacation to the part of the world offering ideal viewing of this year's total lunar eclipse. What luck! I've seen partial lunar eclipses before, but never a full one. The event was quiet and small, yet majestic and moving.



First the moon slowly fades to red, as it enters the Penumbra and is hit by color-shifted light bent around the earth. Then, as it continues into the Umbra, the red moon is gradually obscured until finally the last thin slice disappears leaving nothing, void, just black sky. If you didn't know it had been there a moment before, you wouldn't know where to look for it's slow return a few minutes later. The whole event takes about an hour.

I found myself thinking back to the early astronomers of China and the Aztecs. A thousand years ago, the human conceit that our fortunes are told in the stars was the province of the monarch alone. Only the king was important enough to have a horoscope. On a night such as the one I enjoyed, if you'd been the royal astronomer, you'd have some quick thinking and fancy talking to do. Unexpected events in the heavens were believed to be bad omens. Astronomers who failed to predict and explain them often found themselves looking for a tube of ACME Severed-Head Glue.

These days eclipses are understood and reliably predicted. The idiocy of astrology is such a pedestrian affair that people rarely loose their heads over it, alas.

My own attempts at photography were mostly unsuccessful. That's OK. There are plenty of great photos of the eclipse out there.

The fascinating part of the experience for me was the human element, how people on the streets of Puerto Vallarta reacted. As the first subtle signs of the eclipse began, almost no one was watching. The only ones who were watching were retired couples sitting quietly on window sills, woman quiet, man with a camera. I chatted with a few. These early watchers had a reasonably good, basic understanding of what was happening.

Then slowly, as more eyes turned to the sky, more people, younger people, began looking up. Eager to cue these oblivious souls into what a special experience they we're missing, I gave quite a few impromptu astronomy lessons on the street.

As quizzical eyes darted back and forth between us watchers and the sky I found that a simple "It's a once in a lifetime experience, man," would usually grab their attention for a few minutes. I'd explain, catch a momentary glimpse of wonder in their eyes, and then they'd shuffle off.

I wanted to jump up and down, yell and tell everyone to look up. I wanted to bust into the sports bar and scream, "Stop, stop, stop! Stop watching this silly, zero-sum contest over a projectile. Go out there and see a true wonder of our solar system. Go and look ... if only for just a minute during the beer ads. Please I beg you."

But I refrained and my patience was rewarded.

It was heartening to see that by halfway into the event about half the people on the streets were looking up. This created a silently bifurcated world ... those of us quietly sharing a wondrous experience ... and the rest, tourists mostly, intent on finding their next margarita.

And so it went, "the watchers" and "the oblivious".