Stages in Life Seen in A Lunar Eclipse
A picture that got me thinking about earths rotation, and about light and life.
I didn’t plan for the lunar eclipse last night.
I found myself rushing off a zoom call to get my camera equipment, no bag just my camera with the longest lens I could find and rushed outside. It was cloudy and at first I couldn’t find the moon. A sense of dread set in — ‘I missed it’.
Looking down at my phone — to confirm my fears — I saw a message from a friend inviting me to an impromptu kumzitz on his rooftop, a social musical gathering, under the eclipse. I had been feeling down all week and welcomed the opportunity to be with others in a low intensity environment, plus, maybe I could get a good picture from the roof!
While making my way to his apartment, I got a message from my cousin who made it outside to see the wonder of the eclipse. She found it unsettling ‘It’s like we are watching the moon die, and running out of time to save it!’. I felt myself that the moon was eerily dim, having to focus to make sure I was actually looking at it.
After arriving, I promptly setup my camera and tediously focused it on the moon. I have photographed the moon before, but there was a problem.
Regularly, the moon is lit by ‘daylight’ as it is illuminated by the sun. That means you want to use daytime settings when shooting the moon. But during the eclipse the earth itself is blocking the rays of light from the sun, so I had to adjust for a darker scene.
Most solutions cause new problems: the full eclipse was over and a small crescent of the moon was already lit by daylight; I could either capture the darkened part with a burnt out crescent (too much light that creates a pure white image), or I can get an image that looks like a crescent moon with the other part fully blacked out.
Not knowing if I got a usable image after a few minutes of fidgeting, I decided I was a being a bad guest and left my camera to join the circle. No timelapse, no remote, as I did not prepare.
As the night went on, sitting in a circle of spiritual songs, humming along to the music played by talented friends, I was watching the moon. Every few minutes, more creeping daylight coming in to conquer the reddish darkness of the full moon.
It made me think about light and life.
The moon was barely visible in the sky with a reddish hue; a ‘Blood Moon’. A few hours later, the moon lit the sky with its full luminosity. But, there was a time in between where you could only really look at one half at any one moment.
The picture above captures that ‘in between’: one side cast in darkness while the other is burning with the creeping daylight. I couldn’t photograph both sides at once, because of the drastic difference in light. The result is a small burnt crescent in the image.
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I have spent the past few years stuck in a darkness, like our eclipsed moon barely recognizable but still there. I have memories of a brighter past, almost like I am imagining a functioning different person with potential, ambitions and a future; A bright moon shining through a night sky. But I can’t see a bright future for myself. I fake it when I say I believe I can lead a happy life and contribute to the people and loved ones around me. I feel like I am a dying moon more than a moon to be conquered by light to bright to focus on.
Wait — today I socialize; people recognize me;
I contribute to different sectors of society in small ways.
“Why do I feel so useless? Why do I feel like nothing will change?”
“Does this photo capture where I am in life?” I thought to myself.
One who is used to the darkness stays focused on the dark parts of life so much that the light is ‘burnt out’ and no recognizable image can be seen. As time progresses we move into different stages, and we — with effort — can change our perception. I don’t think ‘time heals’, but only with time can we prove that change is happening. If you are on a worthy course time will show your progress and that can help change your perception.
While contemplating the lunar eclipse, I think I might be able to change my perception, but the process can be blinding. If I stay on a good course — like the moon continues its planned orbit — maybe one day I will be engulfed by brilliant uniform light and finally be able to recognize the entirety of myself.