We gathered in small groups, nothing planned, not knowing each other. There was no text sent, no coordination of the moment. Each of us drawn to the same location by something so instinctual, so deep and unspoken, that seeing each other there was no surprise. No words were spoken outside of our own groups, yet there was in that moment a shared kinship, a common humanity.
To watch the simple act of the Sun sinking below the horizon.
The location we had all chosen was incredible. Nestled deep on the Oregon coast is a small town called Depoe Bay. It is a spot where you can see whales (or at least their water spouts) from the shore, as we had done earlier that day. At the Northern end of town there is a small cove, and outlying that some rocks and a shoreline, providing a perfect place to watch that most everyday miracle that we take far too much for granted.
The air got cooler, the light faltered, and then silently and swiftly, the Sun fell below the horizon.
It's easy to forget that in reality, the Sun is not changing its position, but we are. Captive to a rock floating in space, we are controlled by its rotation as it traverses the night sky. We are the ones spinning into the quiet embrace of night, where, for a small period of time, our view of the sun will be blocked by the very planet on which we depend upon.
Yet for some reason, unspoken and unbidden, we gathered on the rocks to see the fading of the light.
I don't know exactly how much of this reaction comes from the genetic heritage that we share with some of the other primates on this world, nor how much of our reaction to this moment is a result of the very small amount of our DNA that makes us human. I think to examine the reasons and the motivations in some way strips the majesty and the meaning of the moment.
A sunset, beautiful and simple, needs no words to explain it, for none can express its grandeur in a way that would bring justice to the attempt.
But I think, in some small way, the slipping of the Sun below the horizon reminds us that we are a very small part of a very large universe. Many years ago I was privileged to sit with some friends as we moved through a partial solar eclipse. I remember very vividly how the air got colder and the sky got quieter as the moon slowly, inexorably, crossed into the light of the sun.
And in that moment, it became very clear to me that I was a small, but still significant, part of something so very much larger.
And so was everybody else.
That moment has stuck with me ever since. Our shared humanity is not just a function of our heritage, but also of our ongoing experience in a confusing and confounding universe. We all share the same human problems, just as we all share the same ability to rise above our nature and become something more.
As we gathered together this evening I was struck not by the differences in the lives that we experienced, but by just how much our humanity bound us together to watch a sunset over the ocean. As has been done countless times before, we came together not out of greed, and not out of grandeur, but in a simple moment of respect and solitude.
Sharing with each other the testimony of the universe.
— Dr. Alan Barnes
@maddrbmusings