On August 21, 2017, the path of an eclipse will cross the United States from Oregon to South Carolina.* Some people will see a total eclipse; others, varying degrees of partial solar eclipses.
 
Although eclipses were, and possibly still are, frightening events for those who do not understand celestial movements, most people probably understand that during an eclipse they are merely standing in a shadow. Shadows are common, and we all cast them when light strikes us. We, in fact, do what the moon does. We cast shadows that fall on people.
 
Just about everyone knows some form of the expression “being the light” in or “casting light” on our world. We understand that expression in various interpretations to mean “be positive,” “be helpful,” “be supportive,” “be cheerful,” “be spiritual,” and, I guess, other similar meanings that suggest peace, happiness, and love. Just about everyone has also heard that So-n-So casts a shadow on everyone around him or her, an expression that suggests negativity or even evil. 
 
Here’s the thing. If a tiny moon that measures only 2,000 miles in diameter can block the light of a sun that measures 863,000 miles in diameter, then it appears to be rather easy for anyone to cast a shadow or partial shadow on the life of another. That a tiny moon about 239,000 miles away crosses by happenstance between a star 93,000,000 miles away and Earth to cast a shadow is not unusual. Eclipses have always been part of our Earth-moon-Sun relationships. That you, regardless of your best intentions, might sometimes cast a shadow over someone else’s life is part of any relationship. That someone else casts a shadow on you on occasion is also part of any relationship. 
 
The moon has no intention to block sunlight. It is a product of happenstance. Of course, at times humans intentionally cast full or partial shadows over the lives of others, but sometimes our shadows are unintentional. In either instance—intentional or unintentional—there is a common outcome: Eclipses are temporary.
 
If for some reason you have cast a shadow on another or another has cast one on you, realize that in either case, light will return. Total eclipses occur in narrow bands. Partial light lies just off the path, and total light returns shortly after the eclipse commences. Patience begets the return of light when you are in shadow. Empathy and apology beget light’s return when you are the cause.
 
The moon will never apologize for casting an unintended shadow. It is itself subject to a lunar eclipse when big Earth, at 8,000 miles in diameter, blocks sunlight from hitting the moon. And Earth casts a bigger shadow.
 
Offended that some tiny body has blocked the sunlight in your life temporarily? Realize that you might have cast a bigger shadow on another. It’s the way of relationships. Sunlight is common, but shadows can occur. You certainly don’t want another to think your unintended shadow is intended. Why think that the unintended shadow of another is intended? The light will return. Just remember that eclipses, though not unusual, are certainly temporary.
 
 
 
* http://www.nbcnews.com/mach/space/why-scientists-are-so-excited-about-solar-eclipse-n735691

The truth is that we do not know why a few years in the early half of the sixth century turned very cold. We can guess from some historical documents of the time that some volcano erupted, but we have no identifiable volcano on which we can put a marker that reads, “Eruption here in 535 cooled the planet.” By the nineteenth century, we had sufficient reports from around the world to know that a similar cooling, one that produced “The Year without a Summer,” was the product of Mount Tambora’s eruption in 1815 that threw sunlight blocking ash into the stratosphere just a year after Mount Mayon erupted. But as for that earlier cooling, we’re lost for an identifiable cause.
 
Of course, people will keep looking at clues that might indicate or even prove a cause of the cooling. Someone might find a link between the cooling and, say, a volcano east of Papua New Guinea or one in either Central or South America. Five thirty-six is long gone, so why do we care?
 
Maybe we hope to derive a lesson about natural Earth processes. Maybe it’s a matter of solving a puzzle. Maybe fame is involved: “Scientist Discovers Culprit in Cooling at Beginning of the Middle Ages.” Or maybe we want someone to make history as we know it to make sense, to be the product of logically derived, identifiable steps. Is there a connection between the natural world and large historical changes? We do like to know why things are the way they are. What if that cooling helped to initiate a worldwide cultural change? What if that cooling was a partial cause of the so-called Medieval Period?
 
We divide history conveniently: Ancient, medieval, and modern. Of course, we debate the starting causes and dates, and we argue over whether any one of the three categories is anything more than a handy construct. Experts in thirteenth century history, for example, might argue that modernism grew there; historians of the subsequent two centuries might pose similar arguments. In each argument a set of clues drives the discussion, but to have meaning all clues require an imposition of value. Can we assign a value to the cooling in the early sixth century? Was it the beginning of the Medieval Period?
 
So it is with you. Is there some big physical event that altered your life’s path? An injury, a sickness, a recovery? Is there something external to your body that changed your way of life, some Chernobyl-like event, a Katrina, an earthquake, landslide, or eruption? An injury or death of a loved one? A change in location? Have you undergone your own “year without a summer”?
 
Or is there some intangible that marks personal turning points? Maybe some spiritual awakening? An obvious advance in maturation? The acquisition of knowledge? What are the clues to who you are?
 
Whether or not some event external to your personal sphere of control or one for which you are personally responsible caused a life-altering change is a question worth asking if you want to understand who you are. Yet, regardless of any search through clues, there will always be some mystery. Some events and influences occurred before you were mature enough to be self-aware, and those human influences or physical processes are not now accessible.

In short, as we have clues but no identifiable cause for the cooling of 535-536, you have some clues but no identifiable cause for some of what you are. Tracing out the clues, however, is a lifelong task that can be rewarding: “Person Discovers Answers to Personal History, Wins Self-knowledge Trophy.”
 
What will clues about your own history lead you to discover about yourself?    

No one knows who first created a simulacrum. Maybe some cave artist had some ochre on a finger and just decided to wipe it on a stalactite. “Wow!” a friend exclaims, “that looks like a deer.” Art was born, and humans (maybe even pre-humans) obtained a new way of thinking about themselves and the world.
 
The next step? “Let’s put a stick figure representing Ugma throwing a spear at a deer.”
 
Game on. A little one, seeing the image says, “I want to be like that.”
 
Skip to dolls and then to computer simulations. Now we bounce between a constant display of simulacra, and we discuss images that represent or alter the world as realities equal to reality. Some of us even make a living by creating simulacra. Many of us live on the cave wall, and many also think through simulacra.
 
Computer games have their effect, a demonstrable fact in that brains on games show chemical influence.* That we can be influenced by what we regularly observe isn’t a new thought, but it is one worth considering again, especially since so many of us stare at screens as part of our lifestyles. Of course, the important question is whether or not simulacra also influence behavior, especially in light of murders and violence linked, however loosely, to video games. 
 
Smile at an emoji lately? Respond emotionally to a political cartoon? Are we just using different kinds of cave walls? If so, for all our supposed sophistication, are we really much different from our ancient ancestors?
 

​*Koepp, M.J., R.N. Gunn, A.D. Lawrence, V.J. Cunningham, A. Dagher, T. Jones, D.J. Brooks, C.J. Bench, and P.M. Grasby. 1998. Evidence for striatal dopamine release during a video game. Nature 393:266-268.

I’m sorry, but this is just what I was thinking. You appear to be slowing down a bit. I know you begin a day in the belief that you can accomplish the “big things,” and then, as I have noticed, something miniscule slows you down. What are you, the Sun or something?

The Sun is a rotating mass of plasma and gas. It’s big. Most of the mass of the Solar System resides in the Sun, and this star of ours dwarfs all the planets, even big Jupiter. Astronomers have long noted that the Sun undergoes a differential rotation. Some parts, notably those of the interior, spin faster than other parts, notably near the top of the photosphere. The slowdown, according to Ian Cunnyngham, Marcelo Emilio, Jeff Kuhn, Isabelle Scholl, and Rock Bush, might be the result of something similar to the Poynting-Robertson “photo braking.” In short, as the Sun sends out photons, the sending slows the outermost photosphere by removing angular momentum.*

Photons rob part of the Sun’s angular momentum. Think about that. The biggest mass in the Solar System loses part of its angular momentum to virtually massless particles.

​Don’t let the little things rob you of your energy and keep you from reaching your goals. But note this. Overcoming the effect of energy-robbing little things requires knowing how to handle them while keeping your energy focused on your goals. The slowing need only be superficial and similar to the Sun’s slower rotation in a thin 70-kilometer thick layer in the outer photosphere. That big mass in the interior keeps running at a fast rate. Yes, you will lose some energy, but you don’t have to lose the greater part of your momentum.

*APSPhysics,
DOI:https://doi.org/10.1103/PhysRevLett.118.051102
http://journals.aps.org/prl/abstract/10.1103/PhysRevLett.118.051102

If you have watched baseball games, you have seen a rundown or two. A base runner gets caught too far off base to retreat to safety and must attempt to avoid a tag by defensive players tossing the ball in an ever-enclosing space somewhere between bags. The base runner avoids the tag by reversing direction repeatedly. Sometimes, through good fortune or bad defensive ball handling, the runner retreats or advances successfully.
 
Being caught between bases is little different from being caught between lifestyle choices. There’s the safety of where one stands and the need or desire to get to the next accomplishment. College? To go or not to go followed by choosing one major over the next. Job? To stay or not to stay, leaving security for the unknowns based only on potential earnings. Love? To commit or not to commit based on intangible feelings. In some sense, we are all base runners. Apply it to your own life: Define the base where you are and the next base. Are you playing to advance?
 
Some base runners are highly aggressive; they take risks. If they have both the ability to run fast (the talent) and the knowledge of when to run, they advance or retreat successfully—but not always, of course. Getting caught between the safety of where one is and the need or desire to advance is not uncommon. But one never knows the joys of getting to the next base without some risk. Staying on second when the immediate goal is being on third base and closer to scoring leads to nothing but mere status quo.
 
No team scores runs with runners stranded on base. Advancing is the only way to win, and all advances entail some risk. Each of us has been caught in some rundown or another, but none of us has to be timid about taking a good lead off the base on which we now stand. Awareness of the defense, use of talent, and committing to the opportunity at hand leads to advancement.
 
All of us have a choice between staying put and taking some risk. None of us will get to the next base (or score) without risking a rundown.   

March. Eastern USA. Variable weather conditions. Sometimes warm and sunny; other times, snowy, cold, downright dangerous. And regardless of what the meteorologists tell their audiences, all variations are relatively unpredictable. Hit and miss, at best. Might as well just call some psychic hotline for the weather.
 
Well, that’s not completely true, of course. Sometimes the forecasters actually forecast. In either instance of not getting “it” right or getting “it” right, all of us are stuck in one condition: Waiting for the approaching weather.
 
Waiting is a human condition. For some, it is a matter of anxiety. For others, hope. For still others, a mixed bag. What is it for you? Here’s a recommendation—not that you need advice, given your current state of wisdom.
 
Like a trip there’s more than just point A, the point of departure, and point B, the destination. The journey is, to use Parmenidean logic and Zeno’s paradoxes, infinitely divisible: Fractions of fractions of fractions. Half way there, half of that, half again, and so on. Certainly, we know that despite the Eleatic philosopher’s reasoning, we actually do end up at point B; the coming weather—however unpredictable—eventually arrives. The late spring storm comes, trees fall, and the power lines break. We walk in spring snow from new points A to points B.
 
You are always between storms or in storms. Apparently, it’s a human thing to heighten emotion just before and at the beginning of a storm. And then, we settle in. We deal with the storms that engulf us. So, why all the fuss at a storm’s approach? True, we usually don’t sustain an emotional high or low very long, but is there no way to focus on the moment as being special, regardless of the future?
 
Any storm—meteorological, political, social, or personal—is just like any fraction. It’s part way to a new destination. Half a step, half that, and half again. Each half a new destination, and the joy of focusing on the half distances is that there’s a focus on less. When we have less on which to focus, we have more focus on less if we imagine living in an Eleatic world without motion.
 
Experiment: Look across the room where you now sit. Imagine taking the walk to the other side. Imagine between steps you halt at a fraction of a step. Then, think fraction of that, and of that and of that. There you are in the moment, on the way to the other side of the room, yet somehow stopped. Time between the storms becomes a frozen space; place becomes the focus rather than the time, the period, of waiting. With you in place, a distant storm, a distant worry becomes irrelevant. You have in where you are at the moment a paradox that works to your advantage. You move in time toward the approaching storm—or illness or loss or tragedy—but you stay in space, ever smaller space, focusing intently on making that place the best it can be, one fortified, one prepared. The distant other side of the room is paradoxically reachable and unreachable. You have made a fortress against the vicissitudes to come. Even the onset of a storm is in a place infinitely divided.  
 
Worried about the future? Think place, not time.
 
Strange experiment, isn’t it? Just giving you something to think about. You will reject the outcome as paradoxical, of course, because storms do approach and arrive. But when storms approach, think of those fractions of fractions, of place infinitely small. Big storms won’t fit in little places. 

If you keep a jar of pickles in your house, you will never have monsters under the bed or in the basement. Monsters abhor pickles. No one knows exactly why, but they might find revolting the very notion of something sour. Or, maybe it’s the dill. I don’t know, and I don’t think there’s been an objective study of the matter. I just know that I have pickles in the house, and I have never seen a monster, not under the bed with the dust bunnies nor in the basement. Pickles. That’s what I figure.
 
Would that it were so simple to keep monsters away. But real monsters never seem to get the message about jars of pickles, generation after generation. So, the monsters of today act out their aggression toward the innocent as though no one keeps a jar of pickles in the society. Isn’t there a way to rid the world of monsters?
 
We could put our beds directly on the floor, eliminating any room for monsters there. And we could build on slabs, giving up basements altogether. We might even build flat roofs that cannot accommodate room for an attic. We could take all these actions, but monsters will always find their way into the house, into our personal lives, or into our consciousness when they commit atrocities against others.
 
We could try a spatial solution like moving to an area where monsters could not tolerate a climate of peace and cooperation. Wait! That’s been tried over and over. Most closed societies—the failed utopias of idealists—are short term. They might be partially effective for the first generation, but the second or third generation will make changes, and the original social order will change: Establishment always begets Anti-Establishment. Junior might not like what Senior wants him to like. Oh! And let’s not even mention “how to act.”
 
Looks like monsters are here to stay. I just know that in my house, the pickles seem to work.

Like all little kids with unbridled enthusiasm, you probably had your moments of light-footed leaps of joy at the sight of a loved one, a summer fair or amusement park, or a special gift. Children running to jump into the arms of a loved one is especially endearing to those with a sense of life’s value and the harshness one encounters just by enduring to an older age. By the time children turn to teens, the jumping in elation begins to diminish. Those who in their very early youth could walk in air become quite attached to the ground. Of course, with growing comes increased mass, and with increased mass comes stronger gravitational pull. Getting off the ground takes a bit more energy, for many, too much energy to bother exerting.
 
But is it just a matter of physical law? Or is it, rather, a matter of situational gravity? Being weighed down by a physical force does diminish the height of one’s leap, but cause is the cause of leaping. We jump for joy for a reason.
 
Why is it that we become em-pondered as we become empowered? Responsibility, however ponderous, doesn’t necessitate a gravity of mood. Do we become graver as we understand the grave or get closer to falling into it?
 
Find yourself weighed down? Succumbing to the gravity of your situation? You still have the ability to leap. You might not be as light on your feet as you were as a child, but you are more powerful. You’ve overcome gravity before. You can overcome the gravity of the moment. 

Behavior is like furniture that fills up the room of our lives. So, look around for a moment. What pieces of furniture do you see? Now ask yourself how you came not only to own them, but also to place them where they are. Let me guess. Four reasons you desired to own the pieces were aesthetics, convenience, comfort, and economy.
 
     Aesthetics: “Hey, that’s a good-looking table (or chair or sofa). The color is just perfect, also.”
     Convenience: “That piece will make life easier, look how many drawers it has.”
     Comfort: “Feel these pillows. Wow!”
     Economy: “If we use the payment plan, we can own it in two years.”
 
So, you get the pieces of furniture you want, and then you face the next step: “Where do I put them? Well, we can’t block the door, and we can’t put it in front of the vent. Let’s try this arrangement.”
 
Switch to behavior. Let me guess. Four reasons that you acted as you did through life were aesthetics, convenience, comfort, and economy.
 
     Aesthetics: “My life is my art. I’m making an image that I want others to see.”
     Convenience: “Doing something differently is really hard. It’s easier to act in familiar ways.”
     Comfort: “I like what I do. It’s like being in an old pair of slippers. I feel secure in my actions.”
     Economy: “I have only so much energy to put into difficult tasks. I have only so much energy to resist doing things that are bad        for me (or for others).”
 
You have filled your life’s room with behaviors. Look around and ask yourself which of those behaviors you did for aesthetics, convenience, comfort, or economy.
 
Then ask yourself about the nature of each motive: What do I find aesthetically pleasing? What kind of convenience do I seek? Why do I choose the comfortable over the uncomfortable? What is the currency of my behavioral economy?
 
You furnished the “room.” You must have some idea why.

The Very Large Telescope has revealed a very large star called W26. How large? Think in terms of the Sun. Our own star is, with its corona, nearly a million miles in diameter. W26 is 1,500 times bigger (1,000,000 X 1,500 = 1,500,000,000 miles). Given such a diameter, W26 will be short lived (It might already have destroyed itself. At 16,000 light years from Earth, the star will undergo changes we won’t know until light carrying information about it reaches us). So, some things can be massive but remain unknown. Such is the nature of Nature.
 
W26 is so far removed that it poses no threat to us, and it seems to have little relevance to our personal lives unless we are astronomers enamored of big celestial objects. If it were closer, its demise could pose a threat to our personal existence.
 
A little closer to your personal life are goings on that are significant, but largely unknown. You just don’t turn your Very Large Curiosity toward them, or they have not yet come into view.
 
Just remember that you don’t know what you don’t know. And don’t assume anything has widespread significance solely on the basis of its proximity to your life. For all of human history our minds were unaware that W26 existed. We had no way of seeing it; yet, it appears to be the biggest sun in the galaxy, if not in the universe.
 
We have minds that see as we have allowed ourselves to see, and that seeing has obvious limitations. If I say to you, “What is the nature of the universe? Is it indefinite or infinite?” do you have an unquestionable answer? If I ask, “What is the basis for determining life’s value,” do you have an answer? We’ve been asking the same questions for thousands of years without a guarantee of certainty in our answers. Philosophers, psychologists, physicists, gurus, and others have offered with only limited success some new equipment for us to use in our search for meaning and significance and for ways to understand or see the world without the limitations of the mind’s old telescopes. Will we ever have a Very Large Telescope that fully answers our Very Large Curiosity? Or will we just keep looking, occasionally discovering something startling, and realizing that we still can’t put “IT” all in a perspective that is acceptable not only to us, but also to those who will come after us?
 
We really don’t know what we don’t know. That we act as though we have the answers on perspective and significance is probably an artifact of minds whose lenses we keep polishing in our pride that our telescope has shown us all we need to see.