A harvest moon supermoon lunar eclipse shone brightly in Ithaca on Tuesday, Sept. 17. With a name like that, a harvest moon supermoon lunar eclipse certainly sounds like an overwhelmingly awesome astronomical event.
However, upon looking at the sky around 10:44 p.m. — the time of the partial lunar eclipse’s peak — viewers may have been disappointed by a pretty normal-looking moon with a missing smudge only distinguishable through an intentional glance.
Often, the exciting names of moon events do not correspond to exciting observations. For example, a harvest moon refers to the full moon occurring closest to the fall equinox, and a supermoon occurs when the moon is full at its closest orbital location to Earth, though the difference in brightness and size is hardly distinguishable by the naked eye.
Do not get me wrong, a lunar eclipse is very cool — during a full eclipse, the moon appears red due to the sun’s light shining through the Earth’s atmosphere on its way to the moon. A partial lunar eclipse is fascinating too, with the Earth’s shadow inking out a slice of the moon. But just an eight percent partial lunar eclipse, like last week? It is not that cool. Or at least, that is what some who went out of their way to see the recent harvest moon supermoon lunar eclipse may argue.
However, I am glad that news outlets picked the story up and that thousands of people were potentially disappointed by the seemingly mostly normal moon in the sky. Why? Because before disappointment was a shift of attention.
How often do you look at the moon? I mean really look?
Behind a barely bigger, imperceptibly brighter moon is a literal hunk of rock hurling around the Earth at over 50 thousand miles per hour, tens of thousands of miles closer than it is on average.
Sure, maybe the thin smudge on the corner of the moon was not that remarkable, but is it not astonishing that it could even happen? As our shadows on the sidewalk remind us that we exist in solid bodies, the Earth’s shadow on the moon is an unmistakable confirmation that this mass of water and rock — our home — races around an incomprehensibly large flaming ball of gas.
It reminds me of Sasha Sagan’s powerful book, For Small Creatures Such as We: Rituals for Finding Meaning in Our Unlikely World. Sagan merges ritual and science, emphasizing the importance of finding beauty and spirituality in the patterns of nature.
Lunar eclipses occur fairly frequently — four to seven times per year — but why not collectively tune our attention to something every few months? Why not embrace nature’s patterns?
As Sagan says, “Days and weeks go by and the regularity of existing eclipses the miraculousness of it. But there are certain moments when we manage to be viscerally aware of being alive.”
The moon reminds me of my aliveness — it makes me feel small and big all at once. I feel awe that I am here, that the moon is there and that we are somehow connected.
So, when the moon takes on three different names, rooted in both physical and cultural phenomena, why not take a moment to observe it? Why not set aside some time to just look up? Maybe you were disappointed last Tuesday, but I am glad you took the time to care. I think that kind of attention to the universe brings us closer to the world around us and helps us feel alive.