South of Burgos, on a hilltop with an unobstructed view toward the west-northwest, we were ready on August 12 for the great spectacle. I myself have witnessed this indescribable phenomenon six times: in France in 1999, Turkey in 2006, Mongolia in 2008, China in 2009, Easter Island in 2010, and the USA in 2015. To prepare us, Michael Walter from Salzburg, with his fine Austrian timbre, read to our group Adalbert Stifter’s wonderful account of the solar eclipse of 1842 in Vienna. How strange that we ourselves, living in such a different age, should nevertheless be overcome by the same emotions as the poet 180 years ago.

Also traveling with us were the two astrophotographers Andreas and Thomas, who had already witnessed seven solar eclipses. The photographs here are also theirs. Just as 400 years ago, Tycho Brahe marveled that the moment of an eclipse could be calculated so precisely, the small dent on the sun's disk appeared through binoculars at the calculated second. A short time later, it could already be seen with the naked eye, albeit with eye protection.

Very gradually, at first slowly and then with increasing intensity, the atmosphere changed. An indescribable, pale yellowish hue settled over the landscape—or rather, it seeped into the fabric of all matter itself. We fell silent, filled with anticipation, reverence, and awe.

From 7:00 p.m. onward, spectators began arriving: children, parents, acquaintances, strangers—a cheerful mixture of interested people who would follow the event through binoculars, glasses, the PST, or the Newtonian telescope. At the beginning, it seemed that an introductory presentation was expected from me. So I briefly outlined the various ways of observing, and then offered an exercise for connoisseurs:

“Notice how differently you feel when, with the naked eye, you allow yourself to be affected by the quality of the light; how different the mood becomes when you look through the glasses at the dimmed Sun; how different again it is when there is a telescope between you and the eclipse; and finally, how differently you are involved when you follow the event on the screen.”

Then the light began to increase again, and the sense of unease subsided. Most people now rushed into the hall to see what was happening in León during totality. At the observatory there, the solar filter was removed at precisely the right moment, allowing us to see the corona and a prominence, which we had also observed earlier through the PST.

The evening faded into an increasingly ordinary evening sunset, and participants said their goodbyes. Through the shared experience and the willingness to come together for this event, everyone had become almost familiar with one another, grateful to have been a part of it.

This gratitude compensated me for my own attempts, all of which—the photographic sequences—failed. Particularly thanks to the cheerful Bonnie Baker, who also took care of our physical well-being, the community became almost like a family. Dear members of the MAS, you have made a good “catch” with her!

In short: The solar eclipse also took place at the Goetheanum, and it was precisely in the strange darkening of the light that it fostered a sense of community.