A few hours after gazing up at those two minutes of totality, while still in the smoke covered hills of Central Oregon, I resolved to stop looking at pornography.
For most of this past year, I’ve been narrating this particular sobriety — of something that held such a long addictive sway and consumed far more of my time and emotional and visual landscape than I ever wanted to admit — as a passage of transformation obvious only in retrospect.
First, I’d given up my addiction to work.
That made just enough space to get to Oregon, where I witnessed the profound, swift, and elegantly sublime situation of the universe. And my brief role in our shared rotation.
If you could see a thing like that, I finally thought (in a way that would hold sway over my less noble interests), why would you waste another minute on something so problematic and unhealthy?
Which made a space far wider than I could have predicted. And under this longer penumbral shadow, its leading edge continues to trace a better set of topographies.