Many people who were able to see the total eclipse reported being moved by the visual and the experience. I felt the same way and have been trying to figure out why. I think it's similar to what makes us respond to art, music and comedy. The broadly accepted standards in the arts set up expectations for the audience. The degree to which we evaluate something as being outstanding is directly related to its simultaneous adherence and deviation from that expectation. This eclipse did the same. We take for granted that the earth and moon revolve in their own orbits without change; that the sun is just always there. We know this from elementary school science. The sun is enormous, excessively hot, makes us feel better after a storm, shows us how hot it is when we are exposed for too long and feels nice through the window in winter. The moon affects the tides, the water in our bodies and mostly shows itself when we sleep. Its purpose seems less obvious while it calls to us. All the while it is the lesser in size and has no obvious direct relation to supporting life. Today the minuscule, less powerful satellite object that accompanies only us, took control over the largest and most powerful star in our celestial neighborhood to the extent that it confused wild life and insects. By temporarily assuming power over the sun and disrupting life as we know it, the little guy, our moon, exerted temporary control over the standard-bearer, the boss, our sun. She was reduced to her outer component, her corona, throwing our human paradigm upside down. They remain functioning as the accepted standard dictates, but the varying degrees of totality of eclipse offered a strange and novel "celestial artistic solo" open to interpretation thru each person's own filter. The little guy gets his due, if even for a few minutes.