Up here the sky is blue. Far below glimpses of snow-covered fields can be caught, The sight of blue skies above and white clouds underneath pushes me towards vacation mood. My instincts expect I am flying someplace warm – probably because I previously have mostly flown in summer for vacations.
Bright sunlight throwing reflections from my shiny twirly-pen in all directions as I write, resting warmly on the side of my face towards the window and prompting my eyes to lid against the glare.
Live’s “The Dolphin’s Cry” is playing in my mind and I wish I had brought the CD.
My mind takes off in a dozen directions at once, fueled by the limbo of transit, shaken loose from its paths of logic by the humming and shaking of the engine beneath me.
In transit I am free to dream, ponder, analyze, rethink and answer. In transit the world has no influence on me and is only felt by the pull on my heartstrings. Only I exist.
The skyscape is as utterly flat as I’ve never seen it before, a neverending great plane with marks in the clouds as from giant birds passing on snowy ground.
A haze hangs in the horizon, blurring the transition between white-in-white below and blue-in-blue above. A vast, empty space with me suspended in lotus in the middle. A sky-desert to burn the confusion in my soul, a nothingness for my thoughts to unfurl in, but me almost afraid to have them do so, as the room is so great they might evaporate and leave me altogether.
It feels a bit like that scene from “The Matrix” – that white room. Only friendlier with the warmth of the sun.
Yet another sacred mirror? Dare I brave the confusion, test my cohesion and look into it?
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