I just watched a video of planes flying really fast, really low. It was exciting. It brought back memories of many air shows. Throngs of people with lawn chairs and picnic baskets, trying to avoid sunburn for hours on end. You could feel the crowd’s energy as all sorts of pilots spun in the sky.
The pioneer planes were fun, as were the huge transports that carried a load of jeeps and tanks in their bellies. But the stars of the show were the fighter jets … blasting by us at the speed of wonder, assaulting our eardrums. So cool. I especially enjoyed it when they’d sneak up on us from behind. The sudden noise and the immense pull over our heads.
I’ve spent many hours in the stillness and silence of meditation. The quiet nourishes me. At one point, I convinced myself that this was the bubble I’d enclose myself in for the rest of my life. But the yin really needs her yang. The sweet moments of communion with another human being are balanced by the thrust to have an outrageous life, with bursts of the supersonic, wild dancing and singing unknown songs at midnight.
The trickle and the flood … I welcome them both. Soaring and zooming low to the ground, I fly.