Do you ever feel your soul
Surging through you?
Energy rushing through every limb
Making you leap to your feet
Unsure of your intended destinations.
But a little bit lost too.
We feel a need,
A fire in us as we
Pour ourselves into the universe.
Because we might implode otherwise.
We have our own worlds
inside of us
But they are meant to intertwine,
And become even more beautiful
Than any one of us could have imagined.
A plaintive song a black bird sang,
before he took to flight.
He did talk to remind me,
to be cautious of night.
I did see as he did fly,
he left a gift for me.
Some of what he ate that day,
flew right upon my knee.
Though he was so black as night,
I sent him a wish strong.
Telling him I was of light,
and knew I’d feel no wrong.
For the night has stars so bright.
They dance yes every night.
I have angels round me now.
Their cool and out of sight.
So about an hour or so to go and not a moment of actual sleep to be had.
Surprising that I'm actually still very much awake and living as much as I am. So I guess it's just something about the flights that keep me forever awake. So now that the traveling is almost over, what am I supposed to do now?
Other than more waiting for the adventure that is the next 8 days. And sure, 1 hour isn't a long time on any given normal day. But this is a plane to Paris.
And time seems to pass slower on any plane. So I guess I'm just waiting out the next hour for now. Not much, but enough to drag out the rest of this flight.
Ugh. I do not like waiting. But what else is there to do? I guess there's only so much to do from here. So for right now, I'll get back to the writing when I'm in Paris.
Only because I'm tired of writing the same phrases page after page.
There's only so much I can write on this plane.
Usually, I'm pretty impatient about well... anything. Like this trip for example. I kind of wish we were already there. But at the same time, I'm not too eager to rush through today. Making this experience last as long as possible.
Getting as much out of it as I can. Living like to the fullest sort of thing. And yet, this plane ride is becoming sort of draining. But plane ride are usually like that. Not much to be done about that.
So for right now, I'll enjoy some time to lat back and try to relax. More air time above the ocean.
There's really nothing more to be done about the time left on this flight. And writing seem like the best time killer I've got. But it's not that I'm bored of writing. It's just that I'd rather be singing or playing my uke.
I could still be writing... But I'd be creating a song or poem or something new.
Something good. (So like I don't know, the bachelor?)
Something... (Yep. Definitely the bachelor.)
But I have to continue to wait out the flight. But again, I'm not really complaining.
I have the whole trip ahead of me.
~April 6th, 2017~
I can only imagine what France is gonna be like. But the curiosity is definitely there. We leave one day, and fly into the next. And I would consider this some weird form of time travel.
Hours behind on some flights, hours ahead on the next. What a day, and it's not even over yet. But here I am, close to high haven once again. And nothing more to be done except wait.
But that's not exactly a bad thing. I can be patient for awhile. I can manage that.
At least for now.
So I'm not entirely sure when this flight crosses over into tomorrow. But I mean, is that really worth sleeping through?
Maybe, maybe not.
But I'll definitely attempt to pull off the world's worst "all nighter". It's worth a shot right? I mean, it's something to do.
So this flight may be the weirdest crossover between days. But that's okay with me. Only now, can I really understand the influence of time and flight and varying amounts of sleep.
Sitting up here, way up here, I feel okay
With the room expanding high up to where I can barely see the roof,
The long window to the left of me is not that intimidating
Frightening me with the open space that I could easily fall out of
And the locked door to the right of me does not make me feel like an outsider
Instead, the window is welcoming me to fly, to leap out and spread my arms as if I am a bird
While the door reminds me that I am not locked out, but I am locked in
Searching for a way that I can escape this quiet sanction that causes chaos in my mind
My dear Icarus,
Have you brought tales of gold for me?
You-- the master of self,
The one who held his own thread and shears.
Don't share of how hard you beat your wings
But how the air beat against your brow.
Don't echo your father's faded cries
But sing the songs of the Aegean sea--
Sing them only for me!
My sweet Icarus,
Is the world as grand as the travelers say?
Are crumbling maps and hand-spun tales nothing to compare?
I've read of Sicily, where your father rests his mourning head.
I've traced its rivers as they curved against my torn papyrus.
Sicily, the land of Aetna.
Oh, to watch the land shake at the beckoning of her call
(Oh, to fly free of these labyrinth walls)!
My darling Icarus,
Tell me-- is life better above the blanket of Grecian blue?
Is it better than what the Fates designed?
Is it better than what I hold today
(please, let it be more than today)?
My beloved Icarus,
Will you give me your wings--
The mingling of feather, wax, and dreams.
Will you give me your wings and
Your will to yearn higher and higher
So that I too can reach the city of gold.
One night I dreamt I was a butterfly flying all around and carefree
but in the back of my mind thought how could this ever really be?
And so when flying around in my own solitary and carefree way
I would once in a while stop on a flower and leaf to rest and stay.
Basking there in the warm sunshine without any instinct of fear
I was also then able to spread my wings and expose all my rear.
After a few moments quietly passed I began to fly off once again
and with a sense of purpose flew on ahead in that direction then.
A sudden gust of wind lifted me up high without any effort on my part
and I was carried forward at a pace that me made wander from the start.
I fluttered my wings a little to regain my balance in that turbulent air
which made me get out of breath in my attempt and struggle out there.
The inclination that came to me next was to stop somewhere and rest
so I flew onto a flower matching those hues with which I was blest.
It didn't take long for me to recover my unique composure and poise
when I was startled therein my dream scape by a dark shadow's noise.
I moved in what practically seemed to be a continuation of the dream
and was walking around amongst some flowers growing by a stream.
Having left the old house and going through a dark hallway and door
I was following the flight of a butterfly around the meadow for sure.
My feet were not even touching the ground out there as I moved along
and I couldn't feel anything solid under them which didn't seem wrong.
I would stop for a while and take off again in pursuit of that creature
following every move it was making and so embracing every feature.
It seemed to be unusually deft in keeping itself at a distance from me
even though I tried to get closer to it so that I could myself better see.
When I eventually came to a halt there at the end of my night's dream
I had the butterfly caught in the palm of my hand so it then did seem.
I awoke and opened my eyes expecting to see right there in my hand
the butterfly I had caught somewhere flying around in a dreamy land.
Instead of that beautiful creature something more remarkable I found
a scented coloured tissue which had butterflies printed on it all around.
My brother is a pilot,
Not just any old pilot...
A tail dragger pilot,
Planes made of spars and fabric,
Airframes part wood,
Fuel tanks sloshing in the wings
Either side above our heads,
Set the mags,
Hand crank the prop,
Turn on the fuel,
Hear her pop
And roar to life.
We strap in
And rev 'er up
To join the winds.
He yells, "She's yours!"
And I am piloting
Or rather gingerly sliding her
About the blue,
Skidding right or left,
Holding my breath,
Wondering how much I dare
To tip her up there in the air.
"I've got the stick!"
He yells, and I let go.
"Don't be afraid to fly it!"
"It's just a machine!"
"Make it do what you want it to do!"
And we are diving toward the ground,
Then bringing her up and tilting 'round.
"Give her fuel when you tilt to turn!"
He demonstrates, and we are standing
On the wing,
Perpendicular and looking to our left and down.
I know he's right,
That I am timid in my flight,
And he is brave with years of joy,
A pilot fearless since he was a boy.
"You want to land?"
I hear him say.
"No, that's alright!"
To prove how safe it is to fly,
He touches down,
Then bounces high,
And vaults us back into the sky.
We flit across the fields,
He flies beneath the power lines,
To show how spray planes catch the ends
He skies the plane at either end,
Then bee lines it to the badlands' edge
Where suddenly we're swooping down
Between the canyon walls, and sinking low,
Then, rising, turning to our right,
He sails us toward sun's dying light.
My only hope is that we'll land
Before the night
Erases all our sight.
And sure enough,
The air is calm;
The night is coming on;
Gusting breezes are all gone.
We gently settle once again,
Back at the ranch,
I help wheel her then
Into her waiting hangar pen.
Life can be lived all in a panic;
Fear fills us with a lingering dread,
But we should live our lives
Just like my brother said.
"It's just your life, so make it do
Whatever it is you want it to!"
And when you're changing
Your directions, throttle up!
Don't let the fear of living
Bring you to a needless stop.