‘Passenger Plane in the Sky’ by muralsonly.com
When I was a young man, I began searching for the meaning of life. Along the way, I wrote a travel journal, a mix of prose and poetry, and labelled it Fool’s Odyssey.
I bought a ticket for midnight, April first, one way to London. Why London? I haven’t the foggiest. No pun intended. (OK, pun intended.) Seriously, I mean where else do you begin looking for yourself except for somewhere other than where you are?
Those old charter airline terminals were so godawful weird.
I don’t know what it was, quite, the pasty orange and yellow walls,
or the steward who looked like he shaved from the inside out,
and raised mushrooms for fun and profit, in his spare time, in his hair.
All I knew was that I wanted desperately to be anywhere but there.
After filling out the waiver that said I wouldn’t hold them responsible for anything that happened, I had the feeling a strange South American doctor would suddenly run up and want to perform surgery on me with a dull Swiss Army knife. “Anything”?
I just wanted to be free,
to be up in the air in a clean aluminum and vinyl jet
with big, strong, masculine Rolls-Royce engines.
Nevertheless, there was a kind of fellowship there,
a splendid, internal sort of aching, as we sat together,
all of us passengers,
staring at those ugly, mustard-colored walls,
sticking together like gluey little aphid babies.
Finally, we swarmed aboard. I’d already seen the movie and the earphones hurt. What was I doing there? The floor groaned. I held the plane together. Then suddenly we were up, up in the clean air, the friendly skies.
The stewardesses (stewardi?) were lovely but aloof,
like those little African deer.
We climbed swiftly.
The little deer bounded about,
checking seat belts in the marshy lowlands
and carefully removing complimentary drinks
from the paws of the great polyknit-bemaned lioni
who yawned and stretched in the first class,
grassy veldtland of the foremost northern plane.
This swiftly fleeting vestibule, this Herculean dart, was, for five hours, like an orange lobbed by a snotty, laughing, happy youth. And when it came down in Bangor, Maine, there was a good, drippy, succulent splat!
And we, like so many giggling, sticky aphid babies,
slid out with the seeds,
glinting in the punchy early-morning freeze-dried coffee sunrise.
Mainly.
In Maine.
Bangor, Maine?
What’s in a name?
Then back on the plane.
Pound-thrust, thrust-pound, rush-roar—
ain’t no big thing, we done this before.
See the sea?
Water, water, water, water—
Clouds.
To read the next episode, click here.
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The first time I flew across the Atlantic to London, I was surprised by all the water, water, water, water. Those were the days when airline commercials featured stewardi saying “Fly Me to London!”
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I remember that line, Linda! Although mine was a no-frills charter airline (the cheapest way to fly back then).
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My airline definitely had frills. Prior to takeoff, the pilot invited my then 5-year-old son to tour the cockpit. After my son was returned to his seat, he indignantly told me: “Mama! That man asked me if you are married!” My boy was not impressed lol.
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;>) The VERY friendly skies.
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cool
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I can really relate to that moment in life when we are convinced that the surest way to “find” ourselves is to leave and go somewhere else. And the more exotic the “somewhere else,” the better. Can’t wait to read the next installment!
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Thanks, Russ!
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And circle over Gatwick for an hour in the fog with 3 dozen other planes.
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;>) Aha, you know of what you speak, Gary!
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Then you find out your pilot is reliving some ex-military experience when he says. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have an opening so in a few seconds we will go into a slight dive. We will be on the ground in a minute or two”. The rest of us then relive an amusement park ride.
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;>)
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“Fly the Friendly Skies” who from our generation doesn’t remember that line. I must give it to you friend..you braved many hours over the seas to get to yourself. Exotic but effective. Who knew? Blessings and Peace.
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You too, Claudia.
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So, will the meaning be found in the destination or the journey???
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Take the journey and see.
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I’ve already bought my ticket!
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Water? Our route was over the polar ice cap. The sunrise was amazing!
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I’ll bet!
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