flight level two two zero, droning along in the smooth air to the dull resonance of two pratt & whitney canada PW123Es purring out on the wings.
i have the best window seat in the house. i look out upon the barren desert peaks dusted with snow.
9 months after my interview, i am finally working. well, i'm at work anyways. i glance over at the autopilot panel to make sure george is working for me, following the parameters i asked for. he is. good ol' george.
size 11 boot sole braced against an empty spot on the front panel, chair slid all the way back, shoulder straps unfastened. take a sip of my chai. scratch the nuts. turn the page of my newspaper.
day 4 of israel and palestine's latest flare-up. something like 150 dead, lots of kids and civilians. fighting over dirt so holy that both sides claim the god-given mandate to bomb it into the stone age.
syria's bloody tyrant continues the systematic massacre of his people. a couple of bombings in pakistan; innocents blown up because they were part of the wrong sects or sex.
a couple big storms knocking out power and leaving people homeless. in short: the general crisis coming along nicely.
spy out my window the source of the never-ending shit show. stare into the dirt. the wellspring of life's constituent molecules. and the main thing we fight over. it seems weird that the peaceful scene below contains the same ingredients necessary to form the miracle of life. maybe the nomadic atoms i study will one day become part of a developing human baby?
depending on what circumstances the child is born into, maybe she will one day become a great leader for peace? or maybe he will be steadily poisoned with mythology until the day he detonates a suicide vest in a busy marketplace like i've been reading about in my newspaper? it's an arresting thought.
turn the page to a possibly-related article. the curiosity rover on mars has made a major discovery. some unnamed expert predicts the upcoming announcement to be the discovery of organic molecules; evidence of life elsewhere. an official release remains shrouded in mystery until results can be verified.
it still blows my mind: we are driving a damn suv around on another planet. yet we still can't master the intellectual prowess necessary to evolve beyond blood sacrifice. still as primitive as any banana slug that may have existed on mars.
i survey the troubled earth before starting a descent. tune in the latest automated weather information: "....wind 340 at 20, visibility 3/4 mile, smoke and blowing dust...."
3/4 of a mile? unbelievable. there's not a cloud in the sky around the airport. and as much as i'd like to stay above it all indefinitely, fuel is running low. i have no choice: down into the dog shit.
after setting up the tom-tom to take me home, i dial in a vertical speed descent of 1500 feet per minute on the flight director panel, arm the altitude selector, and scroll through the com radio presets until finding the tower frequency.
squint down into the desiccated ouadis, a brisk breeze whipping up gobi granules; dust devils dancing around the tiny rural villages below.
my thoughts drifting to other countries; to far-flung societies at the edges of the bell-shaped curve. to burning man. theoretical glimpses into how things could have turned out. and how they may still...
return to my newspaper. the article says something about a dust storm interrupting curiosity's work for a couple days. i try to imagine the rover way out in space, parked in place. lonely, bravely bracing for the martian squalls.
i conjure the swirling scarlet sands, feeling their sting; watch them collaborate to blot out a distant sun, sense the gathering darkness and a biting arctic atmosphere... hunkering down, withstanding ice ages; beseeching dust to calm itself and slowly settle out...
i think back over my own travels of discovery; my mind scrolling through all the countries and people, all the experiences and opportunities that i've been blessed with in a short life spent roaming. in my mind's eye, i picture all of the places i've flown.
from the tropical caribbean paradise of st. lucia to the frozen wastes of rural alaskan fishing villages.
from the hopelessness of darfur refugee camps to the rugged beauty of the swiss alps.
from the meanders of the chocolate milk congo river to fiery sunsets over timbuktu.
now it's the asian skies. i am a lucky bastard. i know this and i am grateful for it.
******
time to earn my supper. configure the dash for landing as we track the localizer into the blasting sands. on short final, i see the rabbit on the approach lights, guiding aviators in. a call from my co-pilot:
"runway in sight, 12 o'clock."
"landing."
i reconfirm the gear are downlocked with 3 greens, cleared to land. crossing over the fence, my eye perceives movement in the periphery of parched open space. quickly turn my head: a huge black plastic garbage sack is caught in the swirling currents.
it reminds me of a verse to a song:
the wind-blown trash bag does a roadside ghost dance
in the vast mohave sky
like a living spirit just for one full minute
right when you're passing by
it hovers there up in the air
up in that twist of dust and wind
the vortex slows, so it goes
dust to dust again
we touch down bewildered. here i am, shapeshifting into another adventure.
i have the best window seat in the house. i look out upon the barren desert peaks dusted with snow.
9 months after my interview, i am finally working. well, i'm at work anyways. i glance over at the autopilot panel to make sure george is working for me, following the parameters i asked for. he is. good ol' george.
size 11 boot sole braced against an empty spot on the front panel, chair slid all the way back, shoulder straps unfastened. take a sip of my chai. scratch the nuts. turn the page of my newspaper.
day 4 of israel and palestine's latest flare-up. something like 150 dead, lots of kids and civilians. fighting over dirt so holy that both sides claim the god-given mandate to bomb it into the stone age.
syria's bloody tyrant continues the systematic massacre of his people. a couple of bombings in pakistan; innocents blown up because they were part of the wrong sects or sex.
a couple big storms knocking out power and leaving people homeless. in short: the general crisis coming along nicely.
spy out my window the source of the never-ending shit show. stare into the dirt. the wellspring of life's constituent molecules. and the main thing we fight over. it seems weird that the peaceful scene below contains the same ingredients necessary to form the miracle of life. maybe the nomadic atoms i study will one day become part of a developing human baby?
depending on what circumstances the child is born into, maybe she will one day become a great leader for peace? or maybe he will be steadily poisoned with mythology until the day he detonates a suicide vest in a busy marketplace like i've been reading about in my newspaper? it's an arresting thought.
turn the page to a possibly-related article. the curiosity rover on mars has made a major discovery. some unnamed expert predicts the upcoming announcement to be the discovery of organic molecules; evidence of life elsewhere. an official release remains shrouded in mystery until results can be verified.
it still blows my mind: we are driving a damn suv around on another planet. yet we still can't master the intellectual prowess necessary to evolve beyond blood sacrifice. still as primitive as any banana slug that may have existed on mars.
3/4 of a mile? unbelievable. there's not a cloud in the sky around the airport. and as much as i'd like to stay above it all indefinitely, fuel is running low. i have no choice: down into the dog shit.
after setting up the tom-tom to take me home, i dial in a vertical speed descent of 1500 feet per minute on the flight director panel, arm the altitude selector, and scroll through the com radio presets until finding the tower frequency.
squint down into the desiccated ouadis, a brisk breeze whipping up gobi granules; dust devils dancing around the tiny rural villages below.
my thoughts drifting to other countries; to far-flung societies at the edges of the bell-shaped curve. to burning man. theoretical glimpses into how things could have turned out. and how they may still...
return to my newspaper. the article says something about a dust storm interrupting curiosity's work for a couple days. i try to imagine the rover way out in space, parked in place. lonely, bravely bracing for the martian squalls.
i conjure the swirling scarlet sands, feeling their sting; watch them collaborate to blot out a distant sun, sense the gathering darkness and a biting arctic atmosphere... hunkering down, withstanding ice ages; beseeching dust to calm itself and slowly settle out...
i think back over my own travels of discovery; my mind scrolling through all the countries and people, all the experiences and opportunities that i've been blessed with in a short life spent roaming. in my mind's eye, i picture all of the places i've flown.
from the tropical caribbean paradise of st. lucia to the frozen wastes of rural alaskan fishing villages.
now it's the asian skies. i am a lucky bastard. i know this and i am grateful for it.
******
time to earn my supper. configure the dash for landing as we track the localizer into the blasting sands. on short final, i see the rabbit on the approach lights, guiding aviators in. a call from my co-pilot:
"runway in sight, 12 o'clock."
"landing."
i reconfirm the gear are downlocked with 3 greens, cleared to land. crossing over the fence, my eye perceives movement in the periphery of parched open space. quickly turn my head: a huge black plastic garbage sack is caught in the swirling currents.
it reminds me of a verse to a song:
the wind-blown trash bag does a roadside ghost dance
in the vast mohave sky
like a living spirit just for one full minute
right when you're passing by
it hovers there up in the air
up in that twist of dust and wind
the vortex slows, so it goes
dust to dust again
we touch down bewildered. here i am, shapeshifting into another adventure.
4 comments:
Beautiful. I am living vicariously. As I have on all your adventures.
Sizz
Circumstances are often overlooked or taken for granted. I think we are all guilty.
i'm listening
music in the bedroom
laughter in the hall
dive into the ocean
singing by the fire
running through the forest
and standing in the wind
in rolling canyons
'ol george plays too big of a part in so many lives. I try to keep that promise I made while looking out the back of the C-130 at the evening sky. Good to see the blog has a pulse again
Interesting times, can't wait to hear what the new adventure brings! Totally new landscape, or is it really?
Life is good….. the world has yet again another chance to view the world through the eyes....of the "Gypsy Aviator". Keep writing….the world sometimes gets inspired and stumbles upon blind luck.
Keep her steered into the wind….cap’n….and never give up……
the world once again celebrated the birth of wisdom, heavily disguised in colorful wrapping paper….and somehow……we all continue to miss it!
But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.
“wise men still seek Him”
Yer ole Man
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