Plane flights focus the mind. You have no choice. 20,000 feet above the ground, control lost, and questions that will remain unanswered. What was that bump? Perhaps the engine shouldn't be making that specific crunchy noise. Maybe, just maybe, I should have looked into a train.
I still fly. The anxiety is sometimes gut-wrenchingly palpable, but I do it anyway. Places to go, things to do, but really, there is nothing I must do.
Zen fascinates me. By delving into the thought of non-self, I force my mind to rethink comfortable patterns. Who is this that says I am? A conflation of blood, nerves and breath, or some sort of immortal impulse? I am not I.
By holding up the mirror to consciousness I start to see that my uniqueness is an illusion. I'm not separated from you. The breath you take I breathe. The distance we maintain, spatially, emotionally, and spiritually are all constructs of hurt minds trying desperately to make sense of glory--chaotic, mind bending glory.
I'm not there yet. Someday, I hope gain enough wisdom and experience to see beyond myself into the oneness of being. At the least, in the days and weeks before me, I hope my path can becomes less of an obstacle for others. I don't profess to have any answers, only questions--but I guess that's the best place to start.
-Jason
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