Turbulence
He sat beside me. My elbow touched his forearm. The coarse knit of his winter sweater pressed into the soft wool of mine. The sun shone—reflected from the airplane wing—onto my chest. I was happy. A feeling of comfort, nestled inside this enormous, soft, warm pink sweater. Nothing pressed, nothing weighed heavily on my shoulders.
I looked out the window, where everything was filled with sunlight and the world lay intact beneath me, in beautiful colors, neatly arranged. This sense of being gently cradled in something soft and warm was new to me.
Then the plane jolted. No! Don’t get used to this—this means nothing good! Maybe this is the end of life—mission completed! Child was made happy—crash—new life somehow, somewhere else.
The wing tilted up and down, the flight attendants took their seats. Bing—seatbelt sign on—please remain seated and fastened! Until further notice!
The sun shone in its most cheerful light, not a single cloud in sight. Nothing clouded the sense of wholeness, yet the plane bounced through the sky as if driving over a washboard road.
