Hour 15
There’s something almost spiritual about the moment on a long haul flight, delirious, addled by half worn-off sleeping pills and back pain, that you look out the window and see the sun start to rise. If you’re alone, as I often have been, there can be a true serenity in this moment. Far above the world, surrounded by sleepers, your brain has room to connect with something outside yourself. And even though every part of your body aches and you have a headache and a dry mouth and want to be anywhere else, you have to write down what you’re seeing:
We are flying above a layer of fluffy clouds that are the exact color of the sky, a pale lavender lit by the dawn. Below is another layer, just the same. Each time we hit another a layer the plane gently shakes. They might just keep going forever. This featureless, soft space is seems endless in every direction. A violet universe. I’m trying to form the words for this, the lowering into new states that are identical to the one before, but I’ve been on this plane for 15 hours and I can hardly think.
Finally, there is a green sea. I can’t tell if we are 1,000 feet above the water or 10,000. Pale white lines cross the water where boats have been. The water is a stunning emerald, matching the jacket I’ve used to keep myself warm on this long journey. Absolutely minuscule islands, ringed with turquoise, dot the expanse. We cruise over this new world for another minor eternity. But still, no gleaming city.
Then there are hills emerging from the fog. A road. A runway. I am listening to the Julianna Barwick song Healing is a Miracle and right at the moment when Jonsi’s vocals begin, we touch down. The whale is beached. The dimension closes, and now I will wait in new lines, see new white hallways. I will only stay here a few hours, then off again.