Last week I was on a Ryan Air flight from Bari, Italy to Parigi (Paris), reading the aforementioned book, on what had been a pretty smooth flight. It was a strange flight even. I'm not sure if it's just Europe, but everyone was walking about all the time, visiting each other between different sections of the plane, and standing in the aisles most of the flight. So I'm reading, and every once in a while I look up and watch the clouds go by and think, "what a fantastically unique view. How can anyone hate to fly?"
Then it's like the universe was having a go at me because instantaneously, everyone started clicking their seat belts, and the people standing were rushing back to their seats. I couldn't understand the Italian announcement but I hadn't felt any turbulence. Then the English translation came and in a frightfully hurried tone, the attendant told us that we would be experiencing turbulence, and to please fasten our seat belts.
Then the first jolt came. One of those dips that sends your stomach up into your ribs. I'm usually a very calm flier so I didn't worry at first because turbulence tends to pass quickly. But this ride was getting pretty shaky and to add to the eeriness of it, everyone had just become very quiet. The woman next to me had a small child and she pulled him in closer to her chest and started to rock him. Then the plane did something unusual, it sped up. I could tell because I was in the window seat and the clouds were now zooming by much faster than before. The engine got louder and this is when a bit of worry finally crept into my brain. My eyes met with the woman next to me and our expressions were the same, "they better know what they're doing and get this over with."
It was at this point, when the plane sped up and was jolting all about the sky like a jeep on African Safari, that the strangest thing happened: I started to (sort of) pray. Except I don't pray so, let's call it a meditation. I was sending my thoughts to the powers that be, I didn't really direct my thoughts toward any Lord or God. Just that undefined energy that seems to keep things going the way their meant to go. And I was hoping hard, that my plane landing in Parigi was a part of that big plan. I closed my eyes, pressed my fingertips together, and stared at a central speck in the darkness behind my eyelids. This "meditation" (if we're calling it that) played out like a discourse between myself, my inner voice, and this energy:
"This will pass soon."
"I realize I have no control over my destiny. I am a foolish human being for ever thinking so. All that I own are the choices I make."
Then I told myself, "well you better choose my words wisely then."
"Okay okay, remain calm and positive."
"This can't be it. I know this isn't it. I''ve visualized myself back in Paris, and I know I make it there."
"Don't be selfish, not now!"
I continued with the 'prayer,' "I realize that I am no more a special and unique snowflake than anyone else. We are all magnificent in our own ways. As are we small and inadequate. Everyone on this plane is a beautiful person with beautiful families waiting for them"
"Good start." I was sending all the positive energy I could muster into that recirculating air. This was actually working, i was starting to feel better, but the plane was still shaking a lot. Then it occurs to me that I've actually said before in conversation, how I believed it is probable, based on the amount of traveling that I do, that the way I'll go will be down with a plane.
"That was a stupid and morbid thing to say," I'm thinking now.
"No, you're going to die old, comfortable, safe, and surrounded by friends," I tell myself (this is the first time I've ever had this thought of dying old). I keep going.
"You've got nieces and nephews to watch grow up. They're going to do the most amazing things you can't even imagine how much love you will have for them, how proud of them you'll feel as they get older. You can't comprehend all that they will accomplish."
The plane kept speeding up and slowing down.
Then I thought, "you can't get too specific right now, there's not a lot of time to be dilly-dallying like this," so out of nowhere, I concentrated on just two words and I repeated them over and over at least 100 times.
"Love & gratitude, love & gratitude, love & gratitude...., love..... & gratitude....."
I sent this love out to all the people on the plane and all the people below us. I expressed gratitude for everything I had ever been given, tasted, and experienced.
"Love & gratitude, love & gratitude, love & gratitude," over and over again, until the turbulence finally.... stopped.
I have no idea how long this went on for. My guess is 20 minutes. I've never had this feeling on a plane before. I love to fly, and I know the risk of dying in a plane crash is far less likely thank dying in a car accident. I also believe that your time is your time. But I had a very real experience with fear, and my reaction to this fear, I feel, is worth investigating.
Needless to say, we landed in Paris, and everyone applauded vigorously once those wheels met that tarmac.
So last night, thinking of this moment again, and those two words. I decided to try this meditation again, but this time with much more peaceful, dare I say controlled, surroundings. I opened the window and sat on my bed and tried to be very still for at least a few minutes. And I repeated this again, "Love & Gratitude, love & gratitude," until I felt like I really meant it.
Dear universe, I really do believe in love, and I really am grateful for its existence, and for my own. Love is a good thing, and I have it within me. I believe this. Thanks, I love you. Yours Truly, Lindsey. Goodnight.
Then I thought I should use this silence and this stillness to do a little getting in-tune-with-yourself-exercise, and this question came to me immediately, "Why did you come here?"
"Good question, I get asked that a lot... Why am I in France? That's a tough one. The answer's quite complicated. Besides, doesn't the Universe know already?"
"Yes, but do you know?"
I do know, but that's a story for another entry.
Safe travels, all my love, and thanks to those special few who actually read these things.
-Lindsey
