A story of balance, orientation and loneliness
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Turbulence. Up in the sky. In a small airplane that is travelling from X to Y, where Y is greater than X because it is more powerful economically and has greater airports for that matter. Dramatic turbulence. I don't travel well and having had a doughnut and a coffee I felt nauseated. I closed my dark warm eyes and a memory from the seaside came to my mind. It was so vivid. Maybe because I had been there before a couple of days. Yes, that must have been the reason it was so alive in my head. I could reach out and touch it, I swear. It was a kite I had observed, an ordinary kite for all you kite-connoisseurs. From far away, where I watched it, it seemed to have been attached to the sky with an invisible chord. It stood there, calmly and shook with the wind, as if trembling in its arms. The wind played with it, winding the chord around its fingers. And so I was the kite. In fact, right there and then we all were the kite. This brought me an unbelievable peace of mind and sense of balance.
Landing. The wind blew threateningly in my hair, promising a chill summer experience I was not quite prepared for. Finding the bus was as easy as eating a lemon-cheesecake and washing it down with a fine espresso to the tune of jazz. So enjoyable. Although I was hungry and would have loved the nice treat I just mentioned. That made me feel almost proud with myself and my orientation, because I was in the Eye of the big city, feeling it staring at me calmly and waiting for me to get lost. Because that is what you do in it, you get lost. You lose yourself, your slow stride, your quiet airs, your patience at times.
On the bus, I am comfortably seated as it starts its engine and called for people to tighten their seatbelts, waving its finger threateningly that there is a big fine otherwise.
As the landscape slowly clears up to give way to a wide horizon, I see an airplane ascending. As I watch that I catch a glimpse of an old man who reaching the top of a small hill, pulls out his binoculars and looks at the airplane. I can imagine this lovely man to do just this everyday, always at the same time. A warm feeling engulfs me.
Now that I think about it I remember the sad lyrics of sir McCartney singing about the lonely people. I try to remember if I saw an Eleanor Rigby, but I cannot.Further.