Thursday December 17th 2015
Whoa- what a long day and a half it’s been.
I’m flying now out of the U.S. skies from New York to Toronto, the last leg of this trip. It’s raining and it took a little while to leave JFK. There’s been turbulence and frankly breath-hold,panic rising moments as we fly.
This flight is an hour and 3 minutes. Once again time moves slowly. Or maybe its’ because I’m in the back of the plane and everything feels so sensitive, like at the end ripple of a heavy cotton sheet. The final whip of fabric.
Took the 2a.m. bus to the airport this morning and I’m glad for it as it was a filthy night in Ireland. The wind and rain battered the early morning travellers and I tossed in my seat, silently blessing the bus driver, thankful that it was him and not me driving in this wind as I slammed into sleep and out again.
The preamble to this trip a absolute delight. I Skyped Wendy Doman (Flower Essence therapist, lifelong friend and confidant), and talked for two and half hours. Her in Mexico, me in Leitrim. While chatting I did everything I needed to do, from washing the floors, to sewing buttons and extra packing. I knew I wouldn’t have a chance to speak to her again for at least four weeks. We covered, as good friends do, all topics. And not enough.
The taxi arrived 40 minutes early. I had it wait 15 minutes. Leitrim was flooded for the past week and only now the waters were receding a little bit. It was still risky on certain roads. Major arteries were impassable. The taxi was big heavy yoke, driver was the same coupled with a singular determined to get back to bed. She ploughed through floods like puddles on a Sunday. Drop me off at the bus stop and left. I stood in a half formed shelter with an unforgiving sky pelting the skin off me.
Dublin Airport was two hours later and the first flight to New York didn’t happen for for 6 more hours. I don’t have to go into the surreal world of pre-dawn passengers. We all know the loose minds, the dull eyes, the slack smile of over-waiting.
The morning pulled along until we left Ireland. A long flight to New York and now, finally out of New York.
This flight is on a small plane and there are no children or youths aboard. It’s reassuring somehow. If a fatality occurs, the present is killed, not the future. But more than this, I’m glad to be with others like me, who wear their travels on their face.
The black clouds of Ireland are still around me. The plane tosses. Then stops and the woman beside me close to window gives a nudge and says “Look, pilots must see fantastic things.” We’re above the clouds to azure and pink skies, bright orange horizon and a relief settles on this little sky bus. I don’t know what the weather is like in Toronto and for the remaining of the flight I do not care. The sun on the horizon is bright. Space above is deep. The billowing clouds below are just that, below. I close my eyes. Home for the holidays. I haven’t done this in six years. Time to raise the shields and attach the armour.
2016 will be a year like no other.
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