in flight musings

It’s the morning after the last day of the intensive. I’m on a 9-seater, feel-every-hint-of-wind, La Bamba plane, headed home from West Mau’i to O’ahu. (But the views- oh, the views!)

This morning, I let myself sleep in, got my period, filled the toilet more than I ever have, (purge/letting go/release/something I ate/the positive COVID diagnosis I got a day later?), and told the spirits inhabiting the condo I was staying in that they were indeed not welcome to come home with me.

I feel sadness in the form of grief and a desire to be slow, mixed in with pure joy and an excitement to see my Mike, Lily, and Milo, my bed, as well as a flutter of anxiety. Today’s anxiety comes in the form of Bjork’s Hyperballad. Standing on the edge of a cliff, flinging, hurling, shit off.

Once I am done, when all that is meant to be thrown is thrown, it’s my turn, and with this jump, this massive hurl, a change.

When I land, I wonder, (much like the song)- will my eyes be closed or open?

(It’s open. It always is)