Love at 30,000 feet – Falling in Love Again

So it was that Mr. Mack and Mr. Mali prepared my soul for the awakening.  With their songs brewing in my head I tucked myself into the flight to Pittsburgh, PA, surrounded by people I didn’t know, headed to a city I had never seen, to do God-knows-what there.  I was planning to sleep but was incredibly nervous in the way that only a small plane can make you nervous.

I lifted my new skull candy earphones to my head, squished them tightly in, and settled in for a wee nap to take the edge off.

Todo Cambió… cuando te vi….” slammed into me much louder than I’d expected, seductive and clear.  I was about to reach and turn it down when I decided nah… let it wash over me.  Settling back determined to nap, I closed my eyes and let Camila make love to my ears.  But the nap was not to be.

Soon enough I found myself rocking, as if possessed.  The power of Mr. J’s colourful stories and the richness of Mr. Mali’s blues bubbled up and met the Spanish lovers of my Pittsburgh flight.  It was like being earnestly romanced by all the beautiful men of the world.

I drifted out of my body, out of my flight, out of the United States, elevated well above and outside of my reality to a place where there is only love and music.  The place took me over with the softness of a down duvet and smelled like fresh laundry hot from the dryer.  It was warm and cozy, sitting in this place of grace and beauty, and I never wanted to leave.

A sudden noise, louder than the love song, woke me from the drift.  My eyes flew open and looked around the flight, totally startled.  All was as I’d left it – my neighbours were fast asleep and the attendant across the cabin was doling out weak coffee, totally unaffected by the sound that had brought me back to earth (or at least the cabin floor).

It took a few seconds for me to completely arrive and notice that the interruption had come from inside of me – my own voice – joining Camila in “antes que pasen mas…. quiero decirte amor…”

Like a mad woman I cracked right up, laughing out loud beyond the music.  A giggle turned into a frank and open belly laugh.  I was only slightly grateful for the deep dreams that kept my neighbours’ eyes shut because they may well have freaked out at this crazy half-young woman taking full delight in herself next to them at 30,000 feet.

Digging back into my cloud I peered out on the wintry world below me, organized very neatly into fields of rows and variations of greens and browns.  The love songs crashed over me like waves  (“Abrazameeeeeee”) and I didn’t want the flight to end!  Pittsburgh could well and wait.

At that I checked in with myself and questioned, why would Pittsburgh have to wait?  I could carry this with me.  The music is MINE.  The iPod is MINE.  The skull-candy buds snug in my ears are MINE.  And, most beautiful of all, the love is MINE.

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