I am not here

I am not here. I am not at home. I am not at work, sitting at my desk, although I may appear to be. Neither am I having dinner with my parents or down the pub with friends. I am not reciting liturgy at church or walking down the street. I am not here, nor am I with you.

I am high above this earth, at 30,000 feet. In that contained world of the long-haul flight, that transit world, neither here nor there, with only the gentle hum of the cabin and frozen Siberian lakes passing far below.

Anf at once I'm the happiest I've ever been and the lowest. Like this jet, precariously skimming the reaches of the sky while a vast expanse drops below. I am at extremes, pulled by a certain joy while facing a certain emptiness. And both exactly at the same time. This air and weight is my wallpaper for life. I glimpse perfection while hovering over the abyss.