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.

Amsterdam

Three hours isn`t long enough. My experience of the city has always been limited - bound by the time between connecting flights. I arrive from the station at 9.00 am; it`s bitterly cold, the canals still frozen. Amsterdam hasn`t come to life yet and it`s a million miles from the New Year`s Eve revelries that will hit the streets tonight. I wander the main thoroughfares, and then the side streets, over the canals and their repetitive bridges. I`m tired, thoughtless and have Glenn Gould`s Beethoven Sonatas dripping from my ears. Like this city, I`m not fully awake. I`m in need of a coffee and somewhere warm.

Stepping inside the cafe, the owner has the dog running in circles and then jumping each time she claps. I take a seat by the window, looking over the street, and immediately the little dog runs to me wagging his tail. And then back to the owner. Then back to me. "You`re in his seat", she says. "That`s Binky`s seat. You mind if he joins you?". And Binky sits on the chair across from me, staring out the window attentively. He watches the Amsterdam morning go by. And so do I, while feigning to read a book. An older lady walks by with a small white dog. Binky presses up to the window, following the their movement with the turn of his head before they stroll out of view. 10 minutes later they return. Binky stares them down again. The lady stops and turns. Smiling at me she starts gesturing and walks to the window. She is talking to me. She thinks Binky is my dog.