The Protected

The frost on the window of the 757 is the only thing I can see. 20,000 feet below, the Pacific is dark in the 3:00 AM night. Crossing the Pacific means at least ten hours of flight. So far I have been in air for about fifteen. At night, the ocean is dark enough to blend in with the sky, the horizon disappears and there is nothingness all around you. If anything happens, I see myself falling, forever. This is the first time I have ever been afraid.

Outside, I couldn't see - inside everyone was sound asleep. I can't shut my eyes, they are focused on the window. Panic attacks spread though my mind, and it's all I can do to not yell out. I would have, but I saw my protector. He has purpose, symmetry, he represents strength and patients and faith. He is grounded. Orion the Hunter treks, across the night sky, after his prey. Never catching, but never giving up ether.

For hours I stared into him. I've never been so close to Orion. Physically, not much difference. Over the millions and millions of light years a few thousand feet doesn't make much different. But I felt like I could touch it. I felt so close, I felt so at peace. When I lived at home, in the country, I stood outside on a clear night, thinking about what it would be like to run as Orion. Crossing the huge sky, with dogs close at hand, running from life and for a lost love. I would imagine myself in the sky, unchanging over millions of years, watching life and death down below.

Orion distracted me, held me there, until safety. Clouds. Clouds cover the water, define a visible horizon, and bring me down to earth. They remind me of snow. I realize I need the stars, orion and the others, I need the horizon, I need the clouds, I need the snow. I need them to ground myself, to hold myself to the earth, to normalize myself.