When a plane takes off, there is an instance of weightlessness. You may have felt it, when you are heaved off the ground and feel like you are floating in your seat for a fraction of a second.
I liken that moment to the balance between entropy and serenity, the sliver of grey between the white of a life figured out and the black of a confusing world. In that hair’s breadth of time anything seems possible.
In that space, the unsaid things do not lay heavy and frightening in their magnitude. The dark emotions and the thoughts we strive to hide and subdue come alive. They hold no fears or judgements.
Anything is probable when there is nothing behind or ahead, when the earth and sky both fall away leaving you suspended. At these times, I sense moving into and out of myself, at once consumed by the moment, and also disembodied, watching from a not-too-high vantage point.
Sometimes I long for chaos, the purging that leaves a clean slate on which to start again, to recommence what in its own way is still a beautiful life.