Far above the Great Sea the airplane approached a coast I have known since childhood. I pressed tears against the porthole, thanking God for the moment. The view did not flash by; that airplane gently circled and circled while I drank in the sight of the waves far below and that coastline, for a full half-hour, before a straightened course took us lower and lower among the popped-up concrete, until tires caught onto the runway.
Coming out of the cradle of the sky is always a bit of a letdown until the beauty that is to come takes over and new combinations of laughter ring. And a little girl loses her balloon and cries while Bugs Bunny grins down at her from the ceiling. It was easy for us to laugh while she grieved.
Inside Zeno's paradox, still shots crowd in upon themselves to resist the passing of time.
But at 16, 24, or a thousand frames, the reel clatters on.
I think there is something deeply disobedient about clinging so furiously to still shots of time.
(As I thought about this, an mp3 sang:
Lesson number one, overcome
Every fear of regret and confusion
It’s all illusion, delusion
Sent to disconnect the holy fusion
Of spirit and the flesh
http://joshgarrels.bandcamp.com/track/the-resistance)
Losing myself in Zeno's paradox may be so much like sitting down cross-legged on the race track set before me (and the clock still ticks).
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