airport musings

I am having an extended holiday experience in the Jet Blue terminal of JFK, on my way up to Boston and Maine.  Yippee for snow and ice!!! Although I have been clamoring to finish papers in this lengthy, surreal window of time, the atmosphere doesn't really lend itself to cognitive enticement.  I have fully surrendered to the possibility of sleeping on the airport floor, with over-sugared, eager children jumping all around me and speaking in tongues, but for some reason, I'm not feeling excessively disturbed by this option.  It has been such a harrowing month that this seems like the perfect place to be.  

I am constantly struck with how much chaos we are accustomed to in this culture.  It is staggering, sad, and perhaps inevitable.  From where I am sitting in the airport, I can count about 40 screens (computer, television, ATM), and I swear I can feel the vibration in my nervous system.  Of course, I am deeply addicted to my own sweet little screen, but I admit that it's a codependent relationship of sorts, and I'm trying to wean myself.  

Lately I have been craving the feeling of deep listening that occurs when it's quiet enough to hear the snow fall.  I can't wait to wrap myself in this silence, and take in the sharp smell of pine when it's cold.  I have such romantic attachments to various geographical locations, places where my heart just melts when I breathe the air or take in the impeccable earth.  Maine, Colorado, Texas, Montana, Wyoming, NYC, oceans, mountains, evenings, dawn.  I travel to Santa Barbara every month for school, an undeniably beautiful and majestic place, but it doesn't move me the way so many other places do (although there are some killer consignment shops). I guess it's kind of like falling in love; you can't fake it because grace just comes in and takes over -- a place is imprinted inside you, and when you meet it, it just rocks you.  Like certain people or music.   

And so, there's a hint of mystical something-or-other in my blood, and I definitely want to move closer to only those things that enhance my love.  How does shopping fit into this, is the quintessential, lifelong query.  

In the midst of my blessings, I have been emotionally entangled in the prospect of loss.  Last month, my dear classmate lost her house in the Montecito mountains, in the Tea Fire near Santa Barbara.  I took in this devastation like it was my own, and my body ached as she described closing the front door to her house, unsure of which belongings to take, escaping for her life.  She described the loss as rationally manageable; she could tell her mind that possessions are just things, and they are not essential for happiness, but her body had another experience.  The grief was living, as her body tried to process this immense loss, and it would be unproductive for her to neglect this aspect of her experience.  

I had a similar experience when my grandmother had a severe stroke a few days ago.  I did not expect to have the intense feelings I had when confronted with the significance of her imminent death.  Suddenly, I found myself very connected to her through my body, a feeling that my body somehow came from hers, and that I would not even exist if not for her life.  It was quite a profound intergenerational moment.  

So much for polished endings and morals of stories...I have to drag my bags to the bathroom before my PLANE BOARDS!!!!  

I've broken the ice.

Love, love, love.

Hannah