Flying. Flying; it kindles the imagination, defies lots of things (gravity, namely; but also some common sense), and really captures some part of human nature, doesn’t it? I know I’m not the only one who’s had flying dreams. Even in reality, in a giant plane (I haven’t done skydiving or hangliding yet) where I have essentially no control, in that moment when the plane lifts off and the ground falls away, I cannot help but grin a silly little grin.

Even though I’m trapped in a giant metal tube held together with millions of rivets, and I have to peer out that tiny and dirty window to watch the ground fall away, I’m flying.

I can remember little me, way back in the day, jumping off the couch, trying to get as much air as I could. I was practicing flying, so I could be just like those sky diving adventurers. We (my brothers and I–this was pre-Beth, so waaaaay back) watched a documentary about sky diving, I must’ve been 4 or so, and I was mesmerized by how they could use their arms and legs, and body, to control their flight…to actually fly (note: my parents letting me watch that documentary was probably not the best thing for my bodily safety at that age).  Even before than, flying had always sparked my imagination like nothing else–it was only then that I found I could practice with the living room furniture. It has never failed to spark something deep inside my mind and imagination.

Every time I see an eagle above, my mind pauses for a moment, the ever present freeway noise dims, and sometimes I try to imagine what it’s like to be up there, quietly soaring. Other times I just watch.

There is something simple and pure about it, even with commercial airliners. After lift off, streets just don’t matter too much. There aren’t stop signs to deal with, and mountain passes make the travel more interesting, not more difficult. It’s this perfect freedom. Well…ok…not really; it’s a plane, there are regulations, if you fly over the White House unauthorized you’ll be shot out of the sky quicker than a…well yeah. But bear with me, and think about those dreams when you fly (I think most everybody has those). If you haven’t even daydrempt (word creation?) about it, close your eyes and try it now. It’s simple and pure.

I think there’s some deep part of human essence that flying taps into, something much bigger than adrenaline or artistic expression. We want to be free; as euclidean three-space dwellers, the immediately obvious way to do this is by flying. In flight we are free.

But, just as you and I yearn to watch the ground slip away and feel the rush of air through our hair and hands, isn’t it true that we wish to be, freely, as full humans, not just as physical bodies? Do we not yearn to love purely, to feel love completely–to be free in some more complete sense?

It’s almost like our hearts are pinned down by some gravity and common sense of the soul.