I’m in a mammoth cathedral whose halls dwarf any concept of modern architecture, or some holy space, listening to Gregorian chants and choirs singing: men, women, children. I can see their faces up close with such intimacy and detail–the large pouched cheeks of an Italian man, his throat puffing out like a frog, producing the deep tones of an alto. A small child, harmonizing perfectly with him. It is a place, regardless of religious background, that one is in awe. One can forgive the problems and corruption of organized religion and find the goodness and purpose in faith or spirituality.
Airplanes are amazing; humans can fly while watching movies and accessing Wi-Fi. Emphasis on the flying part, because we are literally defying the limitations of our own biology by doing that. How freaking cool. These are my ever-so-eloquent thoughts as I sit staring out the window, watching the other planes dance a spiral in the approach to Heathrow; I’ve grown up in a family associated with planes and the airlines, and regardless of how much I fly, I am still very much in awe of these flying machines. The moments at dusk when you cannot tell which direction the sky is in. The descent through layers of clouds. The curve of the earth.