Sitting on a plane, today, reminds me of the odd confluence of flight and want in the first person singular (present) Latin terminology. This flight, FCO-BHX, is no worse than other such in the fallen world post-9/11; that is to say, one is so chivvied, corralled, grilled, herded, and dehumanised by the process of getting from bag-drop to Departure Gate that even an Airbus 320 seat in economy feels like a sanctuary. Albeit one with no lower-back support.
I want/I fly, as Latin has it. Both imply an abandonment of one state of existence (lack; terrestriality) without any certainty in what follows. Owning (up) to a ’want’ requires something of a leap of faith too. Who knows how anyone will feel on receiving the thing which, in its absence, seemed a sine qua non?
Stepping onto a plane or plunging into the dizzy air crystallises the frailty of what connects mortals to the skeins of life. How firmly are anyone’s feet on the ground?
Rome and all that... 