It is known that the airport is the standard start and end of any air travel, especially air travel, a modern waiting room, a refuge followed by an airstrip and a metal bird landing pad. Such a port, among other things, gave birth to many books and films by association: Meetings and Partings, a condensed collection of stories by Tony Parsons - Departures, a multitude of skilfully described human destinies, events at London's Heathrow airport, (s)observed from the edge. Security, potential terrorism: numerous film stories, examples: Die Hard 2. The atmosphere of a closed, "temporary" accommodation, crowds, conveyor belts, luggage that "leaves" from us after check-in; then, the free shop, cafes and restaurants. Sequences and sequences of appointments, traffic in all directions. People, distances, distances. Thoughts on takeoff and landing. The legend of Daedalus and Icarus - about striving for heaven, for success: falls and natural learning. Striving for dominance, immoderation, where these spaces are still largely inaccessible to man, regardless of all modern technology and the conquest of crumbs of the universe. Land and water world versus air mass.
Transit, overstaying at the airport. "roaming" passengers and baggage. Delays. Stairs, some strict controls, tunnel to the aircraft. Occupying marked seats on the plane. Impatience, belts, instructions, voices of the crew. Runway, engine noise, separation from the ground, "rising" height, climbing...Shattering wind. Fear, frequent turbulence. Sunrise and sunset, clouds and that flat field above them, if it is pointed upwards. Finally, light sailing on the "feather". Nirvana or eerie blue by day? Night, shadows down under the moonlight in the clear. What do we all do during the summer? Chatting and new acquaintances to pass the time, food and drink, books, movie screenings on long flights, sleep (who can do it). Erica Jong, book Fear of flying, anxiety taken in a figurative sense: flying as liberation despite tradition, resistance, and even prejudice.
Mainly bold self-disclosure - erotic, sexual, human in general - and at the time when the writing was written - primarily the female one, in contrast to age-old restraint, patriarchy, fostered inequality, as well as inequality. Sky, earth, sea. Meditations, reckoning, supplications.
They say that the fear of flying is irrational!? Rather, it will be at least partly the opposite: due to the traveler's recent lack of control over a piece of his own destiny, the absence of a natural foundation, "swings" that you cannot influence. We are somewhat sobered by the fact that "every bird occasionally lands, but very rarely falls". (Hunting of feathered game, plane crashes and surface-to-air missiles are not taken into account.) Longing for heights, for the freedom of the sky, on the one hand and, on the other - fear of powerlessness, of the smallness of both us and the device in which we ride against the horizon universe, the fear of being lost in that, for us, alien space, a strong fear of returning to the void, of unwillingly, bluntly facing the weight of the earth. In some places, there is despair, and some panic because of possible death from a meteorite crash, from sinking and breaking on solid ground or a tragic impact into the water. "Journey to heaven" is not just a route to enjoyment, to the charms of the unknown. Man tries - by flying, quickly covering the desired path - to somehow extend, almost "deceive" his own earthly journey. Therefore, it is not strange that the belief "that certain peoples are chosen" is heavenly, accompanied by the belief that after earthly, physical death, after our disappearance, souls "move" to heaven, to the perfection of infinity, eternity to whom/who and during the duration of their own age. we strive.
We want (and) quickness that we are not able to achieve by ourselves, but also the discovery of the new, previously unreached, undiscovered. And it is no coincidence that angels are presented as bright, white and winged. Height is crucial both in a clearer perception of the whole, as well as in ruling those and those who are relatively close below, subordinate or literally subordinated. According to their own positions, positions, roles. After all, "he who has even stood on the hill is more visible than the one under the bridge" (Vladimir Danilo - Njegoš, The Mountain Wreath). Hence the hierarchy/hierarchy in both the state and the church. But mostly also in the animal world. Also, higher, more grown plants, stems receive an incomparably greater amount of light from the sun compared to lower ones. Which is undoubtedly - next to water - the source of life.
Eyes fixed on the sky cry out for brightness, for fresh waves from above. Which feed, nurture, improve. Sunny days noticeably improve the mood, raise all kinds of energy. "God is looking at us" from above, no matter how we understand him. Even when we experience it, we "feel" it as something inside us, when it is only a trace, an idea "stronger than the very thought of it", i.e. the magic of the birth of a new being - or god, simply and at the same time subtly - pure love. Well, she gently exalts us, ennobles us, lifts us up. In the matter of beauty without support, sweet freedom chained to our will.
Parachuting, conquering peaks by mountaineering, raised pedestals for winners in sports competitions. Man is not a bird, but he would like to be. To float, to circle, to rise and to be able to land safely by itself. That he is as much as possible comparable to her, if he cannot be superior to the rest of nature.
In conjunction with the previous one, Njegoševa Lucha microcosm is a magnificent ode to unreached peaks, but also to man as a "small cosmos". An ingenious philosophical, religious, and at the same time artistic song about the indestructible, imperishable essence of man, but also about his torments, evil soul, nothingness. Against the spark, the ray that connects him to the sky, illuminating him and asking him a bundle of eternal questions. And indeed, there are still few final answers. Especially about the riddles of man's origin, existence and disappearance, about all human misfortunes, even more about doubts regarding his creator.
PS On that unfortunate end of May - it turned out to be the last time - she passionately hugged me from behind with her head resting on my shoulder, passionately kissing my neck while the whips of her charred hair, still wet from the rain, saw me off together with me at the airport (refused is that Jadranka insisting that I join her in that "adventure" with an almost predictable ending) - she slaps me in the face, blurring my vision, which had already begun to narrow due to the encroaching "liquid eye glass". There was a lack of words, the pressure in the chest grew. While my heart strained to separate from my body. And to go with her. On the way, to the distances without return - I knew that with the remaining rational part of me - to the heights inaccessible to me, belonging to others. She, Jadranka, was leaving her homeland and country, country, continent - and me. Forever leaving everyone familiar with the course of life's affairs. Screaming, she believed in a new beginning, in deliverance from the all-pervading evil that suddenly (?) befell her. But, unfortunately, he will never reach such a healthy reality. In America, her brother was waiting for her and scheduled therapy due to a vicious disease in an advanced stage. The plane was ready for boarding, the storm was starting. We said our goodbyes in a hurry, nervously, with a couple of firm, unforgettable hugs (did I hear her soft sobs then, I don't want to remember!), with empty wishes. With the first flashes of lightning and thunder, the aircraft disappeared from my sight already at the home of the runway.
After a few weeks, the sad news arrived that Jadranka had passed away, so young: difficult and invasive medical protocols had damaged her, as weak and fragile as she was. She didn't contact me before her inevitable end, maybe she wasn't able to. She never explicitly told me that she loved me before, even though for days, weeks and months I felt our mutual emotional connection, affection spreading, increasing. The barely visible love was prevented from developing by the tragedy of the circumstances, cruelly interrupted even before it blossomed. A poisoned well of deep pain. And how can I, after all, believe in eternity, in souls floating somewhere, high up? However, again, it is difficult to bear earthly burdens, to endure all kinds of troubles without hope, and to be deprived of pupils turned upwards. Secrets exist for us to deal with. And that we never find out, never expose them. And that's how the given century passes us by, sooner or later. But I would by no means claim that "death is a part of life". Rather, it will be the other way around. And when it is said that "someone lives in our memories" it could also mean that a part of us has passed away forever, at least mentally, figuratively, with that specific, specific, adored face. And so the deceptive quasi-consolation of "friendship in death" remains, if God - either the one inside us or the one "outside" - has not intended for us a more tangible, merciful option, a significantly more grateful mission.
"Inner poise comes from knowing that it is not things that disturb us, but our interpretation of those things". (Irvin D. Jalom, Looking at the Sun)
Bonus video:
