No matter one’s perspective, there is always a climb to be made…up a gentle slope to the top of a hill, up a steep incline to a jagged ridge or mountain top, up through an open sky to the tropopause…we feel a sense of accomplishment at the pinacle, although we’re only halfway there. Every successful journey has ups and downs, a symmetry of purpose, a venture upward and downward, outward and inward…no adventure is complete until we have the perspective to reflect on the whole of the experience.
Where there is a storm, let us not go into it blindly, but let us not turn away in fright when the reality of the storm is the least of our fears…It is incumbent upon us to deal with it. Sometimes that means sitting it out and waiting for it to blow out, watching the radar and wind reports, listening to the radio for cues as to what others are experiencing, and developing an understanding of the threat we must plan to engage…Sometimes, we rock and roll. Sometimes, we sit motionless and watch a light show. Sometimes, we go around…Unlike any other profession, sitting still or suddenly pivoting to furious action can both result in successful outcomes. In either case, this is our calling…to face the storm, to exercise prudence, to ensure the safety of our charges…to be the calm within the storm.
It’s not a smooth ride, but it is intoxicating. Standing at the foot of the mountain, I dream of being up there amid the ripples and rolls of this tortured sky, at one with the motion and absorbing the radiant yellow light. If I could paint such a sky, I should think I was in heaven and I would never stop. This is the sort of moment that lingers in our minds for an eternity.
A pathway to follow or a chain of events in our past? Changing our perspective on the ordinary can lead us to fresh discoveries, to new ways to use the information that abounds, to be self-critical, to improve upon how we do things…to be better in myriad ways. Chances are, someone else has wandered this highway leaving us a sign to follow? Connecting the dots, the points of data, we can foretell the bumpy ride ahead…or we can respond to the telltales and plot a new course in hopes of experiencing a different fate, scribing our own lessons in our wake.
In the heart of every storm there is a light trying to escape, a voiceless scream in the deafening darkness…Senseless and ignorant, we watch the storm build, never understanding the truth, that pent up energy will rise to the heavens and release in a fury of light and sound…as unintelligible as mumblings in a foreign tongue, the release is misunderstood as if it were the rumbling of a train or the roar of a beast, yet it is neither…It is the frustrated cry of a speechless soul pressed by the darkness and longing to be noticed as a force of nature and set free. Forever, we tilt toward the storm.
In the darkest place in North America, light illuminates the rough edges while shadows paint the depths of the chasm. The darkness comes first, then the light brings us perspective. Here, there is neither struggle nor conflict between night and day as the depth of the canyon provides stasis in the ceaseless progression of light.
Riding on the edge of a rolling up draft and then drift down the other side as though riding a swell on the open ocean…climbing and slowing, descending and accelerating, our senses on alert to the all important and life granting airspeed…We come alive amid the cloudscape of the tropopause, reading the air as we catch discordant glimpses of the clouds and landscape beneath us…the surface winds creating the visually soothing swells of sand dunes along the western face of the front range before skipping the rocky edifice and rippling through the atmosphere with increasing intensity to rock our ship.
Eight miles a minute, we speed toward our destination…Keeping our eyes on the seemingly motionless stars above, we maintain our mission focus. A momentary glance below into the blur of our motion and we risk disorientation and loss…Constancy and motion provide a tension between which our sense of purpose inspires us to keep moving, to keep focus, to keep the shiny side up and smiles on our faces.
The presence of weather doesn’t halt our mission, instead, our mission planning begins with it…we ponder the development of weather threats, we think through scenarios and contingency plans, we weigh the physical constraints of our environment against our capabilities, we make decisions based on the availability of information, then we head out into the world and determine the truth of the moment in which we find ourselves. We are in the business of seeing through obscurations to perceive threats. From altitude, we look at the valley below us…rock formations hidden beneath a shroud of fog and red earth disguised by the radiant blue-white glow of snow. Sometimes weather is just vapor, while other times it is a veil disguising threats…A good perspective and a thorough understanding of our environment are the key to ensuring our safety when we find the reality of the world around us obscured.
It may look like another world, but it’s a space we know well…As we venture into the night, we seemingly move between worlds, following flares of reflected light into the last glowing slivers of the day.
When we are forced to make a transition, it is often unpleasant and unsettling…Such is the case when we must wake before dawn, dressing in the half light of a hotel room in a city we can’t recall without looking at the flight schedule, while praying for the half-caffeinated burnt medicine of hotel lobby coffee…But when our transitions are in the rearview mirror and we find ourselves watching the transitions of the world around us, we sense the magic and bask in the singularity of the moment…Dawn divides the abyss of night into the heavens above us and the earth and sea below us, separated by a widening line of ambiguous light. Our senses are, at once, excited and at ease, watching the glowing contours of the sea of clouds beneath us, reading the ride, delighting in the colors and the broadening light of day. This is our longing…to be in motion, to have purpose, to captain our ships, and to put all our activity and transitions into perspective while enjoying the view.
We often witness the surreal, but seldom recognize when we have become part of it…playing the part of spectator and performer. We move through the tension of an evening sky as though wet bristles over canvas, leaving our feathered strokes behind to play with the reflections.
It keeps spinning ahead…no matter our direction of travel or how fast our pursuit, we never truly return to the place that we left. Every moment of our lives, every breath of wind, every ray of sunlight, and every drop of rain is a singularity if our perspective is so grand as to recognize our constant motion. Events, places, times…no two the same…forever shifting as we move through space.
The light that shines imperfectly reminds us that, though unseen, it’s source is always with us, illuminating our hard edges, illuminating our shadowy places, illuminating our spirits…the strongest of lights project their radiance and warmth long after they vanish from sight and we forever bask in their glow.
Beneath the overcast, we fly headlong into the shadows of a darkening day, relying on nothing but our navigation systems to keep us clear of the earthly dangers below…as we ease into the complacency that our two dimensional depiction of the world creates, absent our normal visual cues, the hard edges of terrain are illuminated suddenly by spectral rays of light burning through the weather to guide our way and bringing our senses back to life.
Exploring the patterns of a fingerprint with its twisting, turning, and swirling lines, we see a familiar abstraction…we recognize it when we have the context of looking at a finger, but would we recognize it if we found ourselves walking across it? The undulating lines of The Wave create an earthly fingerprint, inconceivable in scale and abstraction, giving us the sense of walking through a Dr. Seuss inspired landscape as we move across its exposed edges.
The San Juan River flows into the Navajo Nation, twisting and turning as though attempting to look back on its path before moving on its epochal progression through the high desert. In its twisting motion, what appears a flat, trickling, indecisive stream reveals the constantly swirling undercurrents that propel it through the landscape…the calm demeanor belying a tempestuous heart, spinning and churning, driving the river along its way.
As in a distorted game of Rock Paper Scissors, cloud covers rock for the win…Our minds are marvelous things, as we juxtapose disparate ideas and find the common themes…where we sit and what we are doing are far less significant than the distances our minds travel…we move along the way, whether in a jet at Mach .80 or rocking in a chair on our front porch, we never stop moving, we never stop imagining…Today we dream of when the world will right itself so we can get back up there to bask in the light and take in the view.
In corners of our world, not so far from home, there are recesses that capture the essence of our being, shrouded in mist, hidden from the world, defined as much by darkness as by the narrow ribbons of light that pronounce their contours. In these places, vapor delicately rises off of streams and dew covered fields, Cardinals’ wings flash in their bravado, red and translucent in the brush, and insects illuminate like lanterns lifting out of the shadows above the fields. The morning light makes magic in the landscape of our backyards as we take the chance to explore all that is near.
The last light of the day can be the warmest and most indelible, staying with us through the darkest of nights and giving us hope for the dawn.