The View from Here

It's 2 a.m.

Well, at least thats what my phone tells me. It honestly has no idea what time it really is, at least not in relation to my current geographical location. The same can be said for my internal clock. I don't know if I'm ready for bed or ready for lunch. I'm wide awake, though, and am listening to the calming sounds of a female Opera singer serenade me with shapeless and melodically erratic cantatas; a sort of juxtaposition with that simple angelic voice and pure harmonies from the symphony supporting her. My mind and brain are open...

Restlessly, I shuffle in my airplane seat to attempt two things: comfort and maximum view out of this can-sized porthole this aircraft calls a window. I know we're somewhere over africa, and have been since we left London, essentially traversing the length of the continent. But I can't see it. It's shrouded by darkness and cloud cover. Cloud cover that, incidentally, harbors a violent storm, rife with brilliant pecks of lightning. Periodically, the cloud cover breaks and reveals a darker expanse; a glimpse of the terrain below, void of any telltale signs of life. No little patchy dots of pale orange light, no lit highways meandering around the countryside like life-giving veins. Just pure darkness. The scene is striking enough, though, because just above the horizon, the iconic Orion constellation sprawls across the sky, all its features clearly distinguishable by the naked eye. Betelgeuse in all its ruby glory, the nebula's boundaries clearly defined and the hunter's legendary belt casually askew - as it's been for eons. Orion reclines lazily over the turbulent African cloud cover, delighting in the sporadic pulses of lightning emanating from within the haze.

I'm trying to imagine the presently grayscale country below the storm... Soaking in the downpour, this is most likely one of the more fertile regions of Africa, where the bright orange deserts make way for deeply-hued green rain forests. Is there some out-of-touch civilization praying to the appropriate god for protection from (or perhaps gratitude for) the torrent? Is the deluge giving much-needed relief from a drought or war-torn landscape? Are there communities in this part of Africa at all? Maybe this light show is sitting over a part of the continent only inhabited by a fragile ecosystem oblivious to the human pillagers that will undoubtedly rape its virgin Eden one day.

It's humbling to fly. It's humbling to view our beloved planet from such altitudes, under myriad conditions. Even to the unlearned, the layman, the amateur - it gives us perspectives on our topography and ecosystem that our brains were never meant to process. It's especially humbling to fly at such a blinding height over a land like this. What I know is savage, underdeveloped and often primitive below is almost mocked by the stark contrast of the order and beauty of the night sky I see above. It's views like this that make me realize how fragile and unimportant our lives are; how lucky we are to be programmed to appreciate and cherish the beauty and harmony of this intricate planet we call home. I use the word "programmed" because I believe we are encoded with the innate love and admiration of the Earth's beauty that goes beyond a pretty angle or a bright color - it's a link to our pre-historic beginnings.

That notion is reiterated, reinforced even, when I think of how witnessing these phenomena awakens in me a desire to share this experience. I wish there was someone I loved by my side right now watching the same scene, taking it in, feeling that link that takes us both back millions of years. Inciting awe and wonder that no other stimulus can incite. And inexplicably inciting another elusive phenomena between us - Love.

London

London.

I can't describe how it felt to spend the day in London. Superficially, I can tell you that it was a cool 50 degrees (Farenheit, for us Yanks) and the was mostly cloudy and spitting tiny droplets of precipitation on my hoody - an article I was so glad to have remembered to pack.

Stepping up from the Underground for the first time into Picadilly Circus, I felt instantly a part of the bustle. Young and old moving to and fro at varying paces, some mindlessly sauntering by the statues in the square, others practically jogging to reach their next destination, all a part of the city. I was surprised at how the scene made me nostalgic for a time I've never known. Suddenly, I was pining to be a part of a bustle! I wanted to saunter or jog to a park or a loo. Perhaps it's because, growing up in Houston, being a part of the bustle means sitting in traffic.

Since we only had about 7 hours to see the city, my team decided to take on of those iconic red double-decker bus tours. It was a smart move. Not only did we get to see a long list of landmarks and tourist destinations, we got to maximize our time in that weather. Weather to many would seem dreary. But as someone from a currently record-breaking temperature, draught-riddled Houston, the climate was welcome.

The backdrop was ever so striking as well. Buildings new and old - every single one of them to the brim with character. I found myself selecting a window or a doorway with my eyes and trying to imagine the story of the people who lived, or perhaps officed there. What were they like? Rich, poor, busy life, simple life? thoughts like this of course led to me picturing myself in such a town. Could I fit in? Could I get used to the pace of life in a city  so diverse and rich with history? The answer is I don't know - but I want to try.

The more I see of this world, the more. I want to see of it!  There is so much out there to experience, to explore, to live