So it used to be that you had to first find, then identify, then finally eat some hallucinogenic flora before wandering in the wilderness, waiting for the spirits to visit you with their messages of eternal truth. Now it turns out you just have to get in a big metal tube in the sky, eat some potato chips, and direct your attention out the right-hand window.
It was refreshing to hear the captain's excited announcement and watch a plane full of jaded travellers all raise their eyebrows, turn out their overheard lights, dim their individual entertainment screens, and lean and crane and peer, just to catch a glimpse of a slowly shifting band of lights. As I sat in my padded seat in the warm cabin, and pressed my forehead against the glass, I felt a bit of what it might feel like to see the northern lights alone, from a cold dark forest. There was certainly a feeling of communication, but I don't have any life-changing revelations to report. If I had to transcribe it, it would go like this:
"Helloooooo"
"Hello?"
"Hellohellohellohellohellooooooo"
"Wow"
"Helloooohello"
"Don't go!"
"hello...hello...heeeeeelllo..."
"Oh, goodbye! Thank you!"
It was great. A gift. Thanks, captain on Jet Blue, for interrupting CSI Miami for that. It was so worth it.
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