floating

I jumped out of an aeroplane and rocketed toward the earth. I observed the sky and the quilted landscape below. I wondered when to release the parachute, feeling very calm as I descended, slowing the fall to gentle drift at will.

Later, I was in a classroom, teaching a group of students that ranged in age from very young children, possibly four years old, to about sixty or so. I was handing out paintings that they had created earlier, explaining the grading system. The paintings were on butchers’ paper and incorporated a lot of gold metallic paint and glued on sequins. A teenage girl took a painting that was not hers and, for some reason, I allowed it. The group gathered at the side of the room, standing around in conversation. I was the only person not standing; I was, rather, sitting on a floating cushion shaped much like a peanut, hovering slightly above the heads of the group. I was appreciative of the seat, only wishing I could make it hover slightly lower so that I was in the group rather that above it. Regardless, I felt comfortable and could float across the room at will.