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Location:Texas, USA Naturalized US Citizen of Irish extract -   Fixed Wing and Helo trucker.Interests: "The Absurdity of Man". I am a proud supporter of Blarney, Nonsense, and Hooey. I enjoy being a chopper jockey, and trying to figure the world, people and belief systems out. I'm just not very good at it, so it keeps me real busy. I scribble, blog, run this website, mess with rental houses, ride motorbikes, and read as much as I can. I went solo 44 years ago, and I like to say I'm gonna get me a real job one day. When I grow up. ("but not just yet, Lord, not just yet") For my aviation scribbles see www.chopperstories.com.... enjoy! I wish you Peace in your Life. May you always walk with the sun on your face, and a breeze ruffling your hair. And may you cherish a quiet wonder for our awesome Universe. Life isn't always good. But it is always fascinating. Never quit.
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Of Helicopters and Humans (18) I am Flying


Of Helicopters and Humans

Part 18:  I am flying



I am flying...

Across the Tuna Fields, somewhere North of Papua New Guinea, and a long way South of a good little woman who waits patiently for me.
My Hughes 500 D Model is feeling frisky this morning.  She is striding along smoothly, with that steady, reliable purr. That cheerful beat, that I have learned to love so well. The rumble, the steady, reassuring whine. The shadows that play across my instruments. The airflow through the open doors, that brushes my face kindly.  The constant, reliable, comforting passing of blades over my head.  A continuous, steady, mellow drumming. My girl is not just flying along with me. She is rumbling along. In a kindly, reassuring way, that only the true helicopter addict understands.   It's a bit like riding a big old motorcycle, that fits you like a glove. Down a quiet, smooth country road, with plenty of gentle curves.  With the wind in your face, you can be at one with such a craft. A conjoined consciousness. Where you and your steed's feelings, are,oddly interlinked.
  
I am happy up here.  Truly, happy.

Sun, dazzling sun, plays across the waves.  It is a light show. Flashing, beckoning, cheerful, flakes of light are everywhere. There are scattered, thin clouds overhead, and whenever we pass under them, the cockpit darkens just a fraction. The light play across the instruments changes. And, mischievously, the Pacific Ocean darkens just a fraction.  But the waves, the endless waves, march on relentlessly, shrugging these subtle changes off. Only the human observer, perched precariously overhead, in his crude mechanical toy, smiles down and enjoys the subtleties of ever changing light and shadow.  

I am happy up here. Truly happy.

*          *             *             *              *

     Twenty years have gone by.  In a flash.  A long, long time to us funny, quirky little humans, and just a tiny snap of the Wise Architect's fingers.  A hesitant, minute ripple, in the Galactic ebb and flow of the Great Cosmic Wind.  I am nothing. I know nothing.  

      Along the way, I have gazed down from my cockpit, and seen Good and Bad. I have seen friends lying broken and burned. I have seen both the Kindness and Compassion of some of my brothers, and the Eternal, undying Hatred of others. I've seen Cold Indifference, and Greed Unabated.
     I am nothing. I know nothing.

But I am... Still flying.  
    Whoopeeee...!    Fly Clapping
    
I count forty three years now since I first went solo.   I have exchanged my beautiful Hughes 500 for a new girl. She is a Belle from the ball. She too has been endlessly kind to me.  And I have exchanged the Tuna Fields, via a gig flying for the Sheriff's office in Arizona, for ten years in the Gulf of Mexico.   What's more, I am flying right now...

What is it like?  Don't you get bored?
Dude... it's fuk'n great! And not just 'no', but try "hell, no!"

     My Bell 407 is feeling frisky this evening.  She is striding along smoothly, with that steady, reliable purr. That cheerful beat, that I have learned to love so well. The rumble, the steady, reassuring whine. The shadows that play across my instruments. The airflow through the open window vents, that brushes my face kindly.  The constant, reliable, comforting passing of blades over my head.  A continuous, steady, mellow drumming. My girl is not just flying along with me. She is rumbling along. In a kindly, reassuring way, that only the true helicopter addict understands.   It's a bit like riding a big old motorcycle, that fits you like a glove. Down a quiet, smooth country road, with plenty of gentle curves.  You can be at one with such a craft. A conjoined consciousness. Where you and your steed's feelings, are, oddly interlinked.  
     I am happy up here.  Truly, happy.

Sun, dazzling sun, plays across the waves.  It is a light show. Flashing, beckoning, cheerful, flakes of light are everywhere. There are scattered, thin clouds overhead, and whenever we pass under them, the cockpit darkens just a fraction. The light play across the instruments changes. And, mischievously, the Gulf of Mexico darkens just a fraction.  But the waves, the endless waves, march on relentlessly, shrugging these subtle changes off. Only the human observer, perched precariously overhead, smiles down and enjoys the subtleties of ever changing light and shadow.  
     I am happy up here. Truly happy.

*            *            *            *              *

Maybe, at long last, I, a slow learner, a spiritual dullard, have finally grasped something. Finally, arduously, hesitantly, even I have glimpsed the faintest outline of my life long target. This long road, this journey, this pilgrimage. This crazy, off-the-wall, ceaselessly amazing, totally revved up, wild adventure.
I have touched something precious, even just for a restless, breathless second.
All Our Mother...  
Finally, gently, probingly, I have touched her face.
And glimpsed an acceptance, a certain knowing, and a gentle, quietly whispered...

Peace...



Francis Meyrick




Last edited by Francis Meyrick on February 24, 2014, 7:13 pm
We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.
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