Sitting in the departure lounge I watched as they towed our plane into its bay for its flight preparation to London. What a sight it was. I imagined all the technical intricacies and design in that sleek body, ready to come alive with the flicking of a bank of switches, saw the powerful engines under its wings and the enormous tail stretching in to the sky – just a wonderful example of human ingenuity.
In the midst of this rather rational perception, other questions suddenly arose. Did this magnificent machine have some kind of consciousness? How was it feeling about the trip to be embarked on? What countries had it seen and what storms had it faced on its journeys? Sounds absurd, but I realized I was no longer looking with my mind, but with my heart.
How does one live without a sense of poetic imagination, which essentially flows from the heart? Someone has said that to experience true seeing one must see with the heart. So much of life has been stripped of its vitality through an absence of poetic power.
There’s something life-giving about looking at a passenger jet and asking how it feels about the journey it’s about to embark on.