I found a single engine plane with the propeller spinning as I was running on foot desperately down the runway. Arid wheat fields, dusty, midday sun. She was slightly in motion as I sprint-hop on to the wing and dive into the cockpit.
A quick assessment of my speed and the end of the runway quickly approaching, I grab the yoke and pull back. Whoa! – Lift off!
Quick recalls of brief notes on flight operation – must have been me on the accelerator, feet on the rudder, ascending to altitude, stabilizing.
With adrenalin now trickling out from my finger and toenails, I grasp at anything safe. I’m in flight. I have no idea how I got here or how to fly but I am in flight.
All I have to do now to scare the shit out of myself is remember that I don’t know how to find a runway, or land, or how long the fuel will last. Looking around, in this very moment, mechanics and physics seem to have me safely cradled.
Negative pressure creating lift through momentum and all that; It’s working and I’m going to let it. I’ve made… a decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of these wings as I understand them.
Sustaining this condition is contingent upon fuel and the maintenance of the vehicle and its parts. So provided I somehow stay fueled and amend any potential hazards, before, during or after the hijacking, I need not be concerned with finding a runway, or returning to earth by any other catastrophic means.
My faith, my ‘daily reprieve’ as provided by physics, and natural law is contingent upon momentum and fuel of my spiritual program. Turbulence, poor visibility and clear blue sky; all navigable through adjustments at the controls of a miracle in flight.