Here I am sitting in front of my computer monitor looking at dates and times in luminous green letters on the screen. I’ve typed a memo of travel and engagements into the computer. From my tape recorder comes music with that bright okay sound that you hear from the curtained screen in the cinema before the lights are dimmed. It is, yes, it is also that music you hear in the echoing and vasty spaces of airports. It makes me feel good, makes me feel neither here nor there but comfortably in between. Airports have many monitors with arrival and departure times on their screens, flights designated by letters and numbers in luminous characters that don’t move but are full of subliminal motion, full of dancingness and quivering.
Here at my desk I’ve put together that airport feeling, that wonderful airport state of mind, everything for the present suspended, the traveller out of reach of the usual daily bother, out of reach of all those daily systems by which the extraordinary is reduced to a grey and manageable tedium.
Not everything is suspended; no, only the grey and manageable tedium is suspended; the extraordinary is once more available to the soul that is hungry and thirsty for it. Yes, yes, anything at all may happen now. The hitherto unrecognized may suddenly be recognized. The ungraspable mountain may suddenly present itself to one’s vision. Transcendence!