#8 Messing With The Icarus Myth

Malaysian Flight 370 disappeared over the Gulf of Thailand. From Kuala Lumpur to Beijing, the flight is missing. No contact, families crying in pain over the loss of loved ones who cannot be located in this day and age of advanced communication technology. They are lost. Walter de Maria’s Broken Kilometer and The Dirt Room are still locatable in Soho after 40 years; Boeing 777 in one day, not. Gone. Lost in the sky seeking the sun heading eastward with passengers lives. Individual spirits are gone. Unfathomable, that on this day something so big is lost. We must wait until evidence shows up with bodies dismembered, luggage and plane parts wash ashore in horror. No goodbyes, no plot, no storyline- just gone. The media is waiting to pounce on the evidence when it first appears to give the loss meaning for us who fear loss when we board planes and expect the best, but fear the worst. Prey on our fears, always. And the unsaid goodbyes of those who span across the planet to others we will never, ever know.

Who will never know us, or us, them.

I’m so sorry your loved one has very likely perished and you never had the chance to hold her one last time and tell her how much you love her and care for her.

I embrace you in my heart from, here, a place you have never been and might never be.

Kids and parents sit around the table and each take a turn reading the Purim Story. I arrive late and unbaked hamantachan (triangle “hat” shaped cookies filled with chocolate, apricot, raspberry, or prune) are resting on pre-cut pieces of aluminum foil. Instructions: “take home and bake until it smells good, then you will know it is done.” We smile and nod knowing exactly what the wonderful familiar scent will be. Before it is burned, and no longer raw dough. No one asks, 'what temperature should we bake?'  We figure 350 to 400 will work and keep our noses on to indicate finished baked goods. It is Purim and we read the story and think about Haman and the terrible things he has done to our ancestors as we whip our groggers in controlled circles and wisely smile at the noisy, froggy, groggy sound that we make to protest the Bad Man. (It is tradition to use the groggers every time HAMAN’S name is spoken aloud). As we do this, I replace Haman’s name with someone I know, the unconscious predator, like Putin, or someone who is in sadistic pain and hell bent on the destruction of others he knows and presumably cares for. Protecting his own soul by obliterating others. The Ukraine, Crimea the earth and CO 2.

The end of us all is the salvation of your precious soul.

The children and parents read: “soon thereafter, Modechai overheard two servants, Bigthan and Teresh, plotting to kill the king. He told Esther, who reported to Ahashuerus. The criminals were punished, and the deed was recorded in the King’s record book. In every province of the land, Jews could be found fasting, weeping and wailing. Modechai tore his clothes and put on sack cloth. Esther sent him a message asking about the cause of this great mourning. Mordechai sent back word of the King’s degree and begged Esther to go to Ahashuerus and plead for her people. But Esther was afraid. 'Everyone and the court knows that it is forbidden to enter the King’s presence without being summoned, she responded. “I could be put to death if I appear before him.'

Mordechai replied, “You are also a Jew. Do not assume that you alone will escape our terrible fate. If you keep silent, you will surely die. Perhaps you have become Queen for just such a crisis.” Esther agreed to risk her life to save her people. “Tell all the Jews of Persia to fast for me for three days.  If I am to perish, I shall perish.” That night King Ahashuerus could not sleep. To pass the time, he had his record book brought to him. He read of the time Mordechai had saved his life by revealing the plot of Bigthan and Teresh. “What honor did I give Mordechai for this?"

“Nothing has been done for him,” his servants replied. Just then HAMAN came to speak to the King about handing Mordechai. But before HAMAN could present his evil plan, Ahashuerus asked him to suggest a way to honor someone who pleases the King. HAMAN proposed that the man be dressed in palace robes and be given the finest royal horse and be led through he city square while someone announces, "this is being done for the man the King wishes to honor?”

“Quick,” Ahashuerus order HAMAN. “Do this for Mordechai!”

In disbelief, HAMAN did as the King commanded.

I feel satisfied for a moment, that the world is protesting evil in this lame way, but at least raising voices and making noise.  The sound of groggers heard in hallways and, maybe, even in the streets. Is this redemption for flying so close to the sun with wings of wax, desiring justice in an unjust world where evil has the law on its side because, in some cases, evil creates its own laws? Where the good are punished for wanting wings to fly away and carry them to freedom which result in burning, destroying, melting, falling.

The flight is over. Crash landing.

Downstairs someone is smoking pot and the scent is drifting into my room and I begin to wonder if secondary inhalation will stone me, or make me stoned and I don’t want that to happen as I write about good and evil, vengeance and redemption. White knuckling what we hold true to keep ourselves from hitting the sun and melting our uplifting wings and burning to death, or plunging into the sea so swiftly and with such massive speed there is no hope for survival.  

Hoping to be found.