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On Sunday night at 7:30pm I’ve been onboard a Boeing 777-200 bound for SFO. During its ascent the flight ran into an air pocket. I’d been so sleep deprived, so by that time I had already started dozing off. I believe I was at the border of being awake and asleep, with strange images overlapping each other. Under normal circumstances, in a different state of consciousness, I would have feared for my life. But at that particular moment, I genuinely enjoyed the turbulence, more accurately, enjoyed observing other people coping with the ride, and I was even writing an imaginary will in jest.
The difference in attitude altogether tells me how easily the concept of self may be constructed on top of a certain layer of consciousness. Don’t children enter such different state of consciousness every night before going to bed? The expression“he is not himself“in this sense evokes thought.
Upon arrival at SFO I look around and find the scenery as foreign as is familiar. I thought of work and grew distressed.