Because I Could Not Stop

I called my parents at 8:30 this morning because I knew they were in the Newark airport getting ready to board a plane that would fly up into a brilliant blue sky.

In terms of probabilities, the odds of an air emergency happening this morning were the same as the odds any other morning, but I was on edge.

Last night, I watched Flight 93, a movie about the United airlines flight that departed from Newark ten years ago today with four hijackers on board. Although the passengers made a heroic attempt to re-take the plane, the hijackers ran it into the ground.

This morning, I wanted my parents home. In a role reversal surprising for me, I told them to be sure to call when they landed.

After we finished talking, what made sense to me was to get out of the house and go to a place where I could literally immerse myself in something as profound as this day, the ten-year anniversary of September 11, 2001.

I told my three-year-old, who was on the couch watching cartoons, that we were going to the ocean. Fortunately, she thought that was a great idea.

As far as impossibly beautiful waning summer days at the beach go, this one was perfect. It was everything to feel alive, to swim with my child, and in some small way, to commune with the spirits of the dead.

On the two-hour drive back home, I realized how important it had been for me to spend the day in motion. I thought about Emily Dickinson's words,

Because I could not stop for Death...

Ten years ago, I walked into a convenience store on my way to work in the morning and saw a fuzzy image of the north tower of the World Trade Center in flames. I didn't understand the significance of what was happening, and when I got to work a few minutes later, I delivered the news that no one had yet heard. We turned the radio on and listened as the second plane hit.

One thing I learned from September 11 is that each second has a depth and power that makes it entirely new and able to completely alter our lives. Just as the power of the universe is in every atom, it is also in every moment. Whether it will create or destroy us, we have no way of knowing.

Emily Dickinson writes that Immortality can fit into a horse-drawn carriage. In present-day terms, maybe she would agree that it would just as easily fit into a cozy, VW Golf on its way to the beach or into an airplane taking off on a brilliant blue-sky day. Certainly she would find affinity in Indian spiritual leader Sri Chimoy's words,

My eternal days are found in speeding time...

As powerful and final as some moments can be, at least Immortality moves with us. In the company of the Eternal, we will never be alone.