The altimeter ticks downward, a mechanical heartbeat against the steady thrum of a radial engine, counting down thirty-one nautical miles to the threshold. 31 miles—a distance that feels like half an hour of ordinary life when the earth moves at a leisurely pace, when you are skimming the treetops in a high-wing Cub, letting the landscape unroll beneath your wheels like an old map of grease and canvas.

Except the math is a lie.

It is not thirty minutes. It is eleven. Because I am not drifting in a gentle breeze; I am flying a Staggerwing, whose biplane wing is helping it speed across the ground at 200 miles per hour, whose wheels are tucked safely. Currently thousands of feet above pattern altitude. Ripping through the air and only 11 minutes left to bleed off the sky, slow it down and land.

Flying in the right seat is a strange geometry in this magnificent aircraft. Ordinarily, the seat belongs to the copilot, an assistant to the motion. But in a Staggerwing, there is only one control yoke protruding from the glorious panel. There is no ambiguity here, if you agree to take the controls, you have affirmatively agreed. A positive, deliberate exchange of controls leaves zero question about who holds the reins of the machine. You are either flying or you’re not.

I handed Commander back the reigns and watched with awe as he touched down so softly, I barely felt it in my ass.

He opened the only door out and the breath rushed back into my lungs, salty. It smells like our special place. The place we go to escape together.

Norman met us, as he always does, and the Beast which usually has a dead battery fired right up, thanks to the new solar trickle charger. He looked at me and said, "It's odd right?"

And I nodded in agreement. Our first escape together- was here. And it still feels the same. Like a secret only we share. A magical place where we are untouchable.

Only then could I take a full, deep sigh.

It has felt as though the entire world had been ripping along at 170 knots lately, an unyielding velocity that left me breathless and disoriented.

We packed a picnic this time. We didn’t want to deal with people - not buzzer for a wait list at a packed ocean restaurant on a Saturday, not a wait staff too busy to bring some salt, or refill the water - no distractions.

Down on the shore, the remnants of the storm surge bore witness to the atmospheric violence: massive redwoods, ancient and torn from their mountain slopes, wedged haphazardly onto the wet sand by seas that were still angry, still frustrated with the memory of the gale.

It feels as though the whole earth is moaning right now. The tectonic plates of our daily lives are grinding against one another, and my texts are perpetually filled with quiet, desperate pings from people questioning whether the weight will ever lift, whether the relentless angst will ever lighten its grip.

In the stillness, I have come to realize something powerful. And it’s been so incredibly freeing.

This creation—this vast, sprawling tapestry of existence—is grand and perfect in its original design.

But somewhere back in the garden, in that fateful hour, something fractured. A seam split open, and ever since, we have all been living in some strange, haunting state of purgatory, suspended between what was meant to be and what currently is. The pure, unadulterated beauty we manage to find in this broken realm always lies within nature itself: the silent, blazing canvas of a glorious sunset spilling across the horizon, the patient, persistent flow of a river carving its way through stone, or the deep, resonant sigh of the wind moving through an ancient forest.

It won’t be fair. And you can’t fix it. And as long as you engage in the trying, you unknowingly reside in the mouth of the Beast, who slowly grinds away.

For years, I have been finding my way toward this quiet place of understanding.

When it comes to spirituality, there is hardly a corner I haven’t explored, no philosophical stone I haven't turned over. And where I finally find myself settling is not in a dogma or a system, but in a deeper, more enduring truth.

Individuals navigating a fallen world system are called to cultivate an alternative ethos characterized by pureness-love, justice, mercy, and allegiance to an unshakeable kingdom—a quiet, resolute whispering of come out of her, my people. We are tethered to something far beyond the turbulence of the current age and the new age is on the dawn.

I say that quite literally. I woke up to pee at 4AM- Commander and I don’t close the blinds to our second story bedroom… and right there, on the horizon was the dipper - upside down, I followed the handle to arcturus, but right next to arcturus, was Virgo - and within Virgo - the brightest star you’ve ever seen…as if it was ready to be delivered…Porrima - y Virginis.

My AI would excuse it was a trine between a crescent moon, Venus and Spica - but I knew better… there she is, holding the wheat - in angst.

We are living in the birthing pains…

speaking of birthdays - I'm flying 21 hours for Nathalia - have you joined in on the 183,960?