His name was Dennis. About 55, with mostly white hair, a round face, and dressed down business attire that told me he wanted to be comfortable while he traveled. He sat there in his window seat, and looked up with a “hi” full of sunshine as I settled into the seat next to him.
For the next three hours, we were compadres on this journey across the skies. By the time I’d finished asking him whether he was from Los Angeles or Dallas, I knew by his accent and mannerisms he was LA through and through.
Dennis knew a lot about airplanes. He was a consultant for several major airlines, including the one we were flying on. Once on one of his business trips, he could hear that something was wrong with the right engine of the plane well before the pilot caught the problem on an instrument. The flight attendant was in awe when the information checked out. The plane went in for maintenance on its next landing. As he told me this story, I listened and quietly reflected on how this was probably one of so many times he has been of service. The Light-bearer in me saw the Light-bearer in him.
He was thinking about taking a better paying job in Georgia, where he could have a much bigger house, pay off all his debt, and live in a small town away from the LA traffic and commute. He was torn because it was many miles to move away from his two college-aged kids, a son and daughter.
Looking into his eyes from such a close distance was a striking experience, twofold. It was almost too intimate for our acquaintance of only a few minutes, and at the same time he made me feel incredibly comfortable and safe. He was father-like.
The time passed quickly over conversation hopes, dreams, and turbulence. When we started saying our goodbyes, he said, “I hope you have a great seminar” referring to the event I was traveling to. But then he added quickly, “And you know, I really hope you have a great life too, and a lot of success. I think you will. You’re off to a great start, and I wish you a successful and happy career.”
Easy words to say, but something about the sincerity with which he said it went straight into my heart. He unnerved me. It was the kind of rich, warm, vital human contact that I expect to indulge in at Christmas time, or around the family table. Lately I’ve noticed more of this tremendous intimacy showing up in my life with perfect strangers. There is a recognition of our spiritual connection that takes place. It’s been showing up in my life more and more. Or is it that I am showing up for it? Making myself available to it?
From my experience with personal growth work, I hardly bat an eye when groups of people from diverse backgrounds develop support in short spans of time. But nonetheless, people like Dennis do take me by surprise, and inspire me.
What would it be like if I had been the one to say hello with that much friendliness, welcoming someone not only into the seat next to me, but into my very own life?
We finally deplaned at Dallas Forth Worth, my final destination, but not for Dennis. I looked back over my shoulder to see him coming up the ramp. He smiled; I smiled. As I turned back to head for my baggage claim, a twang of sadness hit my heart. I will never see him again in my life. I gently reminded myself there was that choice point when we could have exchanged contact information if we had wanted to. But really, there was no need or reason to. No business relationship to explore, no grounds for friendship. There really was no need for us to ever speak again, and yet I felt that same old sadness from letting go of a dear friend who came into and went out of my life just a few hours later. Today marks the one-year anniversary of the passing of my beloved nephew James Peake. I am reminded that two Souls in connection have no requirements about how much time they spend together, and what kinds of interactions they share. The Soul connection transcends those worldly concerns.
“Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.”
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Thank you, Dennis, for reminding me of the most fleeting and precious connections in life. Thank you, James, for lessons about love that are much too huge to contain in any physical form, any length of time.