I have not written much this year. Hope it's not becoming a trend. Shouldn't though, this year has been a fix year for what's been missed last year. It's been packed with flying, work and catching up on life. But it's now coming toward the end and the next year is starting to take shape.

It would apear now, that 2022 will begin for me the same way 2019 did. This time, hopefully, with less global pandemic and market crash and more oportunities and success.

My heart is in the sky. It's yearning and longing and I can't hold off for much longer, the new life come. The new chapter, the new begining, the journey to embrace and to give me a new name and shape and personality and redefine me once again, to open my eyes to new horizons and learnings. New realities to understand and become a part of. 

It is, at times daunting, call to arms. Perhaps forced on to become more real by the its onset suddenly so eminent.

I have an idea, I have a plan or a few. And I'm going to be anxcious till deep in and first lot of succeses achieved. 33 is the age that I'm to reach my purpose, it is the time when I get on my path to heavens. It sounds right.

The new year come, I should have much more to enter here, to report on, to work with and through. Journey continues, the path lost emerges again from the sand. I'm older, but the wiser and more experienced, more leveled, and more confident. Not in the good old naive krleš kind of a way, but knowing my selves more and my abilities and most importantly; I am clear, by a few more hurdles overcome, on my purpose.

Class 1 medical on the third Feb. Found fit, I commit with all there is in me.

Much has to be cleared and figured out by then. Much is to resolve, to contemplate, and to aquire too.

I'm really just writing a report that I'm still here. That I've been fine and that It's soon to have kicked off.

I thought I'd share some flying stories as I accumulated a few great ones over the 23 hours flown since April when they let us back up. But it's late and my mind is not in the zone for story telling. 

so just a few highlights, for me to remember; I'd find small clouds in scattered skys and have a play around with them. I found one with a cessna-wide valey in it and after circling it in a steep turn i roled out right through it from a blind aproach over the high wing. I landed on a few grass and paved strips away. I took up many friends. I learned to fly a PA28. Participaded in a spot landing competition and came second (most probably). I still fly with a plog and a chart, haven't yet found the reason to go GPS.

There's a starman waiting in the sky.

is what's playing right now

and I'm alone again. And I struggle to figure out if by a choice or if it's just that it happened. 

It might be both or neither.

The summer is almost upon us, me. And I so yearn for the sky, for the weather to allow me in. Yet, perhaps, even more, I wish for a companion. Someone to release me from the confinements of my castle walls of chaos. I desire to fall, to lose the balance I never had. To further the adventure of life. 

All the hard work ahead of me dwarfs my passion for the little own self. 

I set myself a task I learned before to stand up to with a bare chest and fearless, only to be bashed back by inevitable circumstance. 

Here I stand again, less the momentum I had at my wrist the last time. 

Do I falter, do I even flinch? No, I don't. I'm not wired to. I have trained myself to force on consistency and this sort of quiet strength. 

Yet, under the surface, like over here, I'm in utter turmoil. I'm looking at a variety of paths, one less safe and easy than the other. 

And so, inevitably, avatars of release enter my daydreams. Some of me at strength, some of the various others, holding my hand or onto my hand through the fight for the path on rolling.

I got a glimpse of how strong I could be. It was the other day. My eyes sleeping, eyelids torn apart and pure light poured in, all the way through the flying brain into my heart, momentarily envigorated to the shape of its past glory. 

A girl kissed me. And it was on a date too. So, not too unpredictable of an occurrence. Just So forgotten.

This all was a week or so ago and all have since been forgotten, yet the impression of what I could be still lingers around. A note in the air, passing it the everpresent draft: there's power to be had.

I'm cautious, fearful for a died path not to be further stolen away by the story of life, seemingly so inevitably hanging overhead, not allowing any notion of a controlled descent. 

Either I persevere and wear the faith down or in me, or I give in and pursue what my heart desires.

The old heart of pure desires.

The old will of odd oaths

The old mind of eternal worry. By the multitude of experience proven worry for the wellbeing of my hearth, and of the whims of my will.

Conflict with no easy avenue into the future. Because an easy avenue seems to feel to me, below me. I've not been born to have it easy. I can't settle down. It'd be a lie if I'd done so. It'd always been and hurt followed and caught up. And apparently never really left.

Maybe, just maybe, if again I loved true, I'd be washed!

If I allowed, If I achieved, the bliss of love's fulfillment. 

An unquestionable heart affair, a tour de force of bodily and mental union. Fears and doubts shared and overcome; Maybe then, I'd be able to turn the page, clean the slate; sincerely believing that the purpose of all so far, led right here. And so is justified in the pristine and glorious shine of God, found again, within.

And then I tell my selves that I've since grown up and such a descent from purpose is not excusable.

And it really isn't. The fall would be so hard and so inevitable that the good pilot I am I shall not risk it willingly.

A new uneasy avenue is born. When I'm allowed to fall in love, but not within a paradigm where my purpose is less than the main stage.

 

Walls to all sides.

Especially on a windy and rainy Saturday like this.

Right at this moment, I'm not ready to battle. I've drunk and em less than in the top shape.

This needs fixing. And that is an easy avenue... 

I've done it before.

So, hopefully, by the time I'm writing next, I'll be the sharp-edged warrior again, ready to take on all the hardship that I'm bloody yet to face. Steadily, without flinching, overwhelmingly crushing any opposition.

... you know

 oh humanity.

Just been on my regular wander through the pixels of google earth and in Paris, France, it struck me; oh humanity. A feeling of aw mixed with the terror of personal limitations and borderlessness at the same time. The awful and wonderful complexity of our species and society, the weight of knowledge and power of ignorance. All those things ever so familiar and, perhaps, somewhat forgotten.

They have a river in Paris, much like in Prague or London. More like the one in Prague, the river in Paris flows south to north. There's a place along it called Colombes. It struck me; I could have been from there and not know it. It felt terrible at first as if torn away from something familiar, mushed into something familiar-ish. Then I felt big, all capable of this outside view at us, you, me. And eventually just lonely. Reminded me of this place and that I've not written in a while.

I've been quite adult and human recently. 

It comes with a deep sense of loss. 

I'm not immortal anymore. I'm not inexplicable.

Only this place still feels like that I can ..

Pretend that I'm an angel and not a man

I used to spend long hours, trying to describe my feelings here, as accurately as language allows. I thought then that it was important to put it down. And it was, so very important. Since then, however, my feeling ceased to matter. They are made of nostalgia and honey and stick to the sides of vessels like salts in the wind. Nothing too practical to have on one's hands all the time. And it feels ever so pointless to live them, to record them, to do them. If I could only stop, maybe I'd learn that I could miss them.

Now I can't make myself even imagine I'd spend all the time it'd require to put down what goes on inside me. It's not bigger than ever before, or maybe it is? I don't know. I know though that it's in the way. But for sake of this evening. Let's just drop some hints if I ever felt like going back. For the feeling of this era of my life, not the bits I deemed important.

(hints above)

It is a strange era where I'm living now. we have this virus that somehow makes everything worst and poorer and less colorful and more tedious and less reliable and basically, all those remaining barriers between living a human life and living in a perpetual state of anxiety are being steadily but surely removed, with every new 'development' making things shitter. Bit by bit, month by month and I'm hoping that we are at least in the half of it. Fear we are not. Maybe hoping that if it stays like this for long enoug I could give up all my aspirations and retreat to the forests ahead of time.

Important thing happened! I went to fly. For the first time excercising the priviledges of my new licence and taking a plane for a spin on my own. I was one of the best flights, nay the best fligh, of my flying career so far. It felt right. It felt absolutelly wonderful. Overwhelmingly wonderful. I'd cry if I thought of it much longer, so I won't write more. It is not something I could ever forget.

The sky is shut agian. And I don't know when I'll be able to go back. Nothing else can make this better. I'll only be better once back in my sky. Here by I declare this. Didn't mean to say. But since this seems unending... let'd put it on record. I deeply long for the sky..