Seat 3C

To the gentleman in seat 3C, window, on American Airlines flight 813 from White Plains, NY to Chicago, IL., 
I was in seat 3D.

You moved your briefcase from my assigned seat; I saw the bristle of energy lift from the case and carry it with you. I saw tears mixed in among the strands, and a few faint, painful words floated up from the energy, then drifted down about you like confetti, seemingly without notice or consequence to you. But I saw them, felt them, and I heard them. 

Oh no, I thought, I need to put on my noise-canceling headphones ASAP. I don’t want to engage in conversation. It was the first flight out this morning. I had already been up several hours to arrive in decent time for check-in screening, then scrambling to my gate and waiting. And there was no coffee kiosk. So, I wasn’t up for any small talk. 

But you immediately began to chat. I couldn’t hear much of what you said because your wife’s voice was louder than yours. And she wasn’t even on the plane! Also, I listened to your young teenage daughter crying. She was begging you and awkwardly stamping her feet for you not to leave her again. Words were hurled towards the front door when you closed it behind you. I tried to shake the scene from my mind.

“Oh, my apologies,” you said as you shoved your briefcase beneath the seat before you. I took my seat. I buckled in, put my headphones on, and settled in for the flight. But you wanted to visit. Ah, A morning person. But I’ll keep my headset on if I need to separate from his chat. It just cancels out the engine hums and vibrations from the fuselage. I can still hear 3C. We take flight.

You were friendly, smiled brightly, and pleasant enough. Fortunately, our conversation was light, like a couple of kind strangers engaging at a dinner party when unsure of common ground. 

 And so, I tested the dialog with an inserted off-topic subject.  
“So, How old is your daughter?” I asked, knowing you hadn’t mentioned her. 

“13,” you answered and then came your reaction — a surprise drew across your face.

“Wait,” You said. “How’d you know I had a daughter?” 

“I can see her,” I replied. “And your wife too, pardon me, I’m assuming she’s your spouse.”

I could see your daughter, a sweet teen. I could see her slightly round face beaming with a smile. Yet 
her posture and walk seemed challenging for her age. (She appeared holding helium-filled dolphin-shaped balloons — my ‘sign’ tells me she’s a child with Down’s Syndrome.) 

I described her, saying, “She is usually a happy young girl who loves her dad. And this trip made her cry because she didn’t want you to leave again.”  

I held back from revealing any ‘insight’ I received regarding your wife. Nor did I want to see any further. Her anger juxtaposed the underlying joy in your daughter’s innocent nature.

Our conversation should have stopped right there. 
3C, you could have turned your head from me and toward the window, grabbed a magazine from the seat pocket, or checked your cell phone. I would expect that reaction. But you didn’t. You quieted for a moment and then started talking, really talking. 

3C confirmed my insight. His daughter, born with Down syndrome, struggled when he was away. He had just returned from one of his many overseas trips; this last one was Africa. He and his little girl had a very tight bond, and he missed her terribly when he was away. He spoke in admiration of his daughter. and her ability to navigate her genetic path. And he cherished her for what he learned when they were together. As 3C talked of his daughter, colors of pink and yellow swirled around 3C. Another sign is the colors of a parent’s love.

I answered his questions and explained a few of my skills, including what I saw when he moved his briefcase off my seat. 
Finally, 3C acknowledged his argument with his wife as he left his house this morning. It weighed heavily on him. 

 For most of our flight, we entertained a delightful dialog of what was around us even when we couldn’t see it. It felt like a game of “20 questions” fired at me as fast as 3C could think of them. As if he had to find out everything since we were only on this plane for a couple of hours!

“How is this possible? To ‘see’ images from nothing physically visible?
“How long have you seen like this?
“Does this frighten you?
“Are you baptized? What religion?
“Do you believe in God?
“Do you believe in heaven? Or Hell? Purgatory?
“Do you believe in reincarnation? Past lives or future ones?
“Can you see the future?
“Do your siblings have this same talent?
“What did your parents think?
“What does your spouse think of this? And your family?
“Did you train for this insight?
“Are there ‘signs’ that you see?
“How do you know what is good or what is evil?
“Do you believe in ghosts? Aliens? UFOs? Other life?
“Do they communicate? 
“How do you hear?
“Can we communicate with them?
“Is this real?
“How do you know?

 You were hungry for this conversation. To freely speak about the unspoken, taboo subject so many are curious about but are afraid to talk about it with anyone—that fear of open conversation often gets caught on the razor-wire fence between spiritual and religious.

The deeper we went down the rabbit hole, the more you revealed your life-long search. And as you spoke, I watched layers of colors and words fall away from you, allowing me more insight into your search. 

You shared your life’s journey and profession with me: Theology and seminary education ordained a Catholic priest; you left that because it didn’t fit. You found love and a new career, and your daughter Megan ‘completes’ you like nothing else. Now, you are a cardiologist. Instead of ministry to a parish, you devote vacation time to Doctors Without Borders. Tomorrow, you are a guest speaker at a medical conference. And today, 3C, you have shared your story with me, a stranger occupying seat 3D en route to Chicago. 

Our science and faith personalities came together, discussing the possibility that we may be more to who we are — more than a physical individual.

And then you asked it. That $64,000 question. The one you’ve searched for since you entered the seminary. 

 “Why am I here?” You asked me, hopeful for an answer. 

“For the adventure,” I answered, smiling. “For me, it’s about learning how to live with one another—learning how to love. Learning how to co-create with another, be it human, plant, animal, earth, or something you can’t see — another soul.

“I believe our soul has transferred a small part of its spirit into the physical form to learn how to live within the limitations of time and human design.”

You just looked at me in disbelief. 
I shrugged my shoulders, “You asked.” I said. “Anyway, that’s how I believe.”

Over the PA, the Captain announced we were approaching Chicago, O’Hare International.

“Is it a gift or a curse?” You asked. “How you see and what you do.”

“I don’t know how to answer you,” I replied. 
“That’s like asking me, how do I change my skin color? I was born this way. This is who I am.”

3C sat back in his seat. I adjusted my seatbelt to prepare for landing. Our dialog was over, I thought. I let the ‘cat out of the bag’ this time. We will part ways. He won’t even think about this once he catches his ride to his conference site. I closed my eyes as we began our descent. It seemed only a few minutes passed when our plane’s wheels touched down on the tarmac. In no time, we were taxiing to our gate. Passengers jostled for their bags, stood crowding the aisle, and waited to deplane. We remained seated. Airline staff maneuvered the gate ramp to the plane. 3C had been quiet for the last 15 minutes. As I unbuckled myself, he turned to me and said. 

“I’m the keynote speaker for this conference. I had a speech written, but it seems insignificant compared to our conversation. Would you mind if I shared this story about you in 3D and me in 3D and how you opened a door in me in just two hours? One which I never dreamed could ever be pried apart from its’ nailed-shut threshold. That door I slammed closed so long ago when I left the priesthood. Here I am, looking at my life today, my career, my daughter and wife, and my future, and once again, I was questioning my purpose. You barely pushed on that door. It swung open the possibility that I am more. That we are more.”
Pausing, you turned toward the airline window.

I reached for my bag tucked between my feet.

“I realize, I mean, I am understanding,” You began again, “That we do more than what we can see we do, and we make a difference in every movement and thought. 
“Our purpose is the adventure of living, loving, and creating with those around us.”
“I want to present to the conference that, as scientists, we must believe that there is more to the human body than the physical. Our purpose is to experience this in evidential ways by listening, seeing, and experiencing life to its extraordinary fullness. 
“May I share this?” You pressed.

“It’s your story.” I said, “Yes. Share it! Live it!”

We were just inside the terminal now. My connection is more than 30 minutes away on the other side of the concourse. 

“I wish you were the speaker at this conference,” 3C said. “If more knew about their sight, maybe we would pay better attention to those near us.”

“Maybe,” I said as we shook hands and parted ways. 

As I headed toward my gate, I turned around at the exact moment as you. I shot you a wave. 
“Good luck, 3C. And Godspeed.”