Zen and the Art of Flying
By Diana Fairechild, a.k.a. "Flyana The JetLag Genie"

I worked on the very first commercial flight to land at Japan's new international airport in Narita, two and a half hours from Tokyo.

Our crew was then transported by bus to the only Western-style hotel in that vicinity. No more Tokyo layovers with lots of things to do in the city. This hotel was surrounded by nothing but rice paddies.

It was springtime and the long green rice sprouts leaned all together in one direction and then in another in cadence with the whims of the wind. From my room on the 9th floor the undulating sprouts looked like an emerald-green river.

I dropped off my uniform at the hotel laundry and stepped outside.

The air feels fresh. I quickly become absorbed in the countryside. Carp in the fish pond. Water lapping. Pebbles on the narrow path click as I walk briskly. Aromatic pines. Fragrance and sound becoming feelings.

I wander into a tunnel of dewy greenery, ducking beneath a giant spider web suspended across the path like a volleyball net. Further on, I duck again for another giant web. The spider’s belly faces me through its web—the parallel gold stripes remind me of the gold stripes on airline pilots’ uniforms.

Then a dragonfly zigzagging, light as air, enters the spider's trap. Iridescent wings flutter desperately. As the dragonfly takes her last breath, I exhale and telepathically wish her “Go with God”—I feel a momentary serene stillness.

Further along, a small flatbed truck blocks the path and four Japanese farmers, wearing black cotton boots with a line of sewn-down stitching between the first and second toes, are shoveling something from the bed of the truck into a gully. The farmers look towards me with a start.

I feel fear. Narita Airport has been a political hotbed for nine years. The farmers, resisting the new airport’s inevitable pollution and the despoiling of their ancestral lands, had instigated over fifty riots. 8,001 people were reportedly injured. Three policemen had been killed.

After the farmers broke into the newly constructed airport tower and trashed the radar, the police took control of the airport with tear gas. The radar was repaired and today we are the first commercial flight to land at Narita Airport.

If these farmers ravaged the airport radar, what will they do with me? There are four of them. The path behind me suddenly seems narrow, dark, and full of spiders.

My gut feeling pushes me forward. But the truck blocks me. It is parked across the path leaving no room to pass; not on the engine side, not around the tailgate.

WARRIOR POSE

Unless—with a full deep breath and without missing a step—I do a dynamic version of Warrior Pose right through the cab of the truck. I open the door to the cab, slide across the seat and exit through the door on the driver’s side in one fluid movement.

My maneuver is successful. As I disappear down a bend into the woods, I feel the farmer’s eyes boring into my back. Years of working as a flight attendant have left me sensitive to people beckoning for my attention from behind.

I explore the rice paddies for a while, but I don’t find any other egress, and I fear it will get dark. Suddenly, I feel weak, my knees shaking to signal a familiar attack of hypoglycemia. I must go back and get food. I should have brought some fruit, at least.

Hurriedly, I retrace my steps until I come upon the truck. The farmers are apparently expecting me because the truck is now re-parked parallel to the road with just enough room for me to get by on the right side. The four farmers are seated cross-legged in the open truck bed with a large thermos and many tiny portions of different foods spread out picnic-style in their midst.

It looks like I can just get by in the narrow space between the truck and the thick forest growth, but I will have to pass within inches of one of the farmers.

As I approach the truck, that man turns his body in my direction and his muscular arm shoots out towards me. I clearly see his taut bicep and I feel a surge of adrenaline.

In the split second it takes to complete the last step towards him, I see an orange flash. He has deposited an orange something on the truck's sidegate.

Indeed, it is an orange!—the answer to my craving for fruit. With trembling hands, I peel it only partially in my haste for a taste, grateful it is an orange and not a fire bomb.

I look into the eyes of the four men. They remind me of my passengers; friendly and watching me in silence. But I am not in my familiar airplane environment, so I still need to exercise caution.

As I finish devouring the fruit, another orange is placed on the sidegate. This time, relaxed with my "passengers" I peel and savor this sweet orange, a segment at a time.

They watch, smile, and stay in their seats, just like well-behaved passengers with their seat-belts fastened.

And just as I finish the very last section of the second orange, a pretty box of candy materializes in front of me. I don’t like Japanese candies, their brightly-dyed colors turn me off, and I don’t know how to explain this.

So, I decide to offer the farmers an explanation for my presence in their woods, in case they didn't know for sure that I was one of the flight attendants who landed at the airport that afternoon.

I say, in Japanese, “Please fasten your seatbelt,” followed by “Would you like a pillow?”

The farmers giggle, nod, and ah-so to each other.

Then, I give them my very biggest smile and say “Sayonara.”

This triggers a heated discussion during which time I become a little nervous, since I have no idea what they are saying, though I know it is about me.

Finally, the farmers emerge from their huddle. The one closest to me presents me with a few more gifts: one more orange, a thin mesh grocery-shopping bag, a packet of miso soup and a small card that may have been in the box of miso soup, showing a print of a famous Japanese painting from one of the “Views of Mt. Fuji" series. This painting with, of course, Mt. Fuji in the background, depicts travelers with knapsacks on a path through rice fields!

My breathing naturally deepens as I realize this is a going-away present.

HOMAGE POSE

I say “thank you” in Japanese and do a modified Homage Pose—bowing so low that the crown of my head faces them. My hands are joined in prayer over my heart. This is a vulnerable pose because you cannot see the people you are bowing to. Indeed, I feel vulnerable. But, more so, I feel awestruck—that we have managed to vault the sound barrier.

I sling the mesh bag over my shoulder like the travelers of old on my gift card from the farmers, bearing their possessions alongside Japan's sacred mountain of hope and dreams.

FLYANA'S TIP FOR FLYING SMART CLASS

• The principles of yoga, such as breathing through stressful situations and stretching into new levels of self-discovery, can assist air travelers to upgrade to Smart Class.

• Before, during and after flying, specific yoga postures can help air travelers to feel more relaxed and to land with their minds intact.

FLYANA's SMART-FLYING WORKSHOPS INCLUDE EASY, YET IMPORTANT YOGA EXERCISES TO IMPROVE THE FLYING EXPERIENCE. FLYANA'S BOOK, OFFICE YOGA, WAS FEATURED ON THE FRONT PAGE OF THE WALL STREET JOURNAL.