Of metals but not really
There is nothing like flight to make one think of, and maybe wish for, anchors.
An anchor is usually made of stainless steel with a zinc plating, all metallurgical names reassuring in their purported weight, for that is an anchor's function: to reassure you of weight, staying still even and especially amid bludgeoning waves, should you so need it.
In physical flights the metals involved are different - the metals in an airplane are aluminum and aluminum alloys (which are lightweight) as well as the metal of your innards (which, if lightweight, will become more lightweight, having discarded fluids). In metaphorical flights the metals involved will reverse from the physical ones - the more you encounter flight, the more you think of solid steel. Surrounded with a thing as whimsical as the air, you would long for something not so whimsical, not so shifting.
The sea, however, is also whimsical, and shifting.
So maybe the problem is not with metallurgy so much as leaving the ground, and trusting something else other than your feet, be it a hull or a fuselage floor, which are both metals when it comes down to it.
That is not entirely correct, though, for it is no coincidence that a ship can brake amid the sea but an airplane cannot brake amid the atmosphere. Gravity does nothing substantial to a ship's business, whereas if left to work for a while it makes an airplane be a dead weight.
So maybe the problem is gravity. From the Latin gravis, meaning heavy, serious.
So if I may be allowed the metaphorical ramblings of this increasingly confusing piece, when confronted with a thing that makes rootedness to a ground so light that it - an airplane or a ship - almost laughs at the face of being solidly rooted, then you would need something heavy, something serious, something not so flighty or saily - which is the condition of possibility for flight or sail to happen to begin with. You would, metaphorically, need gravity, which is best represented by a ground. The solid earth underneath your feet.
It is the earth and gravity, after all, that does not have weight - for they allow for weight. Hence the ultimate irrelevance of light or heavy weights - wings or anchors - you need a ground on which to even define weight.
When it comes to the mind, however, all these things are messed up, for it is your mind that defines everything. It is that which defines flights, dreams, grounds, reality, hope, delusion, people, phantasms, promises, emptiness, time, death. It has a steel of its own that has nothing whatsoever to do with anything that has to do with metallurgy.
An anchor is usually made of stainless steel with a zinc plating, all metallurgical names reassuring in their purported weight, for that is an anchor's function: to reassure you of weight, staying still even and especially amid bludgeoning waves, should you so need it.
In physical flights the metals involved are different - the metals in an airplane are aluminum and aluminum alloys (which are lightweight) as well as the metal of your innards (which, if lightweight, will become more lightweight, having discarded fluids). In metaphorical flights the metals involved will reverse from the physical ones - the more you encounter flight, the more you think of solid steel. Surrounded with a thing as whimsical as the air, you would long for something not so whimsical, not so shifting.
The sea, however, is also whimsical, and shifting.
So maybe the problem is not with metallurgy so much as leaving the ground, and trusting something else other than your feet, be it a hull or a fuselage floor, which are both metals when it comes down to it.
That is not entirely correct, though, for it is no coincidence that a ship can brake amid the sea but an airplane cannot brake amid the atmosphere. Gravity does nothing substantial to a ship's business, whereas if left to work for a while it makes an airplane be a dead weight.
So maybe the problem is gravity. From the Latin gravis, meaning heavy, serious.
So if I may be allowed the metaphorical ramblings of this increasingly confusing piece, when confronted with a thing that makes rootedness to a ground so light that it - an airplane or a ship - almost laughs at the face of being solidly rooted, then you would need something heavy, something serious, something not so flighty or saily - which is the condition of possibility for flight or sail to happen to begin with. You would, metaphorically, need gravity, which is best represented by a ground. The solid earth underneath your feet.
It is the earth and gravity, after all, that does not have weight - for they allow for weight. Hence the ultimate irrelevance of light or heavy weights - wings or anchors - you need a ground on which to even define weight.
When it comes to the mind, however, all these things are messed up, for it is your mind that defines everything. It is that which defines flights, dreams, grounds, reality, hope, delusion, people, phantasms, promises, emptiness, time, death. It has a steel of its own that has nothing whatsoever to do with anything that has to do with metallurgy.
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