An Unexpected Happiness

I never thought I’d be happy in an airport.

But here I am, feeling good to be in Schiphol…

It was lovely hearing Dutch being spoken on the plane,

knowing it was taking me away from Britain.

From a country I will never call “great’ and never “united”.

A country so obviously corrupt, so clearly dysfunctional,

so patently in a state of catastrophic decline.

Of course Amsterdam can’t escape the disaster of late capitalism,

the endless gleaming shops selling useless items we neither really want or need,

And I have a dream as I wait in line for the checking of my passport

Of airports full of artists’ studios, spaces for craftspeople,

Each room a meditation hall or an artwork,

Where music is played and real words are spoken

As we think together about the uses and the purpose of travel

And dream powerfully of a different world.

And then I’m at the desk and in front of the official

And I take down my mask as he asks me where I’m going,

how long I intend to say, and the purpose of my journey.

A month, I say, and I’m going to write a play.

And he smiles at me like an approving and supportive friend,

And stamps something in my passport, and sends me on my way as if with a blessing.

In my pocket are three beautiful stones, given by dear friends,

Given to help me stay grounded. Given to help me find my way,

Find my way to the next departure gate,

Which feels as if it’s at the very end of everything.