At 30,000 feet the world looks like an ant farm. Paths are carved out, territories staked and there are little tiny movements making it all possible. And I am not part of it. For two hours, I have no where to be but right here in the in-between.

I'm leaving behind one of my most sacred places. Every summer I cut ties with most of my life's accessories and travel to a contemplative prayer retreat in the Northwest. I put my email on vacation responder, I leave my computer at home, and I look forward to this place where my cell phone gets no reception. Each day of this week is spent in four hours of silence with 20 other dear souls. As June draws near every year, I crave this time.

It's hard to explain everything that happens there. In the disconnect, I find connection. My soul can speak and sing, my food tastes better and I'm able to be present to all that's around me. In Southern California I can seek these things out, but the culture does not promote it. I have to fight sometimes to make room for my soul.

As the landscape shifts from green pine trees to amber waves of grain, I feel a sense that I am ready to return to my "normals" after this inspiring and life-giving week.  While sitting between states, between outer space and land, in this in-between, I do not sense a tug-of-war between these places. I feel restored and fresh. I feel like I can look at the world with a new lens because I got in touch with parts of my soul that are silenced in the normal chaos.

I understand the privilege of retreating and I do not take it lightly. I wonder what the world could be like if we each had opportunities to pause and examine the "real." There are cultures in the universe who do this well, but American culture is normally not one of them. It can become a foreign concept to slow and breathe and take in what is really happening. In some ways the chaos is easier -- to stop and listen to the darkest parts of your soul is not what most want to do on a week off from normalcy.

So I sit in the in-between - between two worlds, two frames of mind, two entirely different cultures and I feel like that is a calling for my life -- to sit here. I have no other place to be. Sure I will get off the plane and resume responsibilities, but I carry these two places with me.

In the coming months I'm sure the reflections and processing will come out in my writing, but for now I enter back gently. I'm not the only one either.  There is a stowaway aboard my flight who I have the same concern for.  A little tiny fruit fly has attached itself to looking out my window and hasn't moved since take-off. I feel for this little bug who is accidently traveling so far from its birth place. It's about to embark on a whole new adventure.  It could love it, hate it, grow or get squished -- so I feel like I want to scoop it up and usher its arrival in Los Angeles in an easing way. That is what I want for my own soul in the next few months: an easing back in gently so my soul is not jarred as I embark on new adventures.

This isn't always up to me. Like turbulence or getting stuck on a layover, I have to deal with the reality of the ant farm I am in, but even there I can remember the in-between -- a place for my soul to retreat -- not entirely disconnected, but not lost in chaos either.  Trying to remember a space where my soul can breathe, trying to ease my way through life while not getting squished.

(Pictures - Kristin Ritzau - do not copy without permission)