Dancing On Air

A few years ago, my wife and I went to a hot-air balloon festival in New Jersey. We spent much of the afternoon visiting the vendors and eating "fair food," but at around 5 p.m. everyone started to stake out their territory next to the balloon launch zone to witness the big show - the launching of dozens and dozens of hot-air balloons. My wife and I spread our blanket, set out our chairs, got out our picnic supplies and started to settle in for the spectacle. Already we could see several balloons beginning to inflate; there were balloons of every shape and color, and the excitement was becoming palpable. All of a sudden we were approached by a rather official-looking person who asked if we'd like to help crew one of the balloons. At first we were just stared at each other in disbelief, but then we both jumped up and started to gather our belongings. How could we pass up a chance like this?

We were escorted to a balloon owned and operated by a Pepperidge Farm distributor from the St. Louis area. He specialized in the little goldfish crackers, and in fact had one of the goldfish emblazoned on the side of his balloon. He also had baskets full of sample-sized goldfish cracker packages, all with long red streamers attached to them. We were quickly informed that we were going to help them inflate the envelope (the technical term for the balloon). First, we helped attach the basket, which looks like a big wicker flower basket, then the crew chief and I unfurled the envelope. The pilot turned on a couple of big fans and aimed them into the throat of the envelope. My job was to help hold the throat open while other crew members helped open the folds of the envelope so that the air could distribute inside. It was beautiful to watch. Like some multicolored primordial creature, the balloon would begin to expand, then as more folds were opened it would softly settle. The air was both giving it shape and supporting it's mass.

Once the envelope was most of the way full, the pilot directed the propane jets into it, and started heating the air. It was like a giant had been awakened. The air inside heated surprisingly quickly, and the balloon began to lift upright. The crew chief and I held onto the ropes to keep the balloon steady as the pilot entered the basket with the paying passengers. Just as the balloon was about to leave the ground, the pilot turned to my wife (who is not overly fond of heights) and said "Get in." She gave me a look that said, "I have to!" and up they sailed.

I should mention that if you've never seen a mass launching of hot air balloons, it really is indescribable. Virtually silent except for the sound of the propane jets and the gasps of the crowd, it's almost reverent.

I got into the chase car with the crew chief and we started following our balloon. For about 30 minutes we navigated the back roads of New Jersey, through neighborhoods and fields, business parks and ball parks. Finally we saw the balloon start to descend in a neighborhood. Red streamers started to fall from inside the basket as packages of goldfish crackers were being tossed to the crowd below. The pilot had landed in someone's back yard, and it was as if Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and Willy Wonka had landed. Dozens of kids and parents were running over to see what wizard had fallen from the sky. The pilot, all smiles, helped the passengers out of the basket as the crew chief and I grabbed the ropes. My wife was beaming and almost speechless. As we helped deflate the balloon she just kept saying, "You've got to do this...you've got to do this."

The next day I had my chance. We ended up going back and helping them with the morning launch, and I was the one who got to experience the magic of flying, suspended by nothing more than air and a few ropes. The ascension was nearly undetectable. All of a sudden we were 50, then 100, then 200 feet off the ground. Elevators are more jarring. The whole experience was peaceful and awe-inspiring. Every few seconds the pilot turned on the porpane to heat the air so we would rise, or would open the vent at the top so that we would descend. Like breathing, it was a constant balance of inhales and exhales in order to keep us at a favorable altitude.

Lately in my yoga practice I've been reminded of this experience. As I warm up, I use my breath to help open up all the tight spots in my muscles and joints, preparing my lungs to breathe fully. I tune in to the subtle movement that my breath is creating in my body: my inhales opening me and giving me structure, my exhales softening me and releasing tension and rigidity. As I allow my breath to deepen, I begin to move my body in the directions that it is being encouraged to go. Inhaling length and space, exhaling roundness and surrender. My breath then guides me through a series of sun salutations, creating heat and suppleness in my joints and muscles. As I continue in my practice, I begin to alter the shape of my body to direct my breath into different areas, like squeezing a balloon will cause the air inside to expand away from the point of constriction. Softening, I allow the breath to open up the points of restriction and tension, allowing me to find even more opening. Using the quality of the inhales and exhales as a guide, my body finds the right altitude to sail at, effortlessly and peacefully. If I stop paying attention I can either over-heat and begin to sail away into unsafe altitudes, or become dull and start to fall from the sky. The constant flow of breath, the inhales and exhales, allows me to maintain an even tack. As I let my exhales deepen and my breath become softer, I allow gravity to assist in the process of letting go of the flight, and re-ground myself to the earth.