I’ve been thinking about flying carpets

One recent early morning, or maybe one recent night, flying carpets popped up in my mind. Yes, I was half asleep but…flying carpets?

I wouldn’t be so intrigued about this if it hadn’t developed a story line, beyond “flying carpets.” The item came up for consideration. Then I sat myself down on one of those carpets. It was not comfortable seating. It wasn’t pillowy, had no padded underliner.

So there I was sitting on it when my mind caused it to levitate, i.e., fly. Which it did. We hovered a few feet off the floor. I had the feeling the carpet was handing me the opportunity to test the sensation. It didn’t feel softer airborne than it had when it was on the floor. And it made me slightly queasy: there was nothing to hold onto, except maybe the fringe, but grasping the fringe put me on the flying carpet’s edge. I could tumble off.

So my mind curled up the edges all around to provide some sort of barrier protection. And off we flew, carpet and me. Rather quickly, I decided not to sit erect upon my vehicle; when it veered, I was in danger of spilling over and off. So I lay down.

Unsatisfactory. I was now supine on a partially curled up carpet. I couldn’t gaze down at the panorama below (was that Queens?) and the carpet wasn’t even as puffy as a futon. One more veer and I’d roll perilously close to the edge.

Aren’t flying carpets equipped to whisper assurances of magical safety to their passengers — or at least provide seat belts, or parachutes?

So that was how it went. The result of this experiment caused me to question all those fairy tales using flying carpets as devices. No matter where they’re taking you, no matter how creative they are in providing escapes from, oh, say, Marjorie Taylor Greene or whomever, flying carpets are (a) hard on the tush and (b) anxiety-provoking, especially for anyone who might be acrophobic.

So my advice is, do not get on a flying carpet unless you’re deeply asleep.

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