I find that I only have one prayer. Most of the time, if I pray, it’s wishes, ideas, concepts that aren’t put to words, even in my head. But when I fly—when I’m afraid—I say a prayer. Ironically, one that I got from a movie.
The 13th Warrior bombed when it hit theatres years ago. People don’t tend to like it, in my experience. It’s based on Michael Crichton’s Eaters of the Dead, an adaptation of the story of Beowulf. I started watching it when I was young (it features Antonio Banderas, when he was young and beautiful), but recently I had to watch it for my Medieval Ages in the Movies semiar in college, and was surprised to find I was the only one in the class to actually enjoy the movie. More than enjoy it, it’s probably my favorite movie of all time. And whenever I fly, as the plan speeds up and you get that tugging feeling in your head and stomach that mean you’re going really, really fast, I pray.
Ahmed ibn Fadlahn uses it before the big battle with the Wen. It goes: “Merciful __(insert deity here)__, I have squandered my days with plans of many things. This was not among them. But at this moment, I beg only, to live the next few minutes well. For all I ought to have thought and have not thought, for all I ought to have said and have not said, for all I ought to have done and have not done, I pray thee, God (or other deity), for forgiveness.”
There’s another prayer, the Viking one they speak at the old king’s funeral and again before the final battle, that I also say, just in case.
“Lo there do I see my father
Lo there do I see my mother, my sisters, and my brothers
Lo do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning
Lo, they do call to me
They bid me take my place among them
in the halls of Valhala
where the brave may live forever.”
Maybe it’s silly, and obviously some movie writer is the one who came up with it. But does that make the sentiment any less true? No, and so I say it.
There’s another pearl of wisdom I draw from that movie (actually, several, but this one is pertinent). Ahmed is about to go into his first battle, and he’s terrified. The blonde, bearded viking whose name I can never remember nor pronounce, says, “The Old Fathers wrote the skein of your life a long time ago. Go and hide in a hold if you wish. You’ll live not an instant longer. Fear profits man nothing.” I won’t go into the historical accuracy of the Russ and the Old Fathers and skeins of life because it isn’t strictly accurate. But that isn’t the point either. I tend to be of the belief that we go when we’re meant to go, regardless of whether God, the Old Fathers, the Fates, the Mother Goddess, Jesus, karma, Anubis, or the Force is responsible.
Once we’re in the air, I’m much more comfortable. Even if they do keep the cabin freezing and my toes might fall off. Out the window, there’s a fine, perfectly flat sheen of clouds just below us and it looks like we’re flying above a smooth sheet of glass that protects the world all the way around, as far as the eye can see (which is pretty far, from up here). My mind makes weird associations like that. I tend to think the half-moon looks like a lemon wedge.
