Words are like paper airplanes, folded, creased, and set aloft. The fun is that they sail. There is no mystery, the laws of aerodynamics explain the lift, the course, the drift. Words are like consciousness itself. The event is not something carried along, but the flight itself. The sharp nosed paper aloft is consciousness. Any point, moral, import, message, is not the point. It is aloft, and no spiritual dimension is required to explain it. The mystery is not what the meaning of these short-lived flights contains, portends, suggests -- the words are from the past, their folds are part of consciousness but to expect some verbal baggage from the flight is to let gravity. Many seek just to stay aloft --such is the struggle, the effort, and a reward.