In our everyday garden grow the rosemary, juniper, ferns and plane trees, perfectly tangible and visible. For these plants that have an illusory relationship with us, which in no way alters their existentiality, we are merely an event, an accident, and our presence, which seems so solid, laden with gravity, is to them no more than a momentary void in motion through the air. Reality is a quality that belongs to them, and we can exercise no rights over it.
Most serious plane crashes are survivable. There's a sense that, 'Oh, if we go down, that's it, it's out of my hands. ' And that's just statistically not true. I have more optimism and more faith that my own actions can make a difference.