Falling or "What color is your parachute?"

Falling through grey misty emptiness. Let go. Relax your grip as all slips and slides away from view. All is folded in on itself. All slips away. Sex. relationship. Future. Marriage. Happiness. Pleasure. Relax. Let go. Hold on to nothing. Let yourself fall. You take only one thing with you. You hold on to that splintered cross. There is nothing else coming with you. Just you and a piece of wood and a prayer. All is yours. I would sooner die than have other gods before. you. and death it may well be for now. accept the plummeting down. Accept it and do not reach out to grab onto any of the handholds rushing past. And they would stop the fall. But fall I must. Fall and die. No parachute. Just a bloody piece of wood in the falling darkness. No wind. No destination.No contingency. No reserve. Let every muscle in my body relax as I settle in for the long fall. Even what I know of God and Christ must be abandoned, all but that cross. The old conceptions are too wrapped up in pleasure and happiness. Let all fall away. Let me fall. Scorn the fairy tale idol as it beckons, with such convincing promises of security and relief from the fall, from the emptiness. Damn you satan, I spit on your glistening fairy tale sugar palace. Without another glance I tighten my grip on that wooden cross I hug to my chest and turn my body in the air to face what comes. I close my eyes and pray. Not for the fall to stop. Not for a renewal of old idols, old places where I perched and built nests, sure and stable, but rather I simply pray. God, Jesus, Holy Spirit. Help me to hold on to this ridiculous piece of wood forever.