‘parachutes’ …/

‘parachutes’ …/

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I can not explain the why of the exact thought, but when I think of sky diving, I think of a blindingly shiny aluminum plane with perfect rows of rivets, much like a vintage airstream trailer with wings, WW2 era propellers rumbling madly, making conversation mere bursts of short screams, one of those cool logos emblazoned on the side, an old cracked but comfy leather cap keeping my skull nice and warm before the plunge, no one else on board, at least in the jumping area, I suppose I am alone, aren’t we all when we enter into this doorway, a lighted path that delivers us here, into life…

waiting for your perfect time, instinct, guesswork, a push, who knows, seems like months incubating the decision, knowing that at some point you will have to jump, we all do, maybe we are already falling, I suppose they did not coin the phrase ‘terminal velocity‘ for nothing, quite tongue in cheek really when applied to this side of life, well, the only side we know and can discuss until, well the coin flips, or lands as it were, as all things must and all things do, standing there, waiting your turn, the door opens, the wind rushing in, you can not quite see the ground, just the clouds, funny I thought heaven was up, not down…
and then…
the release. . .
nothing is touching your feet… air is all around, a free fall for all in the throes of gravity, or the inevitability of gravity, you might catch a glimpse, of the ground that is, a free fall like a free will, indeed…

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

I wonder how many parachutes I have left, cats seem lucky in that regard with their defined nine, magic in their spines, ‘three he plays, for three he strays, and for the last three he stays‘, I wonder if the same could be true for me, finding out for sure would be the daunting part, how many parachutes do I have? and why do others have none? a strange conundrum, for there are times that could have been my time up, but not prescribed, so not done, the randomness of the universe at large, all this molecule soup roiling in the cosmic cauldron of all? or a written plan, the invisible road, a string theory that leads to a thread distinct destiny for all the world, and in my years spent, in and out, thwarting death, once more I might reach for that cord, and find nothing left, might I make it to nine, like a fine feline, or perhaps be greedy and aim for double digits…

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