Extended Metaphor

Flying is like death. Once you've got your ticket you're just going through the motions. You think you're special but there's plenty waiting along for their turn. You think it should be dramatic but you look into their faces, sunk in, like they've done this before, many many times over, each in their own special way. That discreet, small gin at the duty free: maybe go back for another one. He stares back at you, as if to say, "I was someone once, don't look at me like that!" And then, to himself, "I still have it, I still have the money to fly!" You scurry forth, into the arms of a gleaming booth, conspirational, a modern day Illuminati. "Would you like a free Mastercard"? Life's temptations never stop, right up to the last moment. But once you have your boarding card, the options gradually narrow. On your last call, you have to go and board that plane.

Death is like flying. You' ve given over control to powers greater than I and you feel slightly giddy and excited about it all. Like maybe a carpenter's going to pop by any second and he actually has a sense of humour. "Sorry about the scary business of dying, my Mom loves a bit of drama," he would say, frowning when you give that blank stare like you didn't know it was Mary running the show all along. You're worried Mary will enter next and she'll judge you for something you did, but no, she's fixing the gate with Peter as a group of lawyers recently barged in and craftily, insurance doesn't cover the damage. Back to reality -- there's excitement, like the first time you land on a new continent and everything's different yet everything's the same. There's no hand luggage, you yourself are your own baggage and the scales, well... how was your diet, did you feed on every word that came from the mouth of the One? That will lighten the load. 21g the weight of the soul? Nonsense. There's a 20kg limit, just like the good carriers on Earth, but there's plenty baggage to offload before you get through. Feelings of spite for those who spoke behind your back. Feelings of shame for things other people did or didn't do. And most importantly, shame over tbe words you said or perhaps should have said. Forgiving yourself and forgiving God for the creature you have become, or would have liked to be. Forgiving yourself for the life you so wanted to save, the life looking back at you, on your smartphone, looking like your younger self, full of naive hopes and fears --  but he wasn't yours to save. Letting go of that shame, letting go of that anger. Letting go of debts. Your own debts. Giving over control. To the one who Was, Is, and Will Be, Forever More. Saying thanks to Him for the pains, the earache, the passengers next to you elbowing you across the stomach and clapping with everyone when the pilot lands down with a thud. Suddenly you want to shake everyone's hand, like you learned at Mass, but the Peace you longed for, the Peace that surpasses all understanding is already here, it was always there, you just needed to become small enough to see. For in a plane you are one of many, you're not the one deciding on the course, but it can take you every which way, as long as it's forward. Forever forward.