No money being made here. Kripke etc. Have all the rights. The song lyrics from "Hold Me Jordan" are Tara Maclean's.

My muse just wouldn't leave me alone until I did this...

Immersion

Forty years the wilderness held my sad children
Promises of lands that flow with milk and honey
Hold me Jordan

Oh hold me Jordan

He lets the tan material pool around his feet, lets the black jacket of the reasonably priced suit, fall on top of it, on the damp ground. He bends over slowly, the stiffness in his back he never felt before, the heaviness in his limbs, weighing his movements. He unties the shoes, and slips off the socks, letting his feet sink into the earth, eyes never leaving the expanse of water, smooth as a mirror, before him. The tie, goes next, cast carelessly aside, and then his shirt and pants follow, until he stands vulnerable in the starlight, listening to the faint lapping of the water against the shoreline.

The builders of the wall the temple fell
The sun and moon stood still circled by
The twelve stones of Jordan

Oh hold me Jordan

He feels the sensation of the light nocturnal breeze stirring his hair, whispering across his skin. His skin? Jimmy Novak's skin? It probably doesn't matter anymore. This body has become his soul refuge. He will not be returning to heaven. He will not get to play the part of the prodigal son. His Father is not going to emerge from the ether and lay an absolving hand on his brow.

Tomorrow you will walk on water
Twelve stones

Twelve stones of Jordan

Tomorrow you will take me down to the river
Twelve stones

Twelve stones of Jordan

He goes quietly. There is no weeping, no curses for the heavens, because the fact of the matter is, no one is listening. He just walks until his feet reach the water, then he lets the soft current tug him down, until his legs are submerged...his chest...his shoulders...

Divided were the waters at the feet of the priests
Did you see me Joshua standing in the Jordan?

He breathes deeply, waits until he feels the cold penetrate his limbs. There is silence. Inside his head, inside his soul, there is descending, overwhelming silence. No angelic chorus, no praise everlasting, nothing would answer the cry if he were to bother to give one. So, he lets the dark, mirrored surface close over his head instead.

See the open wounds flowing from your hands
Flowing from your feet

Oh hold me Jordan

Here there is no sight, no sound, just the indifferent embrace of the water. Here, he does not have a name, or the lie in his soul of having been crafted by loving hands for a special purpose. In this place, there is no fragile, beautifully broken human depending on strength from him that he no longer has the capacity to give. There is nothingness here; at last.

There can be no decline, there can be no descent into old age and then death and oblivion for him out there. At least here, there is nothingness. It is a last cruelty of the Father who was supposed to love him, to bring him back to this world, so that he could learn the pain of abandonment, and suffering.

Tomorrow you will walk.....

There is anger here. There is anger as only humanity has the capacity to feel.

Are you hungry my sad children?
Are you thirsty, run to the river
Are you angry my sad children?
Take the twelve stones

Twelve stones of Jordan

He emerges from the numbing water, and collapses on the wet earth. He finds the trench coat lying waiting for him and wraps it around himself. He sits, alone, full to the brim, with abandonment, and humanity.