The infinite eye of the needle

The aetiological inference of this lies upon the wisdom you can squeeze from it....

If the infinite eye of the needle is closed and going to sleep on the curtain line between here and there where an expression comes to say: we are not here, then better fortune next time when the sun comes up to wish you luck.

Of course, the retrospective answer to it all they say would be a jolly good old kick up the backside, give or take a joker or two, and clowns aside this is believed to be true unless the bottom falls out of the world and then we’ll have something else to moan about won’t we where the fatted calf meets the flying pig in the desert of all we’ve made.

And we cannot be more carried away by it unless we’re lying in our beds fast asleep in the blessings of our dreams surrounded by the moral turpitude they say is not good for us.

But not this or any other thing can fall lower than the bottom of an old well where the sun doesn’t shine and the bells of misery boom loud.

An eye for an eye then where the fat camel meets the singing song never to avail an ounce of heavenly beauty and then some between the sheets of all you know and all you’ve lost forever. So begin another song soon while you still have breath to sing.

If your heavenly father comes to drink from your well, you’d better hope it has not been poisoned by anything you have done or thought, for if it has then he will go away and may not return, and then your soul will shrivel up and become an old corpse sucking gruel through a straw into your rotting carcass that will die forever without him.

The already dead will tell you: we have come to sing of good cheer with our hearts so pure where we’ve buried them where they can’t be found, so open up the money box of your smile and laugh long and loud with us as we rob you blind and invite you into hell where we dance so proud on our tombs.

Pay them no mind where they dance their curse with not a song worth listening to, where all that comes from their hearts is the greed they’re long used to that ate them up long ago to leave only the husk spitting poison. No, don’t vote for them and don’t look at them or you’ll be drawn in to become some fish to be gutted on the altar of their reason to turn and turn and become lost.

Look to your own heart and find your own song and then sing it loud so your heart can hear you to dance the dance of your life.

There is no more reason to exist but this where the Promised Land is found in your own heart and the door is open for you to know, and knowing, you are set free.

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