Eye of the Needle

I'm leaving tomorrow.
To where, I don’t know.
Death feels close by,
although I'm not ready to go.

Returned home and
lost myself again, fell
into that old dream,
that place we must return to,
over and over again . . .
"this time it will be different.
I'll find what was never there before."

I'm leaving tomorrow,
and I'm not ready to go.
To where, I don’t know.

Many proclaim to love me,
but I don't trust these needy words,
Songs of the Siren,
calling me back to the womb:
"I can't live without you!
Please, please, don't go!"

Let there be wax for my ears.
Was I born to freedom,
to live authentically, or
to breastfeed mother and
salve the wounds of others.

I'm leaving tomorrow.
To where I don’t know.
But if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,
for I've nothin' left, to feed
yet another empty soul.

The eye of the needle was painted many years ago. It has to do with judgment, judging self and others. At first it seemed a curse, to be filled with so much prejudice for what and who I was taught to disdain.

Eventually, this judgment had to be turned onto itself, judging judgment and self-disdain. Only then could seeing with a critical eye bring salvation. I've learned that judgment is a valuable tool, just as long as I'm being true to values based on my feelings, and not a rigid set of hand-me-down falsities.

Disregarding my inner voice and being true to others has faithfully betrayed and led me astray. Many might consider this a selfish attitude, yet if I am untrue to myself, how can I be true to others?