The Flea Circus

The Flea Circus

The world is a flea circus in a musty tent at the edge of the carnival- the grand carnival of the universe- full of sights and sound.

God is the careful hand-crafter of all the little wagons with starched strings for the fleas to hitch to and pull around the tiny town- all the tiny doors that open and close on little hinges, all the tiny etchings and carvings on the little painted walls next to the narrow cobble stone streets made of pebbles glued to wood. He is the festooned circus master in his old top hat above the little town directing the circus with hidden magnets beneath the table.

All for your pleasure and enjoyment.

You are the spoiled child with stuffed animal and lollipop in hand telling mommy and daddy that fleas can’t really be hitched to and pull wagons and can’t open doors of houses, because fleas don’t live in houses. You learned that at school You tell mommy and daddy that there aren’t even any fleas on the table, because you haven’t even seen one yet. You think the circus master is tricking you and you want to go do something funner outside.

You’ve taken all the joy from it.

The world is a flea circus in a musty tent at the edge of the carnival- the grand carnival of the universe- full of sights and sound.