|Shiny and elusive, bubbles are magnets for children. They grow and multiply with the slightest breath. Yet a patient, firm and gentle breath can yield an enormous orb of iridescence. As it breaks free from the bubble wand the sphere will float on a breeze until it pops with a sputter.
Bubbles are my writing: many little thoughts skittering through the air and blowing away, a few larger thoughts that seem to hover before evaporating. Dreams and hopes, pop, pop, pop. Ideas and efforts, pop, pop, pop. Art and writing, pop, pop. All that remains is a sticky mess on my hands and an empty jar. In that moment, that brief span of time, while the bubble is aloft, I am immersed in the joy of dreaming, hoping, creating, and gently, firmly breathing.
Bubbles are my little hurts, to exhale a slow continuous breath of cleansing. and encompass each little hurt in a luminous shell and to see the hurts float away and dissolve. An exercise that I participated in during hope/healing was to write the hurts, the shame bonds, on a helium filled balloon and release it to heaven. Sending it literally away. The physical activity is completed. The emotional, the mental sending away is so different. Am I treating my bubbles, my helium balloon, more like a kite, attached to me and available to draw back in and take home with me.
I am the bubble, or the balloon, and only love for my family ties me to this parcel of terra firma... Else I would fly away on a breeze, no, perhaps I am a butterfly, off to another place a journey to fulfill. This is not my stopping place,I must pass through to accomplish my purpose.....
I do not insist on traveling this journey alone. Come with me, my dear, if you will. Take wing. Rise up and let us float and flutter and be off to a place we have not been: to a place where God will lead us. Please may we go. My jar of bubbles is almost empty. I don't have many dreams or hopes remaining to send aloft.