This is how life is right now. Gossamer, luminous, delicate. I am as swollen and as fragile as that bubble. If you look closely you can see my reflection on its surface, but I feel as though I’m also contained within it: floating above the world, looking down, my perch about to vanish at any moment.
The beauty of any given moment is as evanescent as it is startling. It’s all so extraordinary, and short-lived, and stunning, that sometimes I feel like just hiding in the house rather than taking it in. Because this bubble burst moments after I took the picture of it, and what had been there, a floating, hovering embodiment of gorgeousness, was just as quickly, and as completely, gone.
Sometimes the truth of the grandeur of my everyday life flashes in front of me, as beautiful as this bubble or as bright as phosopherescence, and as fleeting. Like the sheer shimmer of a soap bubble, the unexpected, bright swirls of glowing light in a night sea, the knowledge of life’s holiness leaves an imprint on the back of my eyelids, a reminder of something witnessed, something important from a place beyond rational thought.
The bubbles – the moments, with their sudden, shining beauty, and their abrupt, final end – break my heart. Today I’m walking around with a broken heart. There is so much beauty and so much sorrow. So much grandeur and so much terror. But I’m learning to keep my eyes open for the bubbles, even when what I see makes them sting. At least there’s that.