We're Forever Blowing Bubbles.

Some years ago I wrote a post comprising a fiction about a little boy who liked to blow bubbles. He would blow each bubble or bundle of bubbles, then watch them transfixed as they rose and fell and flew and dipped depending on the wind. He loved to see the shimmering veins of colour in the glossy surface, and was especially pleased when one bubble grew much bigger than the rest and became the star of the show. And when each bubble burst he would blow some more, and carry on blowing more and more bubbles until the pot of soapy liquid was empty. And then he would sink to his knees and weep for the loss of all those bubbles.

Recently it struck me that the story is a metaphor for life. Because it’s what we do, isn’t it? We go through life blowing bubbles.

First there’s the freedom and the play of childhood. Then there are the years of education during which we learn how to function acceptably in our own type of culture. We leave education behind and move into a career, or a series of dead end jobs depending on circumstances. And often we lose one bubble of a job and blow another.

We have our flings during the early years, before settling down with a life partner. And then the children come along. They’re the next bubble or bundle of bubbles. We care for them and feed them and teach them how to blow their own bubbles, until they become independent and another bubble has popped. By then, mid life and retirement have taken a toll on the pot of soapy water, but there’s still some left. And so we blow the bubbles of freedom, travel, and relaxation until fading health, strength, and energy bring us to the bottom of the pot, and all that’s left to do is sink into an armchair or hospital bed and reflect on the loss of all those bubbles.

It’s why I’ve never been able to believe that this life is all there is. I give a high level of credence to the concept of reincarnation, but that’s not enough either. I still fail to see what purpose there is in jumping on and off some wheel of life, death, and rebirth if all I’m going to do is blow bubbles. There must surely be more – or else why are we conscious – but nobody can tell me with an acceptable degree of certainty what it is.

For now, however, I expect I will continue to write posts about blowing one form of bubble or another. I’m struggling to find any other reason to be here.