text: During the between-time before making a new bubble, you have to spend time staring at the soapy liquid that was once a bubble. The life view you had, the person you were in that bubble that’s burst.
  You grieve for your lovely bubble. Just like you did that very first time in childhood when your soap bubble burst and disappeared and you stared, bereft.
  Grown-up, I didn’t like the new world view and its intimate knowledge of nasty. New bubbles seemed kinda scary.
  So I sat and blew actual bubbles. And it was good. My mind seemed to tap in to the simple lesson I had learned so easily as a child about the abundance of bubbles, the natural necessity of bubbles and of their bursting. The ecstasy of making and watching them float, the sharp, tiny, pleasurable pain of their popping.
  Creating a new bubble for myself, a much bigger one now with my new, more evolved and rounded world view, I realise our old bubbles also grow – and burst – when wonderful things occur.
  We break through a soapy ceiling of our own making. A limiting belief is exploded – a miraculous connection, a soul-touching new friendship, a saving arm as you stepped out in front of a bus and there’s a pop followed by deep breath, a slow releasing of breath and a surge as your bigger bubble is blown.
  Let’s blow some bubbles today. Blow them up, blow them away and blow some new ones. And maybe make some soap bubbles too.