When I was little, I believed that bubbles could be used for transportation, a la Glinda in the Wizard of Oz movie. I would stand on my grandmother's back porch blowing bubbles, watching them float off to magical lands, and wishing with all my might that I could somehow figure out a way to get inside one of them.
Of course, I never did.
When I was in my mid-twenties, I had something of a life crisis. Part of picking up the pieces involved me spending a lot of time alone- and a lot of time deeply depressed. One of the things I discovered that could help ease the depression was to sit on my own back porch and blow bubbles. Of course I had learned that they couldn't take me away from anything- but I would still watch them drift off, imagining their journeys and who would see them as they went. Somehow I always felt better afterward.
I've since come back to my original conclusion that bubbles are, in fact, a means of transportation- but not for my physical self. Instead of my body they carry my worries, taking them far, far away- maybe even over the rainbow- where they magically transform themselves into joy, and come back to me again through my dreams.
(Good Magic)
very nice :)
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