Bubbles

Is life a series of bubbles? Or one big bubble with lots of smaller ones bouncing around inside? Each phase of your life is perhaps enclosed in the taut transparent skin in which it grew. All the materials for that phase that were there from the start are now used up; it's expanded as far as it can, and it's time to step outside and set it free.

I wrote songs for a while. I felt they had a purpose. Each one had a life of its own: a creative energy that forced it into being; emotion to give the inflation drive and direction; and an experience it was born to define. As it neared completion, the energy waned, raw materials expired, the bubble contracted a little as it sealed; then the story was told/the experience was exorcised/the emotion was expressed. Rainbows swirled on its surface as it floated before me exactly as I had imagined, yet beyond my expectations  - it was complete.

Sitting here in my life's bubble, I see, herein, a floating 'songs bubble' full of little bubbles of its own. Each song is fragile, existing only as I made it; too delicate to touch, alter: too easy to spoil, destroy.  No-one will cover them, few will play them. But for me who made them, there is a beauty hovering there which will always be a part of me and apart from me. I smile to hear the faint tinkling sounds within them as they float past, and, occasionally, I step through a membrane to relive a time and its soundtrack caught within.