We are bubbles, rising to the surface of the seething, boiling cauldron of Life. Some bubbles grow bigger, float, and gleam in the sunlight for a while. Others never make it beyond a a brief blip on the steaming surface.
But we all go pop in the end. And fall, and return to the explosive, gaseous mass from whence we came, making way for other bubbles to rise and take our place.
But hey, not to worry. Because a bit of us, at least, must go to forming new bubbles, and so we are resurrected. Again and again
– until the pot boils dry.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
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2 comments:
Ah, but what if we were bubbles blooping to the surface of one those hot muddy spring things, like in Yellowstone Park. They go on blooping forever.
>>But we all go pop in the end.<<
I don't think I will ever get the sentence out of my head. What a perfect summing up of everything. Vaguely infantile in humor, slightly sexy in tone, dreadfully drastic in meaning.
What an utterly perfect sentence to analyze over and over again in and out of context.
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