I was trapped in a bubble. It snuck up on me, from a cynical dirty place. The bubble is a live coming upon the me and encased. Its slimy film trapped in the voices and thoughts of the unfinished dark and dead. The swirls of dark and dust, that stuck in the eye. It sucked out the good it sucks out your fluid of life replaced by the ash of dirt and slush. The bubble is held in the hand of God it is a tiny dirty bubble in the majesty of God’s hand. Swirling in its dark madness. The bubble wears thin and breaks. A skeleton of what was, stands there in naked shock. Unable to open the eyes to see the light, the eyes full of crud and filth. The skin, white, pale with sickness. Warms to the sun. The dead around the feet sprouts into green. The voices fade away. The light shines, the air becomes breathable again. The King is working at his desk, calmly like you never left, and you stand there accepted in this family. I feel the warmth of love radiate to me from this King, afraid of the newness I walk like a china doll, moving, slowly, forward and beyond. A new, but not forgetting. Aware.
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