Pink bubbles are my invention. These sprang into existence as the result of a conversation between friends. We were exploring our fascination with how inadequate the English language is to describe metaphysical concepts. For example, all of us know we do NOTHING insofar as healing goes – we are only a conduit through which the energy flows while the Higher Self and Source work together for the person we are with while doing “energy work” or “healing work.” Truly, our role is to “suit up and show up” and we are given whatever it is we need in that moment. It flows.
Similarly, we have these beautiful phrases of “holding sacred space” and “shielding”. Those are interesting – these words conjure images of us throwing down a gauntlet of protection, complete with a ferry moat, to ward of all manner of evil and bad vibes. Well, not exactly. As I’ve come to see this, all we do is provide assistance to maybe shove things back a little around a person so they have the “wiggle room” they need to do their work.
One of my most memorable experiences with shielding illustrates the concept. A lovely person I know, who is a real Earth Mama on Steroids, explained how she constructed her “shield” of protection. It was a big huge thing, with a covering of earthen “sod clods” … rocky clumps of dirt and grass, with really sharp shards of glass or mirror like things that stuck out at odd angles. Among all that stuff were the most amazing flowers that bloomed all the time. My friend is a massage therapist. Her practice includes the grace and ritual of sacredness … working with silence and affirmations. She brings respect, asking for permission to connect Higher Selves before the session starts. She always leaves the session slowly backing out, so the last part of her energy leaves her magical hands, held in reverence of Namaste. Her work is beyond amazing. As the beneficiary of her efforts on some of my sickest ever days, let me tell you she is a Goddess that Walks Lightly With Love.
This wide-open heart eventually led her to a time when she was attacked energetically, and her Teacher of Great Wisdom gave her the metaphor of this Shield of Protection. At first, she had to consciously effort to raise that sucker up. It was so big and off-putting. But over time, she assured me, it simply would be there, scare the holy of holies out of whoever was doing stuff they shouldn’t and then retract for storage after they ran off in retreat. Of course, then I didn’t get it that shielding wasn’t really shielding. But I digress.
Not long after, I started playing with the idea myself. I have always been aware of my energetic arena around me. I can easily expand it, contract it, swirl it, swing it. And, I will own with some bit of embarrassment, I may have overstepped the bounds of prudence just a teensy bit with my twiddling. I have been able to push people (ok, EJECT THEM!) out of my area, just by increasing its size, as one might when blowing a balloon up a bit more. That looks exactly the way you may picture this. As I began to slowly move it out, these people just backed up, blinked oddly, with confusion. Not only did they lose their train of thought, their track disappeared. Big food for thought.
Then the real S-Day (Shield Day) arrived. A person in the office environment, with a long track record of being difficult, wandered into my world in a way that (hindsight being 20/20) maybe she would not have chosen otherwise. She gave her Oscar-worthy performance of a Two-Year-Old Terrorist, complete with screaming, yelling, finger-pointing and pouting. As my grandma would say “She had herself a real HISSY fit.” Being a person that normally does not engage in conflict, I chose to take the route of those who do not reward negative behavior with attention. I left and returned to my office.
As is often the case with those out of control, this person decided to follow. If you’ve seen a parent calmly pushing a cart through the market, shopping while their child is screaming at the top of lungs “Mine! I want it, I want it, I want it!” never hearing a sound nor seeing the stares of amazement from surrounding shoppers, you can paint your own picture of the special nature of being tone-deaf. So I walked with a brisk pace, not realizing I had the Terror of Two-Year-Old Tantrums right on my heels, chugging behind me as fast as the chubby little one you’d think of, waddling diaper-butt-fast down the hall. Taking a moment to just breathe and release all angst for the situation, when I turned to face my desk and sit, I almost had my eye taken out by the Tantrum’s Thrower’s finger jabbing the air. She was nearly on top of my desk when the sound track suddenly hit volume. Lord what a limited vocabulary replete with threats and demands.
Just then, I saw my shield simply slide right up between us, in time to protect my eye. Her finger hit the moral equivalent of hard metal. It had to hurt. She backed up a little bit confused. I said quietly. “Please leave my office now. You are not welcome here. I have nothing to say to you. Go away.”
Stunned, she backed up. My shield just snapped down into the storage area of transparency. Shaking my head in amazement about “some people’s children”, it was just pure luck I noticed from the corner of my eye, someone had changed her mind. This Two-Year-Old Terror in a Woman’s Body was heading back into my office. The look on her face was about like you’d expect to see on Genghis Khan, poised atop his steed, ready to descend in the bloodiest of battles. Just as her foot hit the door thresh hold, my shield snapped up. She bounced, I kid you not, so hard. That smack into the shield took her completely backwards through the entire 8 feet of space to the back wall of the work area. She hit the wall hard and then landed on the floor. On her butt. No diapers for padding. The look on her face was frozen in time – the real and total equivalent of shock, amazement and whuzzat, you see on the kid with the over-padded diaper butt the first time Momma swats him with a firm ‘I said No!”
WOAH!!! So these shields *DO* exist for real. Or do they?
Now fast forward to a few months ago. In our flowing conversation, it came to me in the blink of an eye. “I decided to make a new metaphor. I have a pink bubble. It’s the color of bubble gum, but it may be as transparent or as opaque as I choose.” Here’s my protection. My shield. My happy place. And on that particular day when it came into existence, it served me well, fit for purpose. Maybe just to hug me. Be a snuggle place where I could pick up one of the “very warm, kiss-the-boo-boo, mom loves me hugs” that I have always heard about, but never had as a child. The result is that this creation really works.
And it has evolved over time. As my friend often says, “haley heart can pimp out a pink bubble like nobody”. I have invented all kinds of features and options for it. Such as the instant opaque-er. I can go from translucent pink so clear nobody knows my bubble is there to bubble gum pink and hide with complete impunity. In a heart beat. I have the most amazing star port (it is sort of like a sun roof). But I can think “Orion” and just as I look up, there it is in all its glory, perfectly centered in the star field of the deepest night sky. See! It has a constellation finder feature. I’m not sure what has to rotate for me to that exact position but I’m always in balance. Another day I’d had enough of the malarky from someone who was making me feel kind of ugly and grouchy. So I installed some Jaguar camouflage and went jetting into the area in that pink bubble with its jaguar paws and teeth. Needless to say, the person never knew what hit them. They were all icky one minute being ugly. And they were gone the next. Grrrrrrrrrr.
There are days I put the cloud hopper in gear and I go zooming everywhere. Da-boing, da-boing, da-boing and so fun. Talk about a soft landing! One time, just for grins and giggles, I tried on the pink bubble wrap décor. Everywhere I would bump, I could hear the snickety-pop of a bubble snapping like a pop gun. Some were little bubble pops, like that teensy bubble stuff when you snap it in your hands. Other times it would be the big, loud “oh poof” sonic boom of a BIG BUBBLE blowing, like it does when you put that big bubble wrap on the floor and walk on it.
I have even invented bubble exhaust. There is a little tail pipe that sticks out. As I zoom around in my bubble, it farts the most amazing little “champagne music maker” bubbles like the Lawrence Welk bubble machine. Girlfriend, let me tell you. THAT was a fun day, humming some “an-uh-wun, an-uh-tew, an-uh-tree” Lawrence Welk song with full Lennon sister harmony while I just cruised all over in my mind’s eye, farting those bubbles out the tailpipe.
There are so many more, only limited by imagination. I have my Beyonce Bling Bubble. My Patsy Cline Sweet Dreams Bubble. Even my really bodacious, fabric-draped Hammer Time Bubble that pumps out …. CANT TOUCH THIS!!! I am still working on my Lawrence of Arabia model and the other one … you know …. “peel me a grape” with the luxurious couch? All the drapery of gold everywhere, with space for all those hunks from down under in their gold sandals, muscles rippling, and such to wait on my every command. That one is still kind of on the drawing board. This one may not be for me. I’m really so much a lower case kind of girl, I don’t think I could do the “peel me a grape” command line convincingly. Then there’s the Purple Passion (my favorite color). So you can see I have a fleet of these things and more models coming out all the time.
Every bubble has a built-in auto sensor. It knows whether to let others freely come and go in your bubble space or to just put up that barrier that will keep them back – with a little tingle or poof of air, all the way up to the strength of the full jolt of electric cattle prod power to make sure they stay out of your space. You choose. You can have your bubble of choice with you at all times and change from one to the next with the merest intention. You even find yourself enjoying the glory and the story while is just neatly fits into where you have to put your body, be it bed, office chair or whizzing down the sidewalks out of control on roller blades. It’s the perfect choice for every occasion. You never go broke or get bored. Bubble power is completely environmentally friendly and human friendly, too. When you tire of a particular model, you may either pass it on or simply dispose of it with a bio-friendly Bewitched twitch of nose, snap of fingers and optional sound track playing aloud.
So for those friends who’ve been beneficiary to my sending of guides and angels for support in difficult times, remember this. Each has brought you the most amazing bubble to consider. And of course, since you were gifted this opportunity, you are already a full-fledged, certified, card-carrying bubble goddess. The world of pink bubbles is at your command. They are your reminders of how much you are loved and how wonderful you are.
For your challenge today, go find your Inner Child. Spend a happy hour creating bubbles. Yours may not be pink. Or even bubbles. Construct your ideal metaphor of protection. Try it on and see how it feels. For all that know how sacrosanct Momma’s retreat to the bathroom is, where no one DARES disturb the Momma who has gone there to take a break from the reign of the inmates in the asylum, bubbles are better. Where would you go with your bubble next? What would be your greatest adventure? Aw come on! Share your creations here in the comments. We all want to know.