Everything starts at the gates of criticism. It is then when, with the squeal of the pegs and bearings, a shivering sensation of doubtfulness shocks the defier. The tiny bubble of idealistic stamina gathers the essence of mankind and displays it on its surface, boasting relentless desires of evolution in an obscure direction. It doesn’t know how, where nor why, but it has a certainty and a will that are easily provable as being there since the beginning of thought. This soap bubble, adorned with rainbows of devastating reason, bears an idea against all ideas. It build up pressure inside, it defies everything that, at a first glance, is a man made law. In each and everyone of us lie the fossils of such mystic spheres. Only strong characters retain the structure of the bubble as a whole and aim to expand its volume in all directions, crushing with its tiny surface the whole world. It’s all a matter of perception, that is how we represent the world with respect to the flow of perception made realities through our minds. Sharp realities, those clear blocks of ice that roam in the ocean of the average man, become pikes that pierce the tiny shell of the rogue bubble of poisonous ideas. There are two possible outcomes: the bubble bursts leaving behind a blast of hot mental delusion or it may stagnate, deeply anchored in the pikes of one reality. Other spherical structures can avoid such dangerous paths but can get strangled on their way in the web of misery. The surface becomes tainted with the mud of idle thoughts, a mere fact that discourages the expansion of this bubble.
As long as humanity aims to destroy or to suppress these bubbles, everything we know and cherrish will still be here to torment us, to promise us a freedom we’re already sick of. It’s easy to admit we’ve achieved nothing, but it’s easier to discuss the futility of our actions, especially when bringing abstract perceptions of the abstract in a bloody reality of touchable dreams. It is then, after we loose our protective bubble of aggression against mankind when we’re ready to give up and toil in a pool of lies. It is what we are best at. Our freedom of being alive.
