Bubble Wishes

"If you are exhausted about your heart's obsession with the fixed past and your mind's focus on the uncertain future

your lungs are the perfect place for you.

There is no yesterday in your lungs, there is no tomorrow there either.

There is only now. 

There is only inhale. 

There is only exhale. 

There is only this moment.

There is only breath…

and in that breath, you can rest while your heart and head work their relationship out."

 

Poem excerpt from The Anatomy of Peace (John Roedel)

*** 

Years ago, at the very beginning my career, I ran a group for young children who had been exposed to intimate partner violence. The oldest child in the group was six and the other five kids were four or five. We met every Wednesday night from 6:30-8 while their mothers met in their own group to process their traumatic experiences. My group was chaotic, fun, and one of the highlights of my week. 

 

I remember teaching them about deep breathing. I had them place a hand on their little chests and another on their small bellies. I encouraged them to try to have their belly hands rise while their chest hands remained flat. That didn’t work, for them or for me. 

 

Our clinic was located in the San Fernando Valley in a suburb of Los Angeles and typically the sun began setting as the group began and it was dark when we ended. On one particular evening, we caught the edges of the sunset as we walked outside and appreciated the smells from the McDonalds across the street. We discussed a common enjoyment of French fries and Happy Meal toys. Then we sat on the grass and took turns blowing bubbles from the bottle I had grabbed impulsively on my way to group.

 

It began as simply blowing bubbles and feeling our bodies inhale deeply and slowly release the air. We felt our lungs expand and slowly release our breath and then watched our breath get carried away on the bubbles. 

 

I added an element after a few rounds of bubble-blowing. I asked them to make a wish and release the wish with the bubbles. The wishes ranged from bicycles to dads who didn’t yell to helping grumpy teachers be nicer to French fries. It was a beautiful moment. A few months later, one of the boys came to group, reported he had had a rough day at school, and asked if we could make “bubble wishes” that night. Bubble wishes, it turns out, are a good way to soothe the pains of a rough day. 

 

It’s two decades later and now those young children are in their mid-twenties. Many of them are likely parents themselves. My guess would be that they have forgotten those Wednesday night groups and the trauma work we did. They also likely forgot they named my sheep dog puppet “Peri” (short for “perrito” – “puppy” in Spanish) and one evening helped him get brave enough to leave my duffel bag when we discussed how to support friends who are frightened. They also likely don’t remember strategies Speedy the turtle used to handle his anger. Or that one of them once pointed to “ecstatic” on the feelings magnet and said “That’s a whole lot of happy.” (Isn’t that the best description ever for “ecstatic?”) I carry those memories for all of us, I suppose. But I hope the bubble wishes stuck for them, as they did for me. 

*** 

this morning, while my brain was busy reading tea leaves

and while my heart was staring at old photographs 

I packed a little bag and walked to the door of my lungs

before I could even knock she opened the door with a smile and, 

as a gust of air embraced me, 

she said "what took you so long?"

 

My friends, may we find sanctuary in our lungs when our hearts and heads are working out their relationship. May we have moments of a whole lot of happy in the midst of challenging times. And may we never stop blowing bubble wishes. Ubuntu, Jennifer