These are not my words. My son, Michael, wrote this. Most of what he writes has so many big words and abstract metaphors, they are hard for me to read. But I liked this well enough to steal it.
Once in a while a tiny delicate bubble of clarity finds its way the surface of an otherwise tumultuous broth and quivers tenuously for a moment before screaming out of existence. Once in an even greater while, a few bubbles rise to the surface at the same time, mingling with each other. For the tiniest moment while they're all dancing, you can see the entire world and all its moving parts.