Balloons as a base

There are just these frames we keep breaking through. Things that almost bind us, snares that nearly hold us fast.

At the end, we are outside of something vast and important and can bear witness to it for the good of all. In the process, we become a next snare and a next to problem other men.

We ask the hardest questions we know. We somehow fail to escape our own traps though. We stay intimate with our problems. We live with them. We are brought down by those whom we sought to defend. It is an ancient story:

We hang forever with no hope of freedom till the little things devour us.

Or

We climb into the sky and live forever in perfect bliss and harmony with all things.

Or

We are dust and ash to dust and ash the earth with next things.

We are little to some, big to others. Reality is a great onion.

We exist to contemplate the onion.

Or

We exist merely to continue on.

Or

The sky is a thin sheet peeling free.

Or

The mysteries have defeated us.