Blood.
Let me talk for a moment about blood. I know that blood is something that affects many people in a variety of different ways, but generally, the reaction is not a light reaction. The reaction falls at one end or the other of the emotional spectrum. People either love blood, are obsessed with it, yearn for it, crave it, surround themselves with it (figuratively, not literally); or they hate it, are disgusted by it, become queasy looking at it, can’t bring themselves to see it.
There are different types of blood for me. And I certainly do not fall into the category of those who love blood. I remember a time when my family was driving home from the beach and we accidentally hit a little spaniel. We got out of the car and the poor little guy was lying in the middle of the road, fully conscious, couldn’t move, just staring up at us and darting his eyes around frantically. I was 11 years old and I made the mistake of getting out of the car to have a peek. I was one of those kids who was always helping animals and I just knew I had to be there with this dog.
What I saw will never leave my mind. I cannot tell you who was standing around the dog, I cannot tell you what I was wearing, I cannot tell you if the road was busy. All I remember is looking at that dog, making eye contact with him, his white fur with black and brown spots. And the blood. All that blood. A thick, swirly pool of blood. I always imagine blood to be one solid shade of red, but how I remember it from this particular instance is that there were swirls. It was sort of like vegetable broth, where the little bits of grease separate from the rest of the broth and float at the top. Or the swirls of a gasoline spill. Or spilled paint that hadn’t been shaken properly.
I had never seen so much blood, and I remember thinking, “How did all that blood come out of that little dog so fast? How much blood does he have left?”
The next time I saw a substantial amount of blood was when I cut my own fingertip open (accidentally). My fingertip could literally move back and forth, I almost cut it completely off. The first thing I noticed was the ab
solute pain, like I’d slammed my finger in the door. When I looked down, literally the last thing I expected to find was blood, let alone so much of it. My blood did the same thing as that dog’s blood. Swirly whirly, unmixed paint, gasoline spills, separated broth.
Those are exampes of the type of blood that make me sick to my stomach: Blood which is shed through severe pain, misery, or injury.
The next type of blood that is more horrifying to me than it is nauseating, and that is the blood shed through self-mutilation. This type seems to be the most vibrant red, almost taunting like, “You’re still alive!” or “Look at what you did!” This type of blood, for me, can be likened to some people seeing terrifying clowns. I do not like this type of blood, especially in large amounts. I had a friend who I once caught in the middle of this and I swear, I had never seen so much blood from a human being before. And the color of it just simply burned into my eyes, and it was like it was laughing at me in some sadistic and fucked up way, like I was in some horribly directed Rob Zombie film (I’m sorry, but I cannot stand Rob Zombie as a director).
The next type of blood that comes to mind is the type of blood that, to me, I feel indifferent. I’m not frightened of it, I’m not made sick by it. I just sort of acknowledge it with an expression of empathy but indifference. This is the type of blood that happens most frequently throughout the daily life of individuals. A hang nail, a nosebleed, a paper cut, a lip that was bitten, brushing teeth too hard. If it’s someone else’s blood, I certainly don’t stare at it, but it doesn’t make me ill. If it’s my blood, I don’t pay much attention to it other than acknowledge that it is a nuisance. This type of blood does absolutely nothing for me.
So as you can see, the kinds of blood that are out there, I’d much rather live without those types. I don’t want to look at it, I don’t want to see it, it creeps me out and grosses me out. Some people are extremely obsessed with it and want to use for things. For me, I’d rather just let it alone. That is not the type of practice I have.
A couple months ago, I started really noticing my changing energies based on the time I’m cycling versus when I’m not. The next type of blood is one that, for me, brings about a feeling of power, of mystery, of womanness, and is in and of itself the symbol of Life iteself as well as the symbol of Death itself. This type of blood is caused without any visible injury, whether it be a severe accident, self-harm, or a small bleeding cut. The blood that comes this way is natural, of the body, the body cleansing itself and renewing. It is a symbol of fertility, a symbol of life, a symbol of death, a symbol of maturity, and a symbol of a connection to all other female creatures. This type of blood is menstrual blood.
I want either video responses or comments and I want you guys to take a look at the categories I described (and if you have others to add, please add them). Tell me about blood and what it symbolizes to you. Does where blood comes from or how it is drawn affect your reaction and acceptance of the blood? Most men I know are absolutely sickened by menstrual blood while most women I know have no visible reaction to it (except for laughing at the men). How do you react to blood brought about by severe accident or injury? How about blood that is from self-harm? How do you feel about blood that is shed due to everyday accidents such as biting one’s nail or accidentally cutting oneself while cutting veggies? And finally, how do you react to menstrual blood? I want feedback!!
Blessings and much love!
Charlie
