Blood is vital and the only thing that matters...right?
In all of our humanness sometimes we forget about the immortal soul housed in our fleshy, bleeding-out muscle that pounds so deliberately just beneath the surface in its flesh cage...the heart.
It is the only solitary thing that can break, yet will not die. If it really were to just stop, the entire body just...stops. It is the one muscle that beats you into existence.
The heart is a place where all your secrets rest.
It is a safe haven for all the hurts the world has lashed you with daily.
The heart is the one thing we relinquish last to anyone.
It is vital...
Vital to life...
Bleeding out life...
Life that beats strong...
Hearts bleed you into existence...
Blood is the only thing that really matters...right?
Questions fill my soul to the brim. Questions that spill and bleed over into life in a profound way. Soul-blood is needed to speak into your infinity. Blood is never clean. It is messy and bleeds over life, but without it there is no cleansing and no new beginnings.
Blood is the need for humanity, and its reconciliation with eternity.
Not works. Not man. Not earth.
Not more missions and evangelizing.
Not more and more and more and more digging.
I believe we all have a "god" in our live,s and sometimes it's ourselves. You put yourself up on this pedestal, and think that you are a gift to humanity.
Let me be quiet frank.
Let me gut-wrenching raw and honest.
Can you live with yourself being dust and only dust?
Can you look at yourself each more and realize without the life blood bleeding so infinitely into your soul you are but dust?
There comes a point where I just want acceptance like anyone else would have it.
I want to be the one that is seen as put altogether.
I want to be that woman that is a ground shaker.
But the problem seems to be that my fragile dust cannot contain the bleeding of my soul. It spills out everywhere trying to wash clean the days sins to no avail most days. The problem seems to be that I cut myself routinely on the sharp edges of my shattered soul that is still not rebuilt from the last shattering from those on the outside looking in. People do not understand, and what they do not understand they fear. And what they fear, they break.
And it is messy...the bleed out.
And it hurts.
And it cuts.
And it tears at a soul.
Bleeding out is painful, but necessary.
My soul only expands and grows and heals and finds reconciliation in all its ugliness I bring to it from a reckoning and bleed out, to clean it of humanness infection.
My soul personally is hard to understand...I know.
My soul is sharp and cutting...I know.
My soul is harsh at times...I know.
My soul is one that if you are scared of storms do not approach it...
For the one that truly wants to sit in all the shattered-ness with me...
Your soul is a likeness of mine and they can heal each other.
How familiar you are even though I didn't know that until now.