Clot: (n) a thick mass of coagulated liquid, especially blood
If punctured–if the skin is pierced–blood comes forth.
It’s red. Some people would say maroon. I’ve heard crimson and burgundy also. It’s in the red family–as we are all in the human family–which bleeds.
It is a study of nature–the Natural Order has its problems, but also offers solutions.
Such is the case with bleeding and clotting. It’s a reassuring thought.
Yesterday I looked down at my arm and saw that I had scratched myself. The only reason I knew was some blood had erupted to the surface. It was dried and clotted.
I took some alcohol, washed it off and finally got down to the original, tiny scratch, which then threatened to bleed again. But with a few swipes of alcohol, it was encouraged to stay home.
It is greatly comforting that even though I am a creature who bleeds–spiritually, emotionally, mentally and physically–built within me is the benefit of the clot.
I probably won’t bleed to death unless the blood comes out much too quickly. Then, if I can stop the gusher, I can set healing in motion.
In many of my relationships, I have the evidence of wounds which are scabbed over.
It’s not pretty–but it’s not bleeding.
And the memory of the scab, which is later followed by the scar, reminds me of how foolish it is to jeopardize well-being in an attempt to usurp my authority.
We bleed. We clot. It is a magnificent example of self-correction.
It’s what makes me believe in a Universal Physician, who realized how we might get wounded, so placed within us the first fruits of healing.