simba's blood, and how it dripped on me

little crimson drops spread on the white shirt i wore today.

i wear clothes to cover up my skin, my heart, my thoughts. i wear them because society tells me too. though strangarity genes scream "freedom!" i whisper "no, no, no" and gather something semi-matchy matchy, thats presentable and waltz out the door.

little Simba dog was shot this morning at a neighboring farm. its all still a bit surreal. he is a much loved dog on this farm. two holes. in and out. shaved skin, droopy eyes, and heart cringing yelps of pain escape his little mouth. he whimpers with each movement. no side is good to lay to find comfort because the evidence of pain and opening is there, is everywhere. each turn, its there. i shudder to think how i would feel with the marks of what happened...*

i walked home from school today and met my family on the drive. i sat in the back with jacquie and nicole. simba was crying from the pain of the bumps. these farm roads do not soften bullet wounds. i climbed in, i didn't think. i reacted. i reached and held and gave stability as much as possible to brace and take the bumps myself. only minutes later realizing that i was wearing white.

white to cover my white.
cloth to cover my skin.

and simba had dripped and his red blood poured on me.
and i was marred.

we got home and i gathered pillows and blankets and cleaned and scrubbed blood, and then i saw myself. i paused in the mirror upstairs. i saw me. i paused and i saw me still. i lingered. and as much as i am ever able to see what lies in the deep, i lay uncovered.

the red spotting my white.

and i undressed slowly. whispering prayers for simba, and myself as i did so.

i like wearing white. its so clean and fresh and i think better when i have white on. and my skin isn't so nice and creamy milk white like some of my friends, but i am, by far, the whitest in the family, and i tan a nice shade of white and you'd never know the sun and i met. and still i wear white. because i like it.

and i put on cloth to cover and i haven't really thought before of wearing white to enact and hope it changes me and purifies me, but i do like the light more than the dark. and perhaps maybe subconsciously i have put on white to make me feel more clean. make me feel more alive and just fresh.

and i wear clothes to cover up what i don't want you to see. and i wear little masks to cover what i don't want to see or show. and i'll paint my nails and wear mascara and twirl and swirl and pitter patter on and wonder if its working or not. do i cover up half as well as i think? and do i want to?

its awfully amazing the thoughts that are conjured up when your beloved dog has been shot.

simba's blood stained me. and i watched the droplets spread over my clothes. and strangely all i wished was for it to cover and coat more.

somehow, red blood always makes me think of the cross. and how i wish to be coated full so it stays. how easily i forget that the once dripping was enough for ever. for all. how silly i am. how often i forget.

i don't need more of the crimson to come today. enough was spilled that day. enough for today.
and i don't need to find and search and hope for something to cover me and what i wish no one will know, and that not even myself, sees.

his blood is altogether enough for me and its coated and soaked through and its all and everything and more. and no need for me to wear anything or need more red drops to cover either....

and i sang little shouts of praise that i am coated in His blood. and i am free to live and be and wear myself and my heart cloth-less. and His blood has sang and danced and washed me and no amount of stain-remover can remove the parts that he's branded and bought and paid for. and i rejoice and sigh deep that i'm all at once clean white new and also oozing the red blood of life. all at once. all at once.

little simba was shot today. please say a prayer. this beloved family dog will heal and be running soon again and that the circumstances around it will be smoothed and somehow good, deep, peace will come....

*normally, farm life is not this exciting, this terrible. in fact, most days pass in a semi-vegetable like state where i search and see and discover beauty. today was a bad day. but He's holding little simba. and i'm not worried about being shot myself...for numerous reasons not blog worthy...so, relax mom and dad. love you *smile*