A few tweaks and yesterday’s image made me think of DNA.
When something is “in our blood,” we are simply drawn to it like a moth to a flame. (And like the moth, what we experience is incendiary!)
It is the story within us, begging to be told. It is the dance our legs won’t stop moving to. It’s the painting our hands itch to brush over the canvas. It’s the song that keeps running through our minds, that we sing in the shower, to our lovers, our children.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes calls “that something” bursting into bloom:
I hope you will go out and let stories happen to you, and that you will work them, water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom.
I’m a fountain of blood. In the shape of a girl.
For my own family, I would always choose the makeshift, surrogate family formed by various characters unrelated by blood.
………..~ Anne Tyler
You know you’re old if they have discontinued your blood type.
………..~ Phyllis Diller