The Bruise

I got my first bruise the other day. I wore it proud, a black blueish grayish medal of pole honor. I even sent photos to my closest friends so that they too, could understand the importance of the very first mark of my training. I am dancing, taking at most five classes weekly, and at the least three classes weekly.

There is something quite satisfying about being banged up. Besides the fact that I decided that it is a pole rites of passage, demonstrates you’re dedication and cements the fact that you’re on the way to the big leagues, there is something else just as mystifying about obvious physical injury. For one, I think that it reminds us that we are human, causing us to revisit our very humanistic existence that seems to escape us during the run around daily life. Bruises, cuts and scraps are on the few things that separate us from machines. Cars now have eyes, computers have heat and light detection, and have memory, documenting every single text we’ve typed or every single random question that we’ve typed into Google. But computers cannot heal themselves. Do you realize what an amazing feat that is? We, humans, are programmed to repair our own bugs, heal our corrupted outerwear. A bit of alcohol and a band-aid is all any basic scrap needs. That’s miraculous. Our body wants us to be well. Our body wants us to thrive, which is insane considering how much strain many of us put our bodies through; food, pollution, to smoking, drinking, stress and a plethora of other drugs. We are constantly tearing our bodies apart, and yet, when we get a scrape it promptly begins to heal the very thing we seem to work to tirelessly to destroy.

Secondly, this is a subject my sister-queen & I have talked often discuss, feeling and seeing bruises on the outside. As a young women growing in a metropolis who now goes to school and is a freelance writer to generate income, I’ve never experienced real physical labor. Yes, I’ve held jobs in which I’ve had to do a bit of cleaning, been on my feet for hours at a time. But when I think of true physical labor of my ancestors, the little “physical labor” I’ve done is a joke. The way in which I got my bruise was exciting because I was working, I spend all day setting up and taking down heavy objects, walking up and down three flights of stairs and then proceed to take insane conditioning classes and dance classes. Though this is not working in the sun doing construction or in a plantation by any means, I’m in my body like I haven’t ever been before. It’s a new experience for me, and though I’m exhausated at the end of the day, I feel good. I ‘ve worked. I’ve got achy muscles and am sporting a continental sized bruise on my foot to prove it.

I can actually see it as opposed to it being an internal pain, which is far less tangible, and, depending on what the transgression is that caused it, usually easier to heal. Emotional scars are far more deadly. They are usually embedded & intertwined with the soul which, without the proper care are undebatable worse, these can spread to the physical body and actually cause scarring there as well. We hold all of the missteps in the most open spaces in our bodies, our joints and spaces in the vertebrae in our spines. If we allow it, we can one huge festering internal scar, we all know people like this, who let one sour relationship who let their internal scars become their external scars.

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One thought on “The Bruise

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