There is no religion for blood coursing through veins. The vital liquid that allows people to live and feel good is all but ignored and taken for granted every second it transports across our bodies its thick cargo. It is estimated that blood runs throughout an adult’s body about 12, 000 miles or 19 thousand kilometers on a daily basis. The flow of the red stuff rushing and pumped by a heart all across the sentient beings that we are is mostly alone in its daily routine. Attention is drawn to it whenever it meets our eyes usually accompanied by some sort of pain. I am speaking as a man here, I am certain the relationship with women must be different. The very essence of what is to being a being is just all but ignored in the myriad of thoughts that run amok in the brain of the everyday Joe. One seldom stops to cast a thought about how the here and now are related to the very flesh that allows to entertain the very fabric of what it is to be a being. Blood allows that to be. Without blood there would be no us as we speak. Before the Western world redirected our attention to the brain and its delulu distractions about heavenly bodies and the afterlife there was a now filled with blood, drenched in it. Many cultures in Anáhuac required bloodletting to communicate with their gods. Blood was seen as a life force.
I am certain I am no different to other flesh like minded people in the vicinity of my existence. We are all but hedonist to the kilt. No thought is laid as a foundation for future pondering as regards the very flesh that sustains life. Yes, Memento mori rules the second or the pumping of air from my lungs as I live and breathe my decaying corpse. Yet it is blood that informs the medical establishment how our flesh is conducting its business. Blood keeps a truthful record of the brains wanton chaos or something close to it. The hemoglobin does betray the flesh and tells it how it is. There are many leeches attached to the myriad of components that form the sticky red stuff though as I understand it. As life is wanton, it too has stuff to hide.
64 Han clachado