I don’t bruise easily. I know that’s a good thing but sometimes I will hurt myself with witnesses who verify the severity of the incident with ‘oooh that’ll be a nice bruise’ and so I would wait…checking daily for the tell tale signs of pigmentation. Disappointment usually ensued as my body refused to give up its haematocritic contents into the interstitial spaces beneath my skin. So even if I wanted to describe the situation my body refused to co-operate and produce the visual proof to go with my usually verbose and ever so slightly exaggerated story.

But that changed recently with the appearance of a fantastic bruise on my arm. Problem is I can’t actually remember how I got it. I love the irony of that. I’ve got a rough idea but really the fun has been in watching it emerge over the last week like a slow kaleidoscope turning greens, greys, yellows and browns. Now fading with the healing process nearly complete it reminded me of how we might ‘bruise’ in other ways and perhaps not see the colour changes but sense both the pain and bleeding of life forces and other subtle energies can be felt. When we are knocked or crushed spiritually it can seem as though the pain might never end. The coalescing of hurt can feel like a physical haematoma, palpable.

In a few days the temporary tortoiseshell tattoo will be no more. Time to spin a few colourful yarns.