What a poetic disease.
His muscles turn to bone when bruised.
He is slowly turning into a statue, becoming less animated…if you hurt him.
His body grows less willing to flex.
In response to trauma it puts up a literal wall.
Oddly this defense makes him more likely to break.
Maybe survival isn’t the point.
He is a living metaphor.
The rest of us get to hide our emotional bruises.
We have the luxury of not having to look at the pain we cause others.
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Interesting post, so what happens when this stoic figure breaks? Can humpty dumpty be put back together again?
I think he dies
I don’t mean to be intrusive, but I assume there is some deeper meaning to this avant-garde scripture (and quite an impressive scripture it is), so is there anything this hardened soul can do for himself before he reaches the eventual breaking point or is it just that, an inevitable point.
For the actual little boy, there seems to be nothing he can do other than avoid harm. For those of us with figurative walls, I think it’s best to embrace vulnerability. Recognize and appreciate that we get to heal, instead of fearing having to. Also, it wouldn’t hurt to imagine that everyone has this disease (on an emotional level.)
A little compassion.
It’s strange to find inspiration in another being’s suffering.