Sounds silly doesn’t it? Maybe it is but we all have our quirks and perks. Some of us even slide into pulling into our shells from time to time because we are safer there. It is when I am in my shell, as I am at the moment that I begin to ask myself what it is I really want? What color do I want my life to be? Blue is beautiful, yet almost as somber as black depending on the shade. I love how the rain, lightning and thunder mixes with that–and there are many times I have felt safer in the storm than out of it.
Nobody can understand that thought either. I hear that life cannot be a “color” but who is it that makes these bloody rules? I know that there are those times when I rant about some things, but they DO make some sense to me. The color on those days is not a basic crayon red but more of that of arterial blood–my blood, which I once saw after being viciously bitten once. That was a scary experience–combined with yellow, which is often associated with fear but not canary yellow…Oh no…It’s more of a pastel because while there is some fear in my hesitation, that part does not last long.
Then there is my mountain which ranges from brown to green, with various sprinkles of color throughout depending on my journey. It calms and blends all those other colors. It is said that we all bleed red but the road is red also. That blood that dripped from me then is now part of that road for real. So what color should I dream in? Should it be the mixture of blues and greys of a summer rain long anticipated, or should I start to dream of greens and such?
Better yet here is a question for you. What is the color of love? Does any emotion have a color? I thought I knew love but I didn’t until now. It embraces me when I close my eyes. It chases me when I would rather be alone. It really never gives up on me, so the Universe must know something that I don’t. However, I don’t let it consume me. I cannot let it possess me. It opens me back up to yellow all over again…This time the same shade of yellow as that wallpaper that Charlotte Perkins Gillman wrote about. I have heard that love is insane. Time will tell won’t it?
What color is insanity? Is it bold and bright or pastels and subdued? Are the artists and dreamers really the mad ones or is the rest of the world the color of–well what color could the word “fucked” be?
Sometimes it can be the dark hues of “The Awakening” by Kate Chopin or “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath. All of these colors I am looking into–but if love has a color–I fear letting it become a force to drive me out of this comfort zone–this solitude I am now in for the rest of the week. As long as I don’t slip into the darkness of a murky river with grey stones to weigh me down, I guess I am doing fine. That color keeps chasing me–especially when I dream–but should I dream it at all? Is it white and pure or is it the color of the bruises that I once had upon my heart?
I do know this much–it does have different types and degrees–some true and some false. How does one know the difference in their heart? Does the Universe say to trust it, or to think before deciding? I’m not trying so hard now. Maybe it is not a color but a vibration. If I figure this out, I’ll discuss that later. But for now, in what colors do you dream? I think I’ll enjoy these colors for a while:
I will stop this now. I would rather dream the colors of my mountain and the colors of the new chapter in my life about to open. Something is on the horizon–and it will be to my benefit. In what colors do you dream?