Poetry prompt: What color is your favorite voice?
Colōris Historia
I had to ask myself if my colors have changed since I was younger, back when I was still internally screaming about the death of the sterling moon. When I was still trying to study that death by autopsying it into wet crimson pieces.
I dig around in weathered scrolls and parchment pages, discovering that at first I needed the key of color to open up my Vishuddha about love. (A wiser being might have told me at that time that even the doorway to my throat had it's own color, but I would never have believed them when they said it was bright blue. I would have much preferred photokeratitic-white, hemorrhage-red, or indifference-gray).
About Love: I first contemplated it in the gray, red, and white ways. Sometimes together --like clockwork empires burning and blinding. Sometimes apart --as if my disinterest, lust, and ego were all opposing demigods each with the intent to dominate my identity. Three brittle nightmares trying to claim dominion over my thoughts on loving and being loved. Trapped in this dilemma, like an undefended hamlet on the border of three feudal states, I never knew which flag to salute or surrender to.
Eventually growing weary of such a limiting and unsustainable belief I considered Love in other ways: in natal-gold, transmutation-silver, and terminal-black. A selfish hope that characterizing the 4th dimension of Love would absolve me of my three-dimensional failures. Reference to the natural pattern of everything: to begin, to change, and then to end; was temporary relief from the consequences of being promiscuous, fickle, and insensitive in arbitrary sequences.
Being that an ethereal excuse for faults-of-the-flesh are also unwanted. I later sought an even more abstracted absolution by proposing to myself an "omnichromatic" manifestation of love. This interpretation large enough to contain all previous interpretations and hold them individually harmless. Both in the broader case of moral-relativism, and also in the specific symptom of dissociative apathy --a surrender of personal moral control through the denial of any responsibility of outcome. The threat of a fully deterministic existence.
Using all this exhumed history as a reference and considering myself right now, I think that my voice too often sprays out in the reds and blacks of its original tributaries. While the color most honest and truly-ringing now is silver. Silver is the undaunted knowing that you can change. That you have rights to modify. That the constant state is to be in a transition. You may change your heart, you may change your mind, you may change your circumstances to overcome all obstacles (especially those that you are creating for yourself). Silver is knowing how to get out of your own way. Silver is taking responsibility for those obstacles in order to remove them.
So as I look back on that notion that I still say a lot more about blood and death than I do of mercury or tides, well maybe this is a prompt to change that as well. After all, what good has death done for me lately?
@haikkun
