Saturday, March 5, 2011

what gray does to me

I don't like gray.
actually, I don't mind the color itself; quite a few items in my wardrobe are gray, and I think it's the perfect color for a clapboard house, especially by the beach. I like it in carpet, in chenille blankets, and in eyes. it can be enticing on walls, and when used as contrast in paintings. it often provides a delightful backdrop in studio photography, and it's exquisite in suede boots.

but I don't like it painted across my sky, hanging down above the trees, draping itself over my world.

give me rain, snow, sleet, drizzle, hail, even deluges: anything but this nothingness that hides the sun and coats one with a sense of ennui. I want to mount an escalating ladder that stretches up into the sky, reach up to the top of this pervasive gray and rip it apart, exposing the sunny blue space that exists, I know, beyond the bleary bunting that enfolds us.

I want to feel the sun on my skin, I want to connect with those life-giving rays. I want the wind to cease, the clouds to disperse, the crocuses to think about sending forth shoots. I want to ride my bike.
and it's gray outside.

so . . .

I went outside anyway, and rode my bike anyway, and this is what I discovered: the cycling me is a happy me, regardless of the color that surrounds my world.
perhaps, then, the lesson is simply this:
do what you love, regardless of anything surrounding you that whispers shades of negativity, of lack, of listlessness. simply follow your path anyway, do what brings you joy, and reconnect with the you who knows that it is that within which matters most.

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