On the color blue

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I am learning more and more about what it means to allow affection. About the difference between Effect and Affect. When my stomach begins to hurt I feel the need to listen to it, yet the urge to ignore the depth of what I will discover. Is it my intuition that causes that stirring? Or am I just a vessel in a sea of unrelated frequencies.

A friend talks of their experience with microdosing. Another talks of a new podcast about manifestation and expanders. I drive to an estate sale where each room is filled with memories. I touch Hindu books and brass candle holders and walk upon someones else’s Moroccan tapestry rug. It all feels shrouded in breath, as if the entire house was exhaling. Strangers jostle in and out of small closets and scour racks of mink coats and silk slips, searching for something they’ve lost.

I wonder about the old woman. There is a framed photo behind one of the bedroom doors . In it, a young dark-haired girl in a beautiful dress is smiling and hugging George Harrison.

I see people asking prices of beaded pillows, lampshades, and drums. I look around at these items and I imagine them traveling out onto the sidewalk, in the arms of new owners. I wonder about the books on the shelves, and how long it had been since they were opened and read. I ask about the price of a fur hat, and thank the grown children for allowing all of this.

The transience of materials. The years of collections that this woman has. I wonder if she remembers where the tiny Tibetan trinket came from. I wonder when she last wore the shoes that were soled in crystals. I think about the blue nightstand and the silk bandana that still is knotted as if covering her head, years ago.

I know that there is a connection with all these days and words. I’m not certain if finding it would connect my heart together. Perhaps it is the space that is left to discover that allows living. I’m remembering that the colour blue is always the theme.

One thought on “On the color blue

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