Proving that the apprehension of even the mundane is fluid – birds see color varieties that we don’t, seeking in each other the appeal of colors unknown to us.
And so the boy birds and the frogs – prey for birds – have adapted. Boys become bright to attract feminine attention, frogs to warn that they are poisonous. I once had a boyfriend like that. So shiny and colorful I knew he must be dangerous. And he was.
If the world is for each of us what we perceive, a subjective reality, then it must be an infinity of realities made sweet or sour by the tastes each of us give it, expect of it, believe to be real, and have the capacity to perceive. And so a million realities exist around us but we see and create realities unique to ourselves.
We are dreamers diving into the swirl of our days, abandoning ourselves to the past, what we’re instructed to believe, what we can accept. Endlessly dancing with these lovers, until something or someone trips us, jars us awake, rips us from the fabric of our diligently woven lives. If we are lucky.
Waking from a dream of myself or perhaps nudged by some nascent desire, I have begun to weave red into a tapestry that has before been a kind of grotto of earth colors. Here, indulged desire – oh, yes – where my careful heart would never have dared. There the fiery red of a creative flame allowed to burn. Consequences? Perhaps, but you have to live.
This love-child could become a blaze, burning away old perceptions that have outlived their power to be potent; or a long, warm summer day of lovemaking in the forest, bent over a tree. Or maybe it will become a garden, velvety flowers springing from alongside the path of my days, meandering through cool archways overgrown with trailing ivy. No telling, yet. But hopefully it will involve my share of red and an enhanced perception of color.