Black is the New Orange

Black is the New Orange

I’m sitting in a landscape, a canvas of color created by an artist of unknown dimension.  It is not a painting but rather a tapestry of life.  A chill wind brushes across my face.  A blanket wrapped around me serves as warmth. My thoughts, as I savor the vista, bring indescribable joy to my being.  

There is no one to talk with except the sky.  An eagle soars by, not intent on prey, just gliding on the wind that keeps it aloft.  I’m glad I am here alone, at this place at this time.  I used to believe that I needed people around to fulfill me, to give substance to existence.  That has passed and solitude has become a welcome companion.  The days of life that I lived with so many others are still a part of me.  I can’t deny it, nor would I.  But the adventure of self, the discovery of a world deep within me, is as exciting as a mosh pit with heaving bodies or a decibel-laden fury of headbanging music.

I do not want to leave, though this place will be here tomorrow and the next day and many days after that.  I can return.  Yet, the moment will be different.  I will be different.  Mindfulness presents the gift of now so I seize it, knowing that another moment of joy will surface in the future.

The eagle has flown into the distant sky that embraces the silhouette of low mountains flirting with the horizon.  The horizon embraces sunset in a vivid orange hue that bleeds into a myriad of other colors fostered by sunlight and a diversity of clouds, trickling down the mountainside into the awaiting trees below.  Rivers of waning light flow between the trees. I breathe in one more portion of freshness as I close my eyes with the sense of calm that emanates from a mind at peace.

I used to avoid the transition to night. The ebon companion of daylight erased the colors of the day that are so vibrant as they unmask their faces and smile at me. When I was asked “What’s your favorite color,” I would always choose blue, the warming hue of a clear sunny sky, the default color of magnificent oceans, the family color of the blue jay with its melodic essence. Yet, inside me rested black. Not in a sinister way but in an appealing sense that seemed to drag me past blue and all the other colors that might tempt me with their beauty. There would always be the doubters who chanted that black is not a color but, rather, an absence of color. Certainly an interesting argument but why then does black coordinate and co-exist with all other colors? 

As I got older, I would paint the walls in my bedroom black and find luminescent stars,  moons, and universes to apply to the ceiling, recreating somewhat what happens every day when night arrives, pulled down past the orange horizon by a team of black stallions making their nightly run across the sky. The totality of darkness can only be enjoyed far away from city lights and man-made brightness. There is a welcoming embrace of forests filled with darkness, though often blocked by the intrusion created by those who have a phobia about blackness. I would gladly take these people through the night beginning when the sun sets orange and holds hands in peace with the ebon night that follows.

There will always be the challenge from skeptics who cannot inundate themselves with the concept of black. It happens every day where the need for light becomes an addiction. People have night lights in their bedroom as solace, though even the darkest of rooms holds some degree of filtered light. When these same people are away from the city lights, sitting in their own setting of choice, most of the time such an endeavor does not include what is often referred to as “pitch black.” I believe electricity is one of the culprits that turned darkness into light at the beck and call of the individual.

It had been a few days before I headed back to my seat within my landscape canvas to find yet another encounter with the stillness of the moment. There is a Stoic adage that basically states that it is up to each person to control what is possible by their response to any given situation as well as dealing with finding the light, even in the darkest of hours. Again, I felt the touch of serenity provided by the environment where I sat, scanning the sky for whatever the remainder of the day would bring.

The eagle is not present upon my return. However, a small, red fox ventures near me. I throw a piece of the bread I had brought with me to the fox who appeared lean, ribs noticeable through his fur. At first, the fox hesitated. I sat in peace to avoid any sudden moves that might signal danger to the creature. Slowly, it made its way closer to the bread keeping a wary eye on my whereabouts. Finally, it took the bread and headed steps away so as to keep an eye on my presence. After I saw that it had finished, I threw another piece toward the fox who, this time, didn’t hesitate and secured the food quickly. And, this time, it left the area, at least the area that was visible to me. 

It had almost reached sunset with the predictable orange burning a hole into the horizon. It was so clear that the moon could be seen without clouds interfering with its presence. Evening’s chill prompted me to reach for a blanket to provide a degree of warmth that would be necessary as night began its erasure of the sky and delivered a cold wind as a greeting to night. The darkness soon enveloped the landscape as I took a deep breath to capture the moment with the orange orb gone for another day as it traveled west before it on its nightly adventure. It had been another peaceful day and I was the beneficiary. 

Black is the new orange.