This is not about red and blue; it’s about clarity.
The visualization I had today on my therapist’s brown couch seemed easy enough to dissect. Fear represented in flashing red and blue lights, like a siren, an emergency, something requiring immediate attention, an urgent response. Therapy changes my brain chemistry, she tells me. It changes hers too.
I don’t want to write about this. Aren’t I more creative than this? These simple symbols? Red for anger. Blue for sadness. Black for the nothingness of avoidance. But, then again, why would I want a hard-to-decipher visualization? Don’t I want to get there, to the bottom of this all? Isn’t that the point? What is the point? Is there a point? Does there need to be a point, always need to be a point? Why do I think I need to understand everything? Why can’t I let some things lie on the floor? And why so many questions? Are questions good or maddening? Neither? Both? All of the above?
That’s why it was easy to look at those flowers. They were purely beautiful. Instant joy. It’s not about conflict; it’s about the petals. It’s not about confusion; it’s about stems. It’s not about answers; it’s about roots.
Sometimes you need to rip off band-aids then take yourself out for ice cream. How do we care for all parts of ourselves? How do we care for any? How can compassion and criticism share the same bowl on the table? When we get out of our head, where do we go? Into our bodies? Into the world? Then it’s just our head in our head. It has to be less squishy.
I want to be awake and dreaming. I want absurd images to pass over me, and I want to trust that I’m not crazy. Judgments, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to swirl into the wind, become gentle whooshes in the blue and white soft sky. Just curl off and away. I want to train myself to leave me alone. I don’t need this kind of protection. I need Lady Gaga songs and the mint green creaminess of avocados. I need impromptu rides on the merry-go-round, bowling dates, sesame candies, new jeans, stationary, conversations with my cousin. Clarity. I’m ready for the lights to go up, the fog to be lifted. I’m ready to embark. Or, I guess, I’m ready to continue.