If you asked me today what my favorite color is, I would indefinitely tell you that it's turquoise (not gray, as I often tell people, or as my previous bloggings would suggest. Those were lies.) Turquoise is deemed a color of protection, healing, attunement, fortune, and connection of the body to soul, earth to sky. Upon learning these details 4 minutes ago via google search, it makes good solid sense that I've recently been re-drawn to the color, albeit subconsciously, in my jewelry and clothing selections, for I may very well be spiritually shifting again and in need of an umph in protection and balance.
It was also not really any wonder that I pumped up the jets of my hot tub tonight after a grueling and - I'll put it bluntly - infuriating day of work today. I was too exhausted for dinner, but the bottle of Honey Moon sufficed as I slipped into the 99 degree and rising, Brominating cauldron on this hump-day's cold and foggy night. I kept the stereo off, the jets to a low to moderate oscillation, and the glowing underwater lights to the color setting turquoise.
The first 10 to 20 minutes in my bubbling turquoise pot was used for grievances and bitter sighs, and of course, beer bottle clenching. Seriously folks, I had a bad day. The idea and sound of 'getting in my hot tub' still seemed better than the actual result. If I were Yiddish, it would have been a rather ferklempt moment. My mind reeled and ruminated on the days events; my skin acclimated quickly and I was already absorbing more fog than steam; the alcohol had not yet hit my calorie deprived system. I was a bummed out gal in a luke warm bath.
But then I turned up the jets just a tid-bit higher, and the turquoise aura began to glow a little softer under the swirling chemical foam. I let my head rest back, and the rest of me floated upwards, bounding and buoyant. As my sight rested on the fog-ridden sky, that's when the world changed.
Perhaps it was my imagination... perhaps it was the booze... perhaps it was the magic of cone and rod polarization, but above the turquoise pool and me, the dark, cottony sky burned orange. It reminded me of sherbet, or a summer's creamsicle treat, just tainted with a burnt-out and tired hue, where exhaustion met Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory (sans the chocolate). So I gazed in awe and my brewing body buoyed.
I believe this time of my life to be an epic era of self discovery and spiritual transition. Although it sounds a bit egoic, I can sense that even my greatest challenges and frustrations - with work, living arrangements, minimalist income, relationships, and et cetera what-have-yous - are lessons towards my degree in wholeness. I may struggle at times; I may struggle often, as viewed from my parents, but I am learning and stretching and demanding more of myself in ways that cannot necessarily be seen. Chaotic? A bit. And chaos is my be.
Pema Chodron writes in When Things Fall Apart that there are 3 ways of dealing with chaos such as mine. You can 1- let chaos and suffering go (I envy anyone who can do this effectively and will pay money to be taught); 2- you can change your attitude about suffering, and use every day/moment with chaos and discontentment as a tool to learn compassion. Chodron states, "Instead of pushing it away, we can breathe it in with the wish that everyone could stop hurting, with the wish that people everywhere could experience contentment in their hearts. We could transform pain into joy." It may seem a little masochistic at first, but worth trying in the end; and 3- acknowledge and accept that darkness is a little bit everywhere always, "whether we regard our situation as heaven or hell depends on our perception."
The sky was burnt-creamsicle and perhaps a tad demonic at the end of a wretched, painful day. But then again, it's actually quite logical that the creepy, Gene Wilder-esque color was simply an opposing projection of the turquoise protection swirling everywhere around me.
I sat on my knees in the middle of the jacuzzi like in the eye of a tornado, calm, collected, while blue-green lit water hugged me from every direction. If this era of my life isn't profound or tale-worthy, in the spirit of a big-picture perception, than I simply don't know what is or would be.
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