Colour Pages #6: Violet

…day three relentless and me shrinking under the onslaught, smaller smaller until I smell like nothing at all not even fear you could walk through me and not even know it now, though I would feel it.  Years ago I had a voice, strong in the chorus of strong but someone I trusted browbeat the spectrum out of me, left me pale at the edge of translucency here with my belly clenched just make it stop.

This was a good while ago.  Both colour and strength return, wages of the effort taken to understand how I ever got myself into that place, how to get myself out and fully reclaim the good plan I had.

I choose to keep part of me violet always.  To remember so I never disappear again.

Bullies are violet, though they glow red and hard orange when on a rampage.  Those they torment inherit violet from them like a virus.  Shrinking, small, unimportant, voiceless, underserving, angry-but-gagged violet.

Beautiful humble fragile wise violet.

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Violent.

Remove the ‘n’ and it becomes a flower.

Violet

There is no worship of injury here, no victimhood.  Violet is the fragile place from which courage rises. Inside the smallness is the will to turn and claim your own strength, no matter how loudly the monster rages.

There is a secret person undamaged in every individual.  (PH Shepard)

Strength of violet.  Walk softly with yourself.

My Ugly

i used to identify with the glamour I can pull up out of my performance joy, as though it was the best part of me. It certainly got the most attention.


Now I think of it more like one of many essential ‘functions’.  A runner learns how to run, or a digger to dig- I’m a musician. so performance is a muscle I learned to identify and then make good use of.  I’m only now beginning to to understand that it’s not the point.


Gandalf uses glamour to great effect (greater in the books) when he absolutely needs to make certain that what he’s saying is heard and understood.  He gets bigger, more dominant, more resonant.  A performance.  But not the point.


There are deeper things in me that are far more essential, valuable, and private.  They include My Ugly which I spar with in deadly contests more often than I care to acknowledge.

I have grown a deep respect for My Ugly over the years.  She has taught me more than anyone else, and is wiser than I will ever be.


I feel like the ocean tonight.  As though the surface of me has nothing to do with who I am- it’s just a reflection of everything else.