Today marks another equinoctial day on the year’s calendar where night and day are equal throughout the world. Equal, perhaps, between the amount of hours given to either light or darkness, but not so much a blending of the two. Reminds me of the old, discriminatory, “Separate, but Equal” apartheid laws of America.
Maybe we should abolish the separateness of light from dark and make the whole of the day a fusion of half light, half dark. What would it be like to walk through a noon landscape that looked more moon lit than sun lit? Colors red, blue and yellow would bleed off into soft greys. The grey hairs on my head would be indistinguishable from the dark hairs of my lover. (Hey, I’m beginning to like this, this dimming of contrasts to a soft, muted togetherness.)
Usually, the color grey connotes ageing and death or the slightly sinister. Ghosts, fog, a grey day, battleship grey, men in grey suits. Not exactly cheerful. But, when I sit down to keep company with grey weathered logs nestled among grey weathered stones, I am moved by their sleepy, slow dissolve into each other. This might be the grey of decay and death, but is there not beauty in this final release of differences and the coming together in balanced rest? My eyes tell me there is.
Maybe heaven is but one joyful mass of grey where beauty lies in the greys of the beholder.
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