I used to know the colour of my soul as a child knows life, simply. I remember picking my favourite colour based on a Charlie Brown cartoon character, just because its playful vibrancy thrilled me. But now? Adult judgment blurs, distorts the tints, and I second guess myself. I know more what I am not. Though envious, I am not colour of pageantry, royalty or celebrity which is, as every 1972 Teen Beat magazine reader knows, Donny-Osmond-fangirl-swooning purple. And I’m no dance-happy orange, although I enjoy the idea of mingling with this spontaneous hue. But I am too determined and all my attempts to carry off orange comes out in the wash as too-serious terracotta on me
I could never be innocent bubblelicious pink with its youthful lip-gloss shine on the world, my soul was never that young. I call stage-curtain black my go-to colour yet I confess it is not because I am theatrical or mysterious, l love black because it is so damn thinning.
My secret colour, the one I most desire to be, lies under the cover of my sleepy conscience where I fantasize I am… drama-queen red, dangerously naughty, with the come-take-me boldness of movie starlet lips. I want to be a scarlet lady, a moxie shade of burlesque rouge, and oozing with bloodletting confidence. Fearless, fierce and fiery. But this is in my head.
As for my heart, I hold on to a hope of being meditative, spirit-tree green. To be grounded, and as comforting as a moss mantle on forest rocks. I want to know green’s sense of abundance, its grounding presence – its sugar-maple leaf trust that the world will bud in spring matter how damaging the winter.
But I am not true red or green. No, I am more the pigment of ancient things, of treasure maps… and kitchens. I am perennially loyal, steadfast and true. At my best, or brightest I am the colour of a new idea, ever cheerful, and the honest hue of enthusiasm. But I am also night moody, hiding my delinquencies in the moon-glow. I have the day and night need for attention, but so subtle as to not be ever annoying. Too often I can be a pleaser, a colour that gives focus to others, sacrificing my energy, my shine to brighten the other extroverted tones. I have so many shades, probably because I am a colour that most wants to be liked
I am also the colour of waxing and waning as I often tarry in the ruins of my past, or sprint too quickly towards future’s sunset.
I am the colour of rich sauces, and memories. I have too many.
I am the colour of a talker, and sometimes too fast. I am a restless tone, anxiety inducing.
I am a tint that wants things to move quicker, the colour of impatience. Ideas, like sparks, burst forth – but lately my notions are stillborn. Too often I let rules and fear take turns blowing out my soul candles.
I am a colour that in full daytime force…can be too hard, too much so I pull back. I can be fearful of telling my truth, I lack red’s plucky courage. At my worst I am more the warning light. And yet when I am not punishing myself for being the cowardly blush of this colour, I know that in its essence I am a perfect blend of day’s green and night’s red. I have only to look for its beauty, like the wonder on the face of day pansy or the simple sophistication of a Van Gogh flower. Accept that I am the hue of flawed perfection and inspired mistakes but also the shade of a wish for a summer day come true.
What soul colour am I?
by Nancy Early