Color to the Blind
Oh, sister dear, I know when I say such things as red or turquoise or emerald green, you give me a funny glare. Forgive me, for I am forgetful. Come, sit by me, and I will tell you all of the colors that pursue my eyes.
Oh dear, I cannot lie to you. I admit, colors are not something to despise. They give our world a greater depth that makes them indescribable. But I will try for you, sister.
Think of it as so. Just as there are pitches to a voice, there are different pitches to a color. Let’s say mother’s voice is green. Yes, think of her voice. It is lively, yet very low. We shall say her normal, conversational speech is simply green. Well, when mother sings, and that voice hits that musical quality, her color becomes emerald. And when she yells, it is an angry neon green. And when she is somber, her voice is a dark, murky green.
Well you can assign a color to every voice you know. Blue can be your voice, yellow will be your best friend Jane. I can be red if you like, and you should assign the rest as you please.
Now now, sister, I promise I am doing the best I can. Yes, I believe it to be okay to replace your colors with voices. Both have the same function: to bring to us a depth of meaning.
You of all else should understand how the most minor change of a voice can alter its entire intent. Well, color is just the same. A color can undergo just the slightest change, like a voice with a disguised quiver, and suddenly the color, the voice, holds a meaning completely new. So much color, so many voices.
You can comprehend now how impossible it is to describe color’s spectrum; the variations upon variations. Our galaxy of complications. Oh, my dear, do not cry with envy. That was not my intention.
Alright, sit still. Here is the true magic of color that will not be lost unto you. Color is perception. Who knows if everyone sees color in the same way. Color is personal. Until science proves otherwise, color is ours. This silk here, that I run through your hands. It is stained in my navy blue. Feel the silk, sister. What color does it have for you? A pearly white, you say? How lovely a color! Do you see it? Your pearly white laced in this silk? Do you see the particles of red sound as my voice drifts to your small ears? Do you see mother’s faded green hum drifting from the kitchen?
Color is a voice. It calls, whispers, sings. It is an emotion, that rises and falls before us in swirly waves. Listen to them! To those gray whistles of winds, those orange beams of summer warmth. Color dances before us. I think you see them too. Those colors rushing in and out of your darkness.
I hope you know, dear sister, that your colors will — beginning now and forevermore — be great dear friends. Our voices that slip by your eyes in great color, and produce a living darkness that burdens less lonely.