When one cannot sleep at 3am, he finds himself thinking Jungian cognitive functions are colors. Something like,
Ni — midnight blue
Ne — golden yellow
Si — chestnut brown
Se — blood red
Ti — snow white
Te — iron grey
Fi — forest green
Fe — autumn orange
Ni is the infinite blue of deep night, a twinkling void, the unending three dimensional canvas into which one may project dreams and images, of the past or future, of ideas, feelings, or vast new worlds.
Ne is bright, luminous and impressive, to bask in its radiance is to feel the weight of the sun and the shine of molten gold rivers, to stand in a light that fills all corners and casts away shadows.
Si is the unassuming, fundamental dirt and wood undergirding all, the layers of old, dead, dry foliage studded with chestnuts and acorns, scattered beneath the timber frame, the skeletal bearing of activity.
Se is the hot blood of lust, the blood that rises, the blood that spills from aggression, it is Ferrari red and the wine dark sea, a laser, and the fire coursing through veins and engines running animating heat.
Ti is the symmetry of a snowflake, settled in a vast uninterrupted plane of fresh powder, it is the perfect, self-contained purity of a proof, and the blank potential of a page.
Te is hard iron, ubiquitous rock, it is the pale shadow cast by churning clouds, and the steel that cuts, slashes, and penetrates, leaving grey wastes or a towering concrete metropolis.
Fi is the shielding, living canopy, the dappled, gentle peace of deep forests, the winding paths one may take to plunge into dream, or take forks of right and wrong, toward the chirping of birds or the howling of beasts.
Fe is warm, sunbaked terracotta and a full canopy of rattling leaves annually martyred, and the glow of a candle or cook fire at the heart and hearth of a tribe, and the soft, wool-clad arms of a lover shielding us all.