I See Colors

Writing is colorful. Color heals.

It is hard for me to write about colorfulness at this hour of unrest. It is 4:43am on May 30th, 2020. I am flooded with emotions and cannot fall back asleep. A close family member is recovering from COVID 19 pneumonia and sickness. Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, and others have been killed at the hands of police and white supremacy violence. Still, I feel like I must write and release the words from my chocked throat and achy heart. So, I started this blog story at this hour on this day.

It feels like an explosion of all sorts of writers in the world writing for the public and media right now. Indeed, it is a good time to write my first blog. The flood gates have opened wider than ever with Op-Eds, blogs, and news media about our current situation in the U.S. and abroad on COVID 19, police violence, government violence... Who will read and listen?

Into the COVID 19 pandemic, I continued with my healing journey with daily handwritten journaling. My journaling also led to an awakening to realize the beauty of my enduring, freeing process to see colors.

Few friends, and even my mother, often tease me for wearing black clothes all of the time. Born and raised in New York City, I fell into a trance with black clothing in my early 20’s. I remember how West 8th Street in the Village in lower Manhattan influenced my love for all black clothing down to my shoes. Decades later, my closet is dominated by black clothes. Some say black clothing exude confidence or helps to hide insecurity. Others say it blocks positive energy. In any case, I don’t plan to give it up just yet.

Colors emit life and a sensorial channeling into my writing. I discovered that my writing and the color of my clothing were connected sensorially. Though I wear black clothing a lot, it was only when I shifted slowly to wearing brighter colors (yellow, orange, blue, lilac, white) that my soul began to sing and feel freer to write from deep within. I could feel colors permeate my senses and energize my depleted soul, free my mind, and awaken a flow for words about who I am, not who I need to be as a writer.

So, I painted my house shed turmeric yellow. Bought bright green clot pots for planting moringa. Painted a wooden chair blue. I wore around the house orange, yellow, and any tops in my closet among the few other than black - to write.

I wanted to see and feel more colors!

There is more for the color switch did not happen without a process. In September 2018, reading one of the reviews for my first published article was very traumatic to me. Reader 2 was violent and demeaning to say the least. Not constructive in any sense. Soon after I developed a skin condition called dematographia requiring daily Zyrtec to suppress it. It is an overproduction of histamine causing severe itching and immense skin welts from pressure by clothing or scratching. The dermatologist said that it usually onsets as a result of a life changing event, trauma, or other experience (after medical condition is ruled out). I did not realize that that experience from reading and processing that review was so traumatic leading to my immune/skin condition until a dear colleague during a writing retreat (just a few days after seeing the dermatologist) said to me, “I think the review onset your skin condition.” 15 months later, I still take Zyrtec to suppress the histamine in my body.

Feelings are energy sources for better or worse. One day I will write more about the rudeness of publication reviewers. We too often internalize the worst of feelings because the world incites more pain than joy. Since that article and with much support from my communities of love and care, I continue my search to write from a place of joy than pain. Writing from a place of pain is important and often necessary. But our ancestors like Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou want us to turn pain into joy as writers. This is hard to see for me at times since I write about the painful and violent experiences of Black lesbians in Brazil. But I also write about their freedom, resistance, joys, and care. Like the old school song goes, “Joy and Pain.. like Sunshine and Rain - by Rob Baze & DJ E-Z Rock.

Revival. My color awakening ruptured after receiving my Readers’ reviews and reports for my book manuscript in February 2020. The waiting felt long because distilling fear of judgment was challenging. But I deeply trusted my editor and eagerly awaited. When the reports arrived and read that the reviews were very constructive and affirming, I embraced the need for more revisions before a contract with pride and relief. I remember reading some parts from Reader 1 and crying at first. Reader 2 was kind to send me page by page feedback of one chapter. I also cried and laughed. They got me. They saw me. They heard me. They saw the bright colors of my writing when I could not.

It was then I began to envision through joyful tears a colorful self-transformation for revising my book and my writing. I was charged by my Readers to (in addition to clarity of arguments and concepts) give myself permission to fully express the deepest poetics within me. To let loose with more vividness of my narratives. These words touched me in an unexpected way.

I rushed more bright warm fuzzy colors into my home. During the stay home mandate, I painted different things. I painted my back patio a mocha color. I bought patio furniture including a patio table to write and a small blue tabletop outdoor table. I was ready to release the past and sit in my renewed present. Ordinarily, I struggle to sit down for long periods of time to write. Colors were permeating my senses and orbits.

Writing during the global deadly pandemic and amidst a highly charged national and global anti-Blackness social movement is not easy. It is not possible for most writers. We must write.

I feel a revival of chakras. Look to the chakra colors for energy.

I see colors within me. Do you see and feel them within you?

I see my freedom to write about the Africa in me.

Colors heals.

What must you see to heal and be transformed as a writer?