My vision today

Transcends that of all before

And still I seek more

I witness colors

You cannot identify

Nor could even name

Virgin resonance

That you denote only as sound

Enriches my ears

And taste: such richness

Cascades across my palate

So effortlessly

Each is alien

And equally elusive

And always will be

Haiku was never my strong-suit.  It never had to be.  Five syllables, then seven syllables, then five syllables have a Zen quality about it.  I would like to tell you I wrote the poem, but I didn’t.  Not in the normal sense.  What I did was collect the words already suspended in the ether and arrange them in a pattern acceptable to the reader.  No pen or paper.  Neither a dictionary nor thesaurus.  None of the trappings of my previous life held me a vassal to its servitude.  I have moved beyond jurisdiction itself.  I now dwell between the perceptible; in regions both reclusive and sequestered.  I have yet to make the acquaintance of a fellow wayfarer, but I will; for the road here is too vast for solo excursions.

My current condition was not born of conspiracy or chance.  There was a reason; I have yet to identify its source.  How I became what I am is a process of incrementalism, so gradual, so as to remain undetectable until it became too late to reverse.  Even at that cusp of equilibrium, if I knew then what I know now, I would progress toward my current state.  Despite the sacrifices, the gains outweigh the costs.

First let me define the gains.

At 5:30am, on the morning of the 14^th of April, I awoke to see a single new color.  Not a blend.  Not a shade of a pre-exiting color, but an entirely new color.  Words escape my grasp to differentiate it from the rest.  But that did not diminish its existence.  I saw a brand new color.  It was clear and vibrant and demarcated from all that preceded it.  How could I have not noticed before?  Why did the Wizards of Smart who frequent every media outlet fail in this discovery?  This was color.  A single color.  But it was new.  And that meant it was special.  How many years have elapsed since anyone discovered a color?

And I began to see it everywhere.

Not the color of a rose, but the color between the roses.  My color lived amongst the clouds on the fringes of formation of one and the wind destruction of another.  I saw my color when I looked for it.  I began to train myself to repeat the successful steps to find my color.  In ever increasing frequency, I saw my color.  And then it saw me.  I knew this to be true.  I felt it to be so. 

So I experimented.  I tried to hide from my color, but it always found me.  It reminded me of my older brother during our childhood games of hide-and-go-seek.  I never knew why, but he always found me; and he did it with such ease.  It had to be a combination of his experience with my naïve nature.  So it was with my color.

When I moved, it moved with me.  Never to close and never too far away.  Always at a comfortable distance.  Always in plain sight.  And always just for me.

I did not even try to ask another whether they saw my color.  If they did, they could not hide their emotions.  If they knew, then I would know they knew just by looking at their face.  No one could hide this level of euphoria, thus, no one saw my color.

I went to sleep that night pleased with my discovery.  I dared not disclose its existence.  For if I did, without a single iota of evidence or explanation, my life would change for the worse.  Asylums, ostracism, petite paragraphs in various medical files and research papers (all bearing my name and story) would become the staple of my existence.  Admission confirmed such a fate.  My color demanded my silence.  And I paid the price gladly.

I spent yesterday in its proximity in all parts of the day except sunrise.  Was my color part of this event?  I had to investigate the possibility.  So, when I awoke, April 15^th, I went in search of my color, I did it prior to the onset of any color.  I walked to the park at 4am and waited for the day to proceed.  I did not have to wait for long.  Or wait alone.

To my right stood a frail man of advanced years.  In his overcoat, beret, and cane he bore a striking resemblance to every Central Casting call ever placed for such a person.  I glanced at him and he glanced at me.  We stood waiting sunrise over the flower bed.  Maybe he had his own color and the same experiment I did.  Either way, we both remained quiet, awaiting the sunrise, awaiting for something to happen.

And it did.

For me, I found my color.  Rich and vibrant.  More than words could describe.  My hopes became reality on epic proportions.  Some would want to shout for the exuberance they felt.  Not me.  I simply cried.  The emotions I felt overwhelmed every part of my body.  I could no longer stand.  I fell to me knees and began to whimper.  If a passerby witnessed such a display, they would have believed I just won the lottery.  Maybe I did.  My color over the flower garden simply took my breath away.  Astonished.  Incredulous.   Amazed.  These are the words that fail to describe what happened to me.  And yet, these are the exact words I would use to describe what happened to the old man.

For at the exact same time, for the exact same reason, he reacted the exact same way.  Thinking back, I got two out of three correct.  For when the Sun did rise and cast its light and warmth over the flower bed, each flower responded and opened in unison.  This is what the old man expressed between his tears of joy.  Over a cup of coffee, he said he heard the flowers open.  He said he heard the flowers sing.

Between sips, I let that statement sink in.  I did not ask him details; I knew he had a gift very similar to mine.  We sat and drank quietly, in absolute silence thereafter.  What questions could I ask of him that I did not want anyone to ask of me?  I did not understand my color.  I did not try to explain my color.  I just accepted my color.  It must have been the same for him.  When I returned from the restroom, the old man had vanished.  The barista said he paid the bill for the two of us and walked away.  I asked about his face.  She replied he left happy.

Two perceptions enhanced.  Two lives touched.  I never saw the old man again.  I never thought I would. 

Months later, I found a woman enjoying the bouquet of fine wines during a tour of a nearby vineyard.  She was not drinking any of the wines, but she was experiencing the taste none-the-less.  We made eye contact and exchange no words.  My color enhanced her aura and I assume her enhancements made my identification just as easy. 

Now I had hope.  For the first time in my life, I understood how much life had to offer.  Unlike the fakeries of perfumes, cosmetics, and other alterations, my color presented the same world in a new way.  The Latin phrase for this is non nova-sed nove; or simply, not new things, but in a new way.  I found my eyesight became sharper.  Words in a great book did indeed have great meaning when I read them.  So I delved into Shakespeare.  I translated Dante’s, Inferno.  I memorized Alexander Pope’s iambic pentameter prose.  I frequented art galleries and learned to distinguish Monet from Manet by brush strokes alone.  I even threw myself into astronomy, just to see if my color displayed within the corona of millions of galactic core stars (it did).  With all my color offered, with all I could apply it to, I found no downside to my situation.

I did not have to.  The downsides found me.

First, living on the enhanced perimeter of life does have one disturbing drawback; the return trip to normalcy.  The closest metaphor is the last day of summer vacation and the knowledge of what awaits upon the return.  Few lives can rival that of the former.  Mine was no exception.  I do not rate my heightening awareness in sight to that of a drug user.  He understands the destructive cost for a temporary sensation.  And yet, he will not care.  Any price for the Nirvana.  Even if the price is the ultimate price.  My color will assess a different toll for me.

My color provides much more than sight alone.  With it, I have application.  With it, I have artistry.  With it, I now have meaning.  Unfortunately, I also have its second downside.  My color does not provide permanence.

What I acquired so easily, I lost as easily.  I awoke, full of ideas, never to see my color again.  Devastated, I retraced my pathway from inception to forfeiture in the hope of reunification with my color.  To my despair, I failed miserably.  Days became weeks and weeks became months.  I scrutinized my surroundings to no avail.  My color simply vanished.  That meant, all my color offered also vanished.  However, all I learned, I retained.  I no longer wander through life, I appreciate it.  I am Carpe Diem to Carpe Noctum.  And while I no longer have my color, I still have the memories.  If I could, I would thank my color for all it offered.

And who knows?  Maybe I will see my color again someday.  Or at least, the person who calls it his color.

Difficult response

To that of what was once found

And now is missing

Frequent thoughts return

Of friendship and affection

And of endearment

But, stronger without

And much stronger still within

A better person

– Andy Betz

Author’s Note: “My Color” is an uplifting piece detailing a brief encounter with someone who discovers such richness and a color who offers such assistance.