Still Seeing in the dark: when color becomes a companion.

Seeing in the Dark: When Color Becomes a Companion

I haven’t written here in a while, but lately something has been calling me back — quietly, persistently — asking me to pay attention again.

For the past few days, color has been staying with me in a way I can’t ignore. It started with bright oranges, then deeper reds, and now what I’m noticing most is a hot pink-red — leaning more toward red than pink. It’s vivid, warm, and steady. Not flashing. Not overwhelming. Just… present.

I’m not trying to label it as anything more than what it is. I’m simply noticing.

There’s something powerful about noticing without rushing to explain. As someone who lives and moves through the world differently, I’ve learned that awareness itself can be a form of navigation. When you “see in the dark,” you don’t always rely on sharp outlines or perfect clarity. Sometimes you rely on tone, feeling, warmth, and subtle shifts that guide you forward.

This color feels like that.

It doesn’t feel alarming. It doesn’t feel chaotic. If anything, it feels grounding — like energy that has s        ettled into confidence instead of noise. A hot pink-red that leans red feels bold, alive, and anchored. It reminds me that growth doesn’t always arrive gently, but it doesn’t have to arrive destructively either. Sometimes it just glows.

I’ve been in a season of reconnecting with my voice, my creativity, and my purpose — especially through my disability advocacy work. I’ve been writing more, sharing more, creating with intention instead of obligation. And maybe this color is simply my mind and body reflecting that back to me in a language older than words.

Color has always been a messenger for many people. For me, it’s becoming a reminder to stay present. To listen inwardly. To trust what feels steady rather than what demands urgency.

Seeing in the dark doesn’t mean you’re lost.
Sometimes it means you’re learning how to sense your way forward.

So I’m letting this color be what it is. I’m not trying to chase it away or pin it down. I’m honoring it — the same way I’m learning to honor my own pace, my own way of processing, my own light.

Maybe this is what returning feels like.
Not a dramatic moment.
Just a warm glow saying, you’re still here — and you’re moving forward.

I 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Why Should I Have To Serve in Jewry Duty When I Can't See?

Lately, I’ve been getting so frustrated. The court keeps sending me letters, pushing me to serve jury duty—even though I’ve already submitted a doctor’s letter saying that I am totally blind, hearing impaired, and on disability. My doctor even wrote that I’m unable to participate due to my medical condition. But apparently, that’s not enough. She didn’t go into every single detail. Why? Because she legally can’t—HIPAA protects my private medical information. And now the court is rejecting her letter because it doesn’t spell out every little thing, like I owe them some full-body explanation to be believed. Let me be clear: I am totally blind. I have no eyes. I also live with hearing loss. I rely on sound cues, memory, my hands, my other senses—every day. And it’s exhausting sometimes, even in familiar places. Now imagine being called into a courtroom, where everything depends on seeing: Who stood up to speak? What kind of gesture did they just make? Who are they pointing ...
Read more

What I'm still seeing With Out eyes, part 2.

Chapter 4 Last night, the reddish-orange light was so bright, so intense, it filled everything. I couldn’t even tell when I’d closed my eyes—the usual dark reddish-brown I expect was nowhere to be found. It was just light, bold and burning, like a fire behind my eyelids. By morning, the world inside me had settled. The brightness faded back into its usual heavy grey, with slow-floating yellow shapes drifting through the fog. And now, as I sit quietly, the darker reddish-brown edges have returned—faint but grounding—like the calm after a storm. Right now, I see yellow floaters swimming lazily through that grey space, with a soft peach tint in the background. It’s quiet, gentle, almost dreamlike. People ask me, “What are you up to?” It’s a casual question. A way to check in. And I answer casually too—“Oh, just chilling. Writing on my disability page. Sipping some coffee.” It’s true, but it’s not the full truth. What I don’t say is that while I sip that coffee, I’m watching y...
Read more

A brighter Pinkish Purple.

Image
It’s now a brighter pinkish purple—so bright, I can almost feel a bit of heat coming from it, like sunshine is beaming straight into my eyes. But there is no sunshine. There’s no light in the room. There’s no glow in the sky. There are no eyes on my face. That’s right—I’m totally blind. And yet, here it is. A radiant, glowing pinkish purple filling my inner world. It’s not just a color—it’s an experience. It shines from inside, with a reddish hue gently edging its way back into view. It’s soft, yet strong. Beautiful, and somehow alive. No one else can see this color—but to me, it’s so real I can feel it. Some people say blindness is darkness. But today, it’s pinkish purple. And it’s glorious.   Brilliant hot pink, Morning Coffee, and Yellow floaters. It’s late in the day, but I’ve been up on and off—lingering in bed, eating a late breakfast, and listening to The Right Time by Danielle Steel. And all the while, one thing has stayed with me: a brilliant, almost overwhelming...
Read more