Still seeing in the dark.

Space Today, after a short nap, my mind created something gentle. A light purple with a little pink mixed in.   Two colors I love, blended together in memory. I am totally blind, but color still exists for me in thought, emotion, and imagination. This wasn’t sight. It was comfort. It was peace. Sometimes the mind takes pictures without eyes.

The orange is still here. It didn’t soften. It didn’t drift away. It didn’t quietly change into something else. It’s still burning strongly. Still glowing brightly. And there’s something about that persistence that feels important enough to sit with. This isn’t a loud color. It’s not chaotic or demanding. It’s a plain, bright orange — steady, warm, alive. The kind of glow that doesn’t rush you but doesn’t let you disappear either. It holds its place. I’ve noticed that for the past few mornings now, this is how the day begins. Orange arrives first. Not as a warning. Not as a question. Just as presence. And today, instead of fading as the hours passed, it stayed. Seeing in the dark has always meant trusting what doesn’t announce itself with words. It means paying attention to what lingers. What repeats. What shows up again and again without needing an explanation. This orange feels like that. It feels like energy that knows how to sustain itself. Like creativity that doesn’t bur...

The hot pink never left me today. It stayed — steady, present, evolving — like it had something to say without needing words. What began earlier as pink leaning toward red slowly shifted throughout the afternoon, settling more fully into a hot pink undertone. Not loud. Not demanding. Just there. There’s something deeply reassuring about that kind of presence. I’ve learned that when you’re someone who “sees in the dark,” you don’t always experience things in straight lines. You notice gradients. You notice movement. You notice when something doesn’t disappear but instead transforms . This color didn’t feel chaotic or intrusive. It felt grounded. Alive. Expressive. Hot pink carries warmth, confidence, and a kind of joyful defiance. It doesn’t ask permission to exist. It simply shows up as itself. That feels meaningful right now. I’m in a season where my voice is being received. My words are landing. People are responding, engaging, and connecting — not because I’m trying harder, bu...

     The color is still with me — but it’s changing. What was once a hot pink-red leaning heavily into red is now moving a little more toward hot pink. The warmth is still there. The intensity hasn’t disappeared. But there’s a softness arriving alongside it, and that feels important enough to notice. I’m learning that seeing in the dark isn’t about clinging to what stays the same. It’s about paying attention to what shifts. This color doesn’t feel restless or unstable. It feels like motion with intention. Like something that knows where it’s going, even if I don’t have the language for it yet. A hot pink carries boldness, but it also carries expression. It’s vibrant without being harsh. It shows up unapologetically. There’s something comforting about realizing that energy can evolve without losing its strength. As someone who navigates the world through lived experience, disability, adaptation, and awareness, I’ve come to trust subtle changes more than dramatic ones....

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 alarmin...

Evening Reflection – The Many Voices of Thunder I’ve always noticed that thunder has its own language — one that changes with every storm. There’s the kind that cracks sharply through the air, sounding as if the sky itself is splitting open. Then there’s the deep, low rumble that rolls across the ground and makes the whole house tremble — a sound that feels like the heartbeat of the sky itself. And sometimes, there’s the softer kind — a slow, steady murmur that drifts gently away, like a calm voice reminding us that the storm will soon pass. Each kind of thunder carries a feeling. The loud ones are like sudden bursts of emotion — anger, grief, or fear that can’t be contained. The deep rumbles are those steady, ongoing feelings we carry quietly — the ones that shake us inside even when we look calm on the outside. And the soft rolls? They remind us of peace, of letting go, of rest after the storm. I think our emotions are a lot like thunder. They each have a voice, a rhythm, a reaso...

Evening Reflection – The Colors of Memory 💙💛 Tonight, the color around me feels like a very dark shade of blue — deep, almost endless. It’s not empty, though. It’s alive with yellow floating all over it — little sparks of warmth and light. Some of the yellow gathers in piles, some threads its way gently through, and some comes drifting in clumps, softly and quietly, like thoughts that have been waiting to be remembered. I spent a little while this evening listening to The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross on YouTube. Even though I can’t see his paintings anymore, I can still feel them — the rhythm in his voice, the calm in his brushstrokes, the way he spoke about colors like they were living things. I remember how beautiful his colors looked — Phthalo Blue , Alizarin Crimson , Cadmium Yellow , Van Dyke Brown . Each one had its own story, its own way of shining. Hearing him paint brought back so many memories of when I could still see. It’s strange how something so comforting can al...