"Her Blue Period" ~ (She Made Peace With Her Blue Period)

The revelations, in this process that I am so deep into at this point, are like tidal waves. My fingers are stained with pastels, today, bluer than blue. I started working on this and thought of Picasso’s “Blue Period” and how all artists, all people, have blue periods, and seem to want to run from them. I am not afraid of this blue period I am in because this is a joyful time. I have embraced my blue period and I want to know all of it’s colors. When we stop being afraid of that which feels uncertain, of those places inside of ourselves that are a deeper shade of existence than that which we normally exist in, and sink down into all that it is, all that it feels, all of its many hues, we become more rooted in who we truly are, more grounded, centered in the reality of the truth of who we are. With this piece I am celebrating every single blue mood I have ever had, every shade, every nuance, I want to know them all…

She is a lighter shade of pale, she is slipping out of even her blueness, because some days no color feels right and she is not at home inside her own skin…

Some days when she really gets her blue on she feels bright and beautiful and is dazzled by her reflection in the mirror, the reflection that only she sees. On those days she really does feel pretty and it makes her feel shy but she keeps peeking in the mirror because she knows that it will not last. She will revel in this brighter shade of blue a little while longer…
Then there are the dark nights of the soul when even the moon is hidden from view and were it not for the few shreds of blue she had left she would have nothing to hold onto. Those dark nights she clings to her blue as if to a raft in the sea, shipwrecked and alone, but the bit of blue she has left will keep her afloat until daylight, and she will be found, she will find herself, her brave blue self, it’s always there somewhere…
Some days her internal heat spikes — women past the median of midlife know these times well — and were it not for the blue hanky that she carries in her apron pocket to mop her brow or fan herself she might burn up completely. On these days she thanks God that she is a blue woman. It stands her in good stead when her innards are ablaze and she is dizzy from the heat.

Some days her nerves are more than a little jangly and the blue evens her out a little, just a little, but it helps…
There are days when she feels a little bit fuzzy and has a hard time being around people. She dusts herself off and powders her nose and hides under the covers with her powder blue pugs. They seem to reflect whatever color she is that day. They like blue. They think it looks good on them.
And then there are the days when the lady sings the blues. She knows how Billy Holiday must have felt and she writes in her journal all afternoon to Billy crooning, and she likes the sad kind of melancholy prose the music evokes because it fits her like a glove. Sometimes the lady sings the blues, and all is well…
Some people nearly drain the blue right out of  her. Her irises go black and her hair starts to turn grey. She knows that her blue is the barometer of her soul and when the temperature starts dropping dangerously low she realizes that these people have no place in her life. She has learned to politely say No, and send them packing, ever so gently and certainly kindly. Some people will never understand her blue and they have no place in her life. She is finally at peace with that. She is learning to be all of who she is, and her blue days are as good as any other days, just bluer. 
She’d rather be blue thinking of you than be happy with somebody else. She’s a funny girl. And she loves all of her blue selves…

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