I am a little preoccupied with souls. The protagonist of the novel I’m writing is a soul named Alex. Alex, dead from an accidental heroin overdose, has a lot of karma to reconcile as well as a jones to be born again that rivals his heroin addiction. Suddenly life is so very precious.
Part of what Alex confronts in his immediate afterlife is his new appearance. He has to ask another soul what color he is.
“Lily, what color am I?”
“Oh, Alex. Any other time I might find your narcissism completely outrageous. For now, you’re somewhat refreshing. You’re a soothing pale blue with a hint of green near the heart. Can’t you see that?”
“Well, yes, and no. I’ve only seen my reflection twice here, and it was cloudy. I see a little color but not as clear as yours.”
When we leave this realm, it is doubtful we will retain the color of our skin. Our physical appearance is here and now which, let’s face it, is not eternity.
I think, like Alex, many of us are feeling a little cloudy these days. We are wrestling with a wound that goes soul level deep and consequently is uncomfortable and impossible to ignore. Good. What’s also uncomfortable is confronting the reality that our degree of control is an illusion. No one among us can single-handedly stop the pandemic or wave a wand and erase the mirage that the color of our skin makes us different. Nor can we control what others think or do.
As we ride this wave of what we can only hope is a seismic change for the better for humanity, we have the chance to course correct. That much is not an illusion. We need to be Lily-clear with our energy, not cloudy or mystified. Our invisible connection to one another is whisper close. What if we all looked in the mirror and at each other and tried to see the color of our light?
Divine Ready 