The Problem with Orange is Blue…

Sacred Space


“When the light turns green, you go. When the light turns red, you stop. But what do you do when the light turns blue with orange and lavender spots?”
― Shel Silverstein


They say that nothing rhymes with orange. They say… a lot of things. They never stop talking, opining and making their opinions magically turn into fact, law, rules, and such. They spend their time looking outside of themselves for flaws, faults, imperfections, grievances, and other worrisome issues.

They are sometimes we, us, me, and you.

Orange feels… at times that it needs to apologise for existing and causing so much hassle to poets and other people who find it too unique, too much of an individual, too special… and precious – precious not in a good way, it seems.

How dare you, orange, be so difficult!


“Grover wore his fake feet and his pants to pass as human. He wore a green rasta-style cap, because when it rained his curly hair flattened and you could just see the tips of his horns. His bright orange backpack was full of scrap metal and apples to snack on.”
― Rick Riordan


And yet there is an appeal about it, about those who are difficult. Some of that appeal is due to the need to control what is wild and free, to tame it and bring it into the fold of order (human order, which makes even more of a mess but as long as it labels such mess as tidy, then it is order).

We love independence, when we want it for ourselves, but when someone else wants it for themselves and that someone else is someone whom we want for ourselves, then we hate independence and call it by many other names.

We do that quite a bit, us humans, we have one word (usually a positive one) for ourselves when we do something, but when someone else does the same something we do, we have other words for that (often negative ones).

We’re a weird old bunch of orange with a lot of blue thrown in to mess up colour coordination.

We’re allowed to find fault, criticise, critique, be insensitive towards someone else (for their good, of course, because we’re experts on who they should be and what they should be doing), however… if they do the same towards us, it’s different. We take umbrage, get upset, feel hurt, and so on. How dare they… and yet we dare. We do to them what they aren’t allowed to do to us, and have lots of reasons why we are justified but they are not.


love and disconnection - alex elle


Orange is the colour of emotion. Of guts. The glory and the gory. So it makes sense that it does not rhyme with anything (you’re still trying to buck that rule of rhyme, aren’t you).

Trying to find something which rhymes with orange is like… trying to make someone else feel as you do. It’s crossing an emotional boundary, invading a sacred space… how dare they protect themselves against your invasion – but if the tables were turned, your defenses would not put up with it and would reject them and their interference (even if they say it is for your own good – good is a moveable feast).


“The mouth worried you until you knew him and then it worried you more.”
― Ernest Hemingway


Blue is the colour of… emotion, or so it says. However its emotion tends to be one of intellect. It feels through thought and thinks endlessly about feeling. Many of its feelings aren’t feelings at all, they’re thinkings disguised as feelings.

Blue knows how to rhyme with lots of words, and it uses all of them, repeatedly if need be. It feels, and emotes what it feels, verbose and verb-friendly. Blue turns the emotions of orange into a crusade of doing, of communicating, of thinking, of feeling and thinking about those feelings until emotion becomes an intellectual pursuit.

Anger is orange, but when blue gets a hold of it…

I am angry, says blue. Why am I angry? Blue asks. I don’t like being angry (but I do), something must be done about this! Find someone to blame, a scapegoat, a fall guy or gal, a verbal punching bag, it’s their fault and I must make them know it, feel it, repent for what they’ve done… to me!

Blue seeks out the problem in everyone but itself, and seeks to make them blue too. Feel me, feel what I am feeling, I am going to tell you what to feel and feel it you must, I am going to batter you with words until you do/feel/think what I want you to do/fell/think – and then I’m going to feel/think bad about it because I am blue.

Blue makes itself feel as bad as it makes others feel, it stews in its own thoughts and gets lost in all the simmering and seething ingredients, then makes itself feel even worse for making others feel its pain, but… that glorifies its gory guts, and it loves through its hates and hurts.

An orange moon can’t compete with a blue one, and blue knows it… orange doesn’t know it because orange doesn’t do that kind of thinking, knowing, intellectual thing.

Orange is just orange.

Blue… is never just blue. Blue has to colour the world with its hues, shades and shenanigans.


the moving finger - omar khayyam


The problem with orange is blue, because orange just has/is an emotion, but blue has to turn an emotion had into a crusade of words and thoughts… and it is like they, them, us, we, me and you… it needs someone to listen, hear, pay attention, acknowledge and validate (willingly or unwillingly).

And the rub… keeps rubbing until everything chafes.

And maybe that’s the way it’s meant to be. Orange and blue clashing. One taking the other on a journey… until they both learn something from each other (although blue can be a bit deaf to orange, as orange does not use words).

Grrrr, says orange – meaning Blue, stop trying to make me like you. I am wild, crazy, free and fluid. Tame me and you kill me. Without me, you’re just a talking head. I ground you, earth you, turn your talk into fertiliser for a seed, a plant which will grow, an energy which vibrates and ripples.

Shhh, says orange – meaning Blue, you want me to be a windmill, grinding away, turning real into dust unreal, and yet I am the wind blowing your unreal dust away.

Hmmm, says orange…

I must turn this Hmmm into something, says Blue.

And so it goes…




“We can destroy what we have written, but we cannot unwrite it.”
― Anthony Burgess



  1. What an amazing piece! I have been following your blog for quite sometime, close to a year. Your words helped me thru the worst of times; chaos, confusion, living day after day thinking to myself what the fu** is going on, until I was discarded, thrown out with the trash. All this being done by a man who I loved, that being the mistake in itself. I wasn’t aware that he never wanted to be loved, love evokes emotion. Being useful, now that is safe, he wanted superficial but I do the opposite, I love and I love the person, who he fought to hide and cover up. We were together 3 years, lived together, our lives and the lives of our (combined) 7 children, delicately woven together a step we both agreed to take or that I believed we took for “us”; it was the beginning of starting our life together. Unbeknownst to me, he was presenting to the outside world, even his 4 children, that the choice to cohabitate was because I could not afford to pay my house payment. Towards the end, I was trying my best to make sense of what the hell was happening, I decided to find out why he, after 2 years, had never taken the time to learn about my favorite “things”(color, food, etc). This didn’t keep me up at nights, but I was curious. A man who has professed his love for me, forcefully insisted (forcefully=not taking no for an answer), injected himself into all aspects of my life for the first couple of years (to then suddenly stop) & who at this point had said that he didn’t think we would “make it” but that one day he was certain we would be together because I was the woman he wanted to spend his life with, when you love, care and are connected to someone you know their favorite things. It’s apart of healthy human relationships. I was beginning to realize that he has never nor could he ever, do healthy, for if he could he would have known that I don’t have a favorite food, that it isn’t seafood or Chinese, and more importantly that my favorite color is orange, not pink or yellow (which was his other guess)! His favorite color, green, which if I’m not mistaken is primarily blue with some yellow mixed in. After reading your post, which again I found amazing as it spoke to me on so many different levels, I wanted to share a smidgen of my story with you and also to say thank you! Your words have been encouraging, healing and at times the kick in the ass that I need to continue my goal of forward thinking! ❤ Jen


    • Thank you very much 🙂 means a lot to me ❤

      I hope you realise the extent to which you're strong, healthy and vibrantly orange (and any other colour you love). You have an open heart, beating to the rhythm and rhyme of life and being. Your life and your being. This is courageous – shows an amazing capacity to love and be and love how others – a valuable gift and ability. One which certain people fear, and admire, and fear even more because they admire it.

      You also have a great skill of observation – it is sometimes painful, but always worth it. The more we see, the more we understand.

      Sometimes others admire us for our natural colours, and then hate their own admiration and whom they admired, it taps into deep seated fears, their admiration turns into envy and they use turpentine, sometimes even acid (metaphorically), to dilute and remove those colours when our colours threaten their sense of reality and self. They try to turn us into other colours, because they don't want us to be… what they can't be or live up to in their own view of themselves and of them versus us.

      The colour of love is one which some find impossible to look at, accept, or been seen through… particularly when it makes them assess and look at themselves, and that's something which frightens them.

      He had to paint you the way he did, because of the way he paints his own self portrait. He sees Dorian Gray in the attic, but no one else can see it… and they certainly aren't allowed to love it.

      You had to become someone who was with him because you needed him for dubious reasons – this he could handle. It suited his version of reality and of himself – and his deep seated self hatred which can never accept being loved. Being with him because you loved him – he couldn't handle that or believe it. So you became who he painted you as being. The lie was the truth he could accept – the real truth had to become a lie.

      You know the truth – trust your truth. Trust yourself – that's how confusion clears. Let your true colours shine. Know what your favourites are – and know that those who don't want to know what your favourite things are – are afraid of such things, of you, and your beautiful colours… but mostly of themselves.

      Don't be afraid of yourself 🙂


  2. This piece made me think of a mantra I used to repeat to myself many years ago as a calming strategy (think of the way one might say ‘ohmmmm’):

    “Life is a golden orange. In the center, a giant fern.”

    *shrugs* I dunno what it means either. Something just soothing for me about the unrhymability of ‘orange,’ I guess.

    (Also: what IS that Rick Riordan quote from?? Sounds awesome.)


    • Thank you very much 🙂

      The Rick Riordan quote comes from The Lightning Thief. It’s a YA novel. He has a great sense of humour especially when it comes to humanising mythology.

      I love your mantra! It’s visually lush!

      Imo, mantras shouldn’t have to make sense to anyone but us (and even then… not everything has to make sense to the logical mind, it’s only a portion of the whole). Mantras are in theory and practice supposed to tune into and affect our brainwaves (or something like that) and so they need to be designed for our own use, our particular brain wiring, to do what we need them to do for us (or is that too egotistical?).

      I often get hooked on words, sentences. Sometimes the title of a book will become something I repeat for no other reason than because my brain loves the sounds – chances are I’m pronouncing the words all wrong. But it just hits a spot and that spot is not a triggering button but something which just is… ahhhh!

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