Easter and Palm Sunday Red

I found myself mysteriously attracted by the pigment 

in this kind of red… 

You can give it a number, don it a code, paint it on nails,

wear it on lips or eyelids,

stamp it on paper under a fingertip, or bury it in your memory…

It will still be the same kind of red, will it not?

 Take a closer look at the wall on the stage in this picture of beautiful Angela Gheorghiu. 

It seems to be the same kind of red, doesn’t it?

Listen to “Love is Blindness” 

on an album in this colour.

Can you hear the same kind of red? 

Feel your heart beat. Is it the same kind of red pumping in your chest?

What does time smell like?

In a world devoid of senses,  let the tip of your tongue taste fear.

What kind of red does it taste like?

When one by one, the senses leave you, what is left?

Imagine dying in a world without senses. It seems a cruel fantasy, doesn’t it?

Imagine being born without senses. What kind of reality does this spell?

 Whether imagined or excruciatingly real, as it sometimes is, living with or without senses has the same kind of answer. Love. One and the same. 

Feel it, savour it, nourish it,  absorb it into your lungs, wash your body in its aura, dive in its seas, relax in its softness, fade away in its grace.

Happy Easter and Happy Palm Sunday to you, all!