When I was a really little kid, no older than kindergarten, I would lie in bed for a little while before my mother came to get us up, staring at these colorful curtains with blocks of different patterns and colors. As I did, I would challenge myself to imagine things: “Think of a purple giraffe!” or, “What would the neighbor boy look like with a clown nose?” It wasn’t conscious, the exercise of imagination, but it still happened on a regular basis.
Then one day I challenged myself to think of a color I’d never seen.
And I couldn’t do it.
I always get a little sad, thinking about that day.
More than thirty years later, every so often, I try to imagine a color I’ve never seen. Sometimes I feel like I’m almost getting there. But then I stop. And it makes me a little sad, like I’ve discovered some limit to what used to be a limitless mind. But then I try again, and I can feel my third eye buzzing, and it’s like I can almost see it, this little mystery of the universe – the color I’ve never seen.
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