“Yo, listen up, here’s a story. About a little guy that lives in the blue world. And all day and all night and everything he sees is just blue like him. Inside and outside. Blue his house with a blue rear window. And a blue corvette. And everything is blue for him. And hisself. And everybody around.”

Eiffel 65.

I woke up super early then. A teenage responsibility. To deliver New York’s “picture newspaper.” The Daily News. Sleeping residents would stir in a couple of hours expecting their papers. Along cement apartment grids. Ocean Parkway, Brooklyn.

It was one of the largest routes in the borough and I traveled it all on three-speed bicycle. I pulled a contraption rigged to handle 100 daily morning editions and the heaviest of Sunday’s news.

Before the sun was aware of its duty to Earth. Before the blue sky broke to orange. A first birth of light.

When the world was quiet. Stay quiet longer. A calm so loud it caused a ringing in the ears.

Not like this morning at 4.

News stations begin broadcasts at ungodly hours now. Roads are semi-clogged at 4 with volumes we once experienced two hours later.

I dislike how the world moves frenetic. So early. Stress. In the dark. Before the black dies to blue then blue surrenders to bursts of orange.

The world was simpler. Black to blue at a slower pace. Long ago you could enjoy the present. Appreciate atmospheric neon. Now – well, it’s different. 

Does it need to be?

Four in the morning was mostly test pattern territory in the 70s, accompanied by an awful buzz generated to scare the shit out of viewers and blow out mono-sound RCA television speakers.

What the hell was the significance of a test pattern anyway?

 And what was with the Indian?

Seriously. Some young television producer seeking fame got lucky with a Spirograph and fooled a generation into thinking test patterns were something important. The noise that went along with them only added to the mystery. I always felt these test patterns were serious.

Like I needed to do something.

No sleep.

Seek shelter. That was it.

Evil was transmitted through black and white.

Through test patterns.

Throughout decades, no matter who we are, where we’re from, colors have stained us. Monochrome, Technicolor. Some colors horrify. Others soothe. Many inspire. A few suffocate our spirit or maybe worse. Colors saturate memories, thoughts; alter our sense of smell, taste. Sex, lust, love, hate, anger, life, death, empathy, apathy – all just splashes of color.

Colors haunt us. Colors explode in our souls. Ignite brains, shut them down.

And once a color is attached to a thought, a moment, it’s impossible to change it. Although I’ve learned the shade can indeed, change.

The color that sticks, stays however. That’s the rule.

When I a kid. Really young, when my senses were newer and more alive, as early as five years old, the vibrancy of spectrums overwhelmed me.

In the spring, the smell of new grass glowed lime green – in summer, the aromas were windblown ribbons of yellow. Colors shaped the hours. Every day had its own color and every moment was a shade of that color.

Unfortunately, I had many gray days, too. And they puzzled me. It wasn’t until I was much older that I realized they were my depression days. Depression runs deep black in my family. Both sides.

Back to blue:

 A blue one for the ladies. 

When I left the corporate cocoon (broke away, forced out, whatever) after 23 years, I lost my colors. My sense of security, sense of self, all I was. Gone. At least I thought. And after a colorless adventure physically, financially, mentally, I am beginning to not only see, but feel colors again.

As I lost the ability to live in the present, worried incessantly about my future, the blue evaporated from my spirit. I was able to recall, even as far back as five years ago, how I would stare at a blue sky and wonder what the color was. My blue was definitely closer to Prussian. Dark, heavy. I thought that was the way it was supposed to be.

Life was supposed to be well, colorless. I chalked it up to low T, a demanding, lifeless boss, a publicly-traded financial services company with draconian demands. So much out of my control. All of it designed to drain my blue. I see lots of blue-drained people now. They try to paint themselves true blue with new televisions, more toys, car payments. 

Long ago, I would close my eyes, before the paper route journey began for the day. When the air felt clean, before daybreak. I could freely bask in the present, breathe deep. I remembered that.

I was sad my blue disappeared.

Blue was my color of hope back then. A spray of Azure, I think.

And now it’s coming full circle.

Black is fading to blue. I see it now.

How can you ride the blue spray to sanity? To better mental health.

Random Thoughts:

1). Try. Hard. Try. Hard. Not. To. Lose. Your. Force. In the first place.  At the first sign of color loss, even a slight fade, step back and examine the origin. It’s a warning: The color of joy, hope, is fading from your soul, reducing your life force. Recognize and say no to people, ideas, fears that cause your positive colors to bleed light and your dark colors to deepen.

It’s not easy.

This year proved to me it’s tougher that I would have ever believed.

As I look to the past, now in the present, I observe the shifting wave of blue spray. It’s right there. Ready to wash over me. Hope is returning. The shade is different however; I’ll need to examine why as I move forward down the blue road.  Once I recall hope as Azure; today it feels more Brandeis.

2).  Surround Yourself with Spirits Who Share or Enhance your Color. Now that the spray is in my grasp, how do I contain it, bold it up? Move the spectrum to blue, or dark blue? I’m learning to surround myself with blue spirits. I’ve gotten so good I can see a blue glow around the right teachers. The blue spirits come in all forms – human, animal. Young, old. They’re awash in the spray.

I can pick up on the color of a prospective teacher in a few seconds. The “fade shaders” as I call them, or the color absorbers are immediately discarded. They are removed from my mental space. Their sprays are lethal and tough to lighten once they hit you. 

3). I Feel the Blue in Those Who Eliminate Big Debts. Recently, I met with a son of a client who just paid off $30,000 in credit card bills through a strategy we worked on together. When he told me he was released from the massive debt, I could feel his blue spray return. And it felt good. It enhanced my blue. The progress which allowed him to reach a financial life benchmark changed his world for the better. He was more hopeful, powerful. A bluer world for me too.

4). Blue Signifies Cool. Cool can cleanse, preserve, enlighten, awaken. It’s that first exhale of fall when the air is cool and your breath is warm. Deep breathing allows blue spray to wash over you.

5). Batman’s Cape was Blue.  As a kid I would run around the house with a blue towel safety-pinned around my neck. Blue was the color of hope and strength. It represented helping those who needed it the most.

Naturally, I ran into shit like a dumbass and once knocked our 12 inch black & white television off a poorly constructed aluminum stand. Helping those without asking for anything in return will deepen your blue spray, embolden consistency.

Blue is indeed honorable.

Good friends are Cobalt.

Your teachers, your mentors are Sapphire.

Your spirit once black, is ready to burst Electric Indigo.

In a colorless world.

Allow your blue to emerge.

And anticipate the orange.

Of your ever-emerging life force.