Red is a root color, a fundamental of life. Red is the color of the first chakra. It is known to increase metabolism, our heart rate, and respiration. The first color of the rainbow, and the last to be lost to the sunset. Red is the color of heat, the flag of anger, aggression and war. It is the color of first alert, and danger. Primary, indivisible, and core.
As a pigment, it is a heavy metal, and when mixed with others becomes dense and begins to slip into Black.
But as light, when blended with other colors it is elevated into White.
Red is also the color of the Lover’s Blush.
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When we were living in Guantanamo in 1960 the rocky beaches were irresistible. The combination of the blue Caribbean waters, the white sand, and the brilliant sun teased us into eternity. It was only natural that my teenaged sister would become a bronzed beauty, a flower among the baking black boulders of Cuba’s southern coast, passing the hours there between the tide pools, the sand and cabanas.
Out of the sun, beneath a rocky ledge, the black rocks were warming after a swim. On another perfect afternoon, she had been enjoying the waves washing in at low tide. Sea urchins and anemones were colorful and plentiful, and an occasional fish flitted and splashed through mirror-like pools. Iguanas black as the stones swam in the surf and sea gulls sang out above as the tide turned and the water began to rise.
Dangling her legs in the waves, the bubbles of the surf added sparkle to the water as it washed in. But as the rising waves began to reach higher in there was no more waiting; the sun was sinking —she would have to be going.
As she stood up to leave, something was different. Something about her leg, on her leg, from her thigh down past her toes.
Wrapped about her leg in that warm water was something vague and shiny, the precise color and texture of her suntanned leg– an octopus, enjoying the comfort and warmth of the bronzed limb that had wandered in. An octopus is highly intelligent. I’m sure her limb was quite a novelty, and a great puzzlement.
At first time for her stood still. And then she screamed.
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The Octopus is an amazing creature, with astounding abilities that awe us on first witnessing them. They are astute problem solvers, masters of disguise, possessing the ability to recognize faces, and even seem to have a playful sense of humor. They may squirt ink as a subterfuge or detach a limb at will to serve as a distraction to a predator, only to regenerate it again. An octopus can pass through very narrow spaces, at a mere fraction of its size.
The octopus moves like the water itself, tied to the psyche, the moon, the feminine aspect of yin energy, intimately connected to water’s realm and symbolism.
A complex guide, and a fount of lessons and teachings, octopus has many gifts to offer. It has been a treasured teacher to me throughout my life.
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At first the octopus began to slink away. The warmth he had been enjoying before was suddenly replaced by a chill.
One tentacle slowly rolled up, backward, falling away.
But then it was a full scale retreat, like the waves sweeping out to sea, away from that scream. All suckers and snakes, he slipped down deeper, darker, and farther away.
And as he slid away he turned Red.
A deep, dark, embarrassed Red.
A searing, painful, bloodied Red.
A true Red, that for the first time seemed out of place, that soon would disappear into everything, like the salt on the breeze, slipping away like the sand.
A wounded heart, whose armor had betrayed it, melting away into the unseen, and unsure what to become next.
That melded with the tides of memory, where beams of insight sweep dark corners of flooded floors, rising into light.
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Words and imagery copyright 2016 Harry D. Hudson. Octopus image copyright The San Francisco Aquarium
