The Beauty of Colour

Sometimes I travel a long distance to learn what was always there speaking to me out of the world. In this case, it’s a trip to England, and flowers and ferns in my hotel garden and a sudden “aha!” about colour. To set the scene, let’s step out of the summerhouse and onto the grass, and let’s bend down…


Flowers talking to my body in a language of colour. My body speaking back in a language of aha!. It’s not that the flowers and my body are talking, but, well, what else am I doing here, right now, and what are you doing here, right now? We’re all in the blue.

And what do I discover one stop down the tram line? That blown glass does the same glorious thing. Here you can see it hard at work at a gallery in Sale, England, with the sewer backing up into the loo. (I think that little bit too much olfactory information puts the photograph nicely into context.)Hanging Flower Vases in a Sale Gallery Window

This glass is speaking the language of flowers. Our bodies hear. We listen.

What colours bring to the world is, well, you know, colour. Without that, the place would be, you know, um, dark. We would be living in spiritual shadows. Oh, wait…

The Next Stop Down the Tram Line, Stetford

It’s all a reminder that this is a spiritual place, that I am a spiritual creature in this place, and that every bit of it, from the dandelions to the protective grief and abandonment of this back door to a hair salon on School Street is a spiritual event.

What we do is everything. We touch eternity, even here, in these electronic cages. The work of relearning the language for that form of spiritual practice is the core of Okanagan Okanogan. The valley is the world. The world is the valley.

I might be taking a four day weekend now, as I transition from England to Germany and Switzerland. Until then…


The little apples are still growing on Eve’s tree. Cheshire.

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