Saturday, May 17, 2014

May 17, 2014



May 17, 2014

Every morning, as soon as I get out of my bed, I go to my piano, which is always three feet away from my pillow where I lay my head.  I start to play “Vexations,” till my fingers start hurting and then I stop to have some breakfast.   I can only eat food that is white.   So that means white bread, egg whites, tofu, and a glass of milk. I find there is a purity in the color white. Also it is very easy for me to imagine ‘white’ in front of me.  When I think of other colors, I become focused on the deepness or how light that color is.  ‘White’ is just white, and I can mediate on that for hours.

I sleep in a white t-shirt and white cotton shorts.  My bed sheet is white as well.  I once attempted to wear a different color of bed clothing, but I find that in conflict with the white sheet.  What I notice is that once you make the commitment to the color white, you have to stay pure and the fact that you don’t mix white with any other colors is sort of spiritual bliss.  When I first started to do my own laundry, the first thing I learned was to separate the white from the colored fabrics.  The reason is you don’t want the white cloth to be colored by the other fabrics.  But beyond that, I found it soothing to be able to put all my white items in one washing machine, and once it is finished, I noticed that the whiteness is all even, it is like the whiteness bonds with all the clothing and makes it into one.  I have this image in my head, since I was just a little boy, playing outside by the laundry as it was drying and hanging on a wash line on a spring sunny day.  The whiteness of the fabric seemed to go so well with the weather, that I always felt that if you clean your white laundry and put it out to dry naturally in one’s yard, that it will have to mean we will have beautiful weather that day.



Not long ago, after playing Vexations on the piano, which by the way is totally white, except for the black keys, I decided to purchase items that were only white.   I went to the hardware store to buy glue, and once I got back, I emptied a small amount onto my hands and just found it marvelous how the texture feels in the palm of my hand. I like to let it dry on my skin, and then slowly peel off the glue, which I find relaxing.  I then prepare my meal for that day by making French toast, but only with white bread, milk, egg whites and white sugar.  The mixture of the texture of bread with all the other ingredients gave it a smoothness that was also pleasing to the senses.

As I got older, one of the things that really bother me is the sky.  I didn’t like the coloring or the structure of the clouds that occasionally passed on by.   Nighttime was totally out of the question, because I can’t stand dark colors in either clothing or in nature.  What I desire was to see the sky as pure white.  Neither did I like white puffy clouds, because I find the texture disturbing.  I want the sky to be flat and white.  No depth, no wrinkles, just pure whiteness that goes on forever.  I often wonder if death is white.  For instance, I have always heard that when one approaches death, they see a blinding light.  That I find disagreeable as well, because I like to think of death as being a space that is of course, pure white.



When the evening comes into my world, I usually find some music by Aldo Ciccolini on my turntable, and then to cover the dark outside world with my white curtains, blocking out everything that is hideous in my life.

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