The Red, Green and Blue.

What? We are still red-blooded. We are still true-blue. Yes?

I know: Uh-oh,
White is gone.

The worst fears realized. The loss of El Dorado, the falling of the citadel, the dipping of the flag itself, into stank and filth and corruption. Manhood gone.

The strike of colors; amazing phrase, that, as if Hue itself is blotted out, because...

White is gone.

White, good-night.
White, no longer bright.
White, out of sight.
White, in flight.

White, no longer Most Right.
Not even All Right!

Because:

White feels slight.

WHY?

Because maybe, just maybe, we are about to to become The Great Turning, away from favorite colors based on race. Our yearning for Group and Community might just include something like Green.

As in leaves. Broccoli. Money. Monet. All the great greens.

Like comfort with others based on a shared sustainable compassion for our earthiness.

WHY NOT?

I'll tell you why not. It is like humans must throw these slo-mo temper tantrums, lasting millennia. This one? Our favorite color. Our favorite fucking color?

Excuuse me? Are we in the seventh grade?

You know why no one dances in the 7th grade? Besides dork? It's because no one will dance unless there is this magic number where we become invisible. It does not have to be everyone. But almost.

And no one dances first.

Are we still little noonies who can't get their arms to relax? who have to win, be snotty and win, or else they will just die?

Can we stop playing compulsory dodgeball?

We dance around this, all the underlying tendons, tension, and tendencies. MY people are White/Black/Brown/Tan/Red/Yellow, YOUR people are Wrong Color. And all of us Blue.

So...so what? if the flag changes. So what? if our new favorite color becomes the Green we Share, not the Share we Preen?

How cool would this be? To have our Main Colors not just change but in a weird way, grow. A Green grow. Like the earth we finally change sides to.  

A fan of Life? Can't get your fill of chlorophyl? Are you a fellow admirer of lush, fertile, fecundity, of seasons of tendril'd abundance? Do you promenade in green? Tell me, who you love? tell me! who you love!

Not that twittery tell me, that fast-clatter tell me that tells me nothing, that keeps us in slo-mo, stuck in flashcard raciality, in isolation that misses utterly. Where all we see is color, and it drains the face of life itself.

We need the long hey, so the I-know-YOU emerges. Not see past race. See FACE. I see YOU here.

Even at our best race allows only the yearning We might glimpse some perfect Other on the J train -- at midnight, groceries ina puddled bag at our sore feet -- and in whose movement and expression we must melt, sort-of crush on, then never see again.

Let us instead be lovers, let us be the rolling into each other on the beach, both of us warm, oiled and sandy, each with our own book; and we both see, together, a girl nearby, who brings her mother some cradled sand; and we say nothing but smile at the sweetness of it and lean into each other and press our lips together, to confirm what we both already know: each other's hearts.

Add green, tropical green. Verdant, virtuous, green, behind us, framing our beach cabin. Green absinthe verite in a minted glass, delivered by a grinning cabana boy, with fresh ice, before I even ask.

Sigh. If only.

...hey. Or at least shake hands. Do business. Love all this blessed Green.

Meanwhile, White will be all right. Just another color, like all other colors: sometimes Clear of stain but never un-stainable. None of us are jus' naturally clean. None of us are spared from dirt. Soiled on a green rocky road.

And then: Clearness can be next to Godliness.

Clarity, over Cleanliness. I like that.

The gardeners, we are. Slide over, o mighty Deities, if you can, and make a seat for a green rush of Clarity.