The Priestess and the color blue

Monologue: An Elderly African American Priestess on Her Porch

(The scene: A small porch, framed by a garden of vibrant flowers and winding ivy. The sun begins to dip, casting a golden light across the neighborhood. An elderly African American priestess, with silver hair and a wise, calm demeanor, sits in a rocking chair. She slowly rocks back and forth as she gazes out at the horizon. Her voice is slow, deep, and filled with reverence as she speaks.)

Priestess:

Ah, blue... the color of the heavens, the color of my soul’s song. We’ve always been drawn to it, haven’t we? From the time we first looked up at the sky, we’ve known it in our bones. The Earth gave us this gift, a quiet, powerful gift, to remind us of the depth of who we are.

You see, child, blue is not just a color. It’s a sacred vibration that runs through us like a river. It’s the color of the ocean’s mysteries, of the vastness above, and the depth within. When I was a young girl, my grandmother would tell me stories about it. She’d say, “Don’t ever let the world tell you that blue is just a color. No. Blue is the keeper of truth, the protector of hearts, and the healer of the soul.”

Now, I reckon some folks might think blue is a thing of sadness. They see it and they think of loneliness or grief. But they don’t know the half of it. No, child. Blue is the color of restoration. The color of a mother’s love, gentle and enduring like the waves of the sea. The color of Yemaya, the mother of all waters, the one who holds us when we’ve lost our way. She wraps us in blue, like the ocean wraps the shore.

I wear it often, you know. It’s not just for beauty or fashion. It’s because it carries an ancient power. When I wear blue, I am connecting to the spirits that walked before me, those who wore the same color in their own rituals. Blue speaks the language of ancestors. It whispers the stories of our triumphs and our pain. It is a symbol of survival, of our power to heal and to grow, no matter the struggle.

You may not understand this now, but one day you will. You’ll see it in the night sky, in the rivers that snake through the land, and in the fabric you drape over your body. You’ll feel the pull, and you’ll know that it is more than just a hue. It’s a part of who we are. The blue that wraps around us reminds us that no matter how deep the darkness gets, we will always rise. We are the children of the sky, the ocean, and the spirit.

So, when you see the color blue, remember, child, it’s not just for the sea and the sky. It’s for the soul. It's a song that plays through the generations, a rhythm that connects us to the heavens and to the Earth below. And when your heart is heavy, wear it close, for blue will carry you through.

(The priestess looks down at her hands, gently tracing the lines of her palms, and smiles softly to herself.)

Poem: The Sacred Blue

Blue, the color of endless skies,

A ribbon of spirit that never dies.

A dance of water, a lover’s grace,

A whisper from the ocean’s face.

It calls to me, it beckons, still,

A quiet power, a healer’s will.

In blue, I find the strength to breathe,

In blue, I find the grace to grieve.

From ancient shores and skies above,

It cradles us with endless love.

Yemaya’s cloak, the sea’s own hue,

Blue, the color of what is true.

A silent prayer, a gentle song,

In blue, we know where we belong.

It holds our joy, it holds our pain,

It calls us home, again, again.

So let it wrap you, let it rise,

The sacred blue, the spirit’s prize.

A color born of sky and sea,

The hue of strength, the soul’s decree.