I have spent a year actively trying to be Grey. Trying to avoid the polarised extremes of existence: All or Nothing, High or Low, On or Off, One or Other, Black or White.
The space between those poles must be vast. Like tangents on a curve, an almost infinite entirety of mediations; a plain of moderation, a mist of understandning, a lifting dew of balance, all across ever so slight variational shades of Grey.
Yet, that supposedly vast space seems profoundly hard to find. Rather than an endless landscape, it appears to be hiding somewhere in that flickering buzzing moment when slowly turning a lightswitch. Ungraspable. Or, as if trying to force a computer down a non-binary alley to explore the worlds lurking between zero and one.
In short moments of entering the glorious and peaceful Grey mist, gracefully lifting and clearing the view with the weightless dew, I have instantly found myself falling, tumbling round, lost in a rather heavy fog. Then, with the strong gravitational force of the poles, been pulled back to either side, outside the Grey.
Something is turning Blue. Is it the yearning for Grey? Or the realisation that Grey is so difficult? Or is Grey itself Blue? Is Mediation actually Melancholy? My world of Grey is out of reach. All I see is Blue.
Perhaps Grey is indeed an unattainable field, in terms of pinpointing any fixed space-time positions. Perhaps Grey is in constant motion; a wave pendulum, an oscillating blur between polarised opposites.
Entering such a vibrational space would perhaps be an act of humbling, of not understanding, and of letting go.
Form&Fika 