Strands of hair flowing atop heads. Silky brown hair, black dancing hair, curly riotous spirals of blond, flaming red locks. Our hair cropped close against our faces. Our hair growing long, plummeting toward earth. Our hair coiffed up, braided like sweet grass, clasped and caught behind the neck’s curve. Joy atop our head.
Our hair. Our crowning glory. Our challenge. Our biggest nightmare. A mother’s hiss: “Do something about your hair!” Our despair. Our bad hair days. Our bad hair years. Our bad hair life.
Hair lying outswept against our pillow. Hair blowing in the wind of life. Lockets clipped; treasured in baby books. Hair patted and colored; hair brushed and combed.
After despairing of my wild hair once, a young lass insisted, “But curls are consciousness!”
This morning I met a newly bleached friend and commented on her blond hair. “Just covering the awful gray,” she sighed. I sighed back, “Yep, my awful gray is just in plain sight to the world….” and off we drove with our respective heads of hair.
But wait! Awful gray? Awful gray? What were we saying?
Gray IS consciousness, ladies and gentlemen! Gray is the hair’s journey toward wisdom. We start with color, hues of individuality, a rainbow of potential. Through our chakras we rise toward union with Spirit. At the top of our head, ’round the crown chakra, the color white halos, the color silver spirals to the white clouds.
Gray is hair’s movement toward white, toward the divine. My grandmother’s hair turned precious white as she aged. Our gray reflects turning toward the sacred. White contains all the colors, a pool of every hair ever dreamed by the Universe.
Gently, gently, stroke open fingers through your hair. If white strands catch in your soft combing, feel your heart swell in joy. If hair disappears, look how close you are…nothing separates you now from the divine.
It’s getting closer everyday.
Hair knows. It’s always known. Admire its seasons. May I brush yours?