Black!

White is a paradox. White, as we consider it the color of peace, seems calm, pure, whole, but it is not. It holds everything, every color, every shade, each fighting to exist within its brilliance. White is a collision, a restless state where joy clashes with sorrow, anger with love, and fear with pride. It is chaos concealed beneath brightness, a symphony of emotions that never stops.

Black is different. Black does not carry the burden of everything. It is not a presence of colors, but their absence. It does not seek to shine or demand to be seen. It simply is. Quiet, infinite, and still. Where white is movement, black is rest. Where white is a scream, black is silence.

Maybe, then, black is closer to the truth. Maybe God is Black. Not a being or a figure, but a state: an eternal, unshaken equilibrium. Something without beginning, without end, without the clutter of emotion or the noise of meaning. Black is not emptiness; it is balance. It is the state where everything starts to make sense, precisely because it shows us the meaninglessness of everything.

Consider this: if every color is a fragment of life—joy in yellow, anger in red, peace in blue—then black is the absence of all fragments. It is the point where life itself dissolves into quiet. Think of the ECG machine tracing the rhythm of existence. The ups and downs of the line are life, chaotic and full of feeling. But when the line flattens, it is black. Not a void, but neutrality. Not an end, but a return to balance. A state where nothing pulls, nothing breaks, and nothing disturbs.

If we imagine ourselves as canvases, each painted with a single color. Each of us, in this way, becomes a reflection of our color. When white light, life itself, falls upon us, we reflect our nature back into the world. Red erupts, blue soothes, yellow shines, green envies, yellow being a happy soul. Every color, every emotion, bounces back as an echo of what lies within.

But then there is black.

The black canvas does not reflect. It does not bounce emotions back into the world. Instead, it absorbs. It takes in the light, the chaos, the emotions, and holds them within itself. It does not reject or react; it simply accepts. To be Black is to let life pass through without distortion, without adding to its noise. It is a state of profound stillness, an equilibrium untouched by anger or joy, fear or pride.

The black canvas remains calm, balanced, and at peace. It does not flare up with red’s rage or tremble with blue’s melancholy. It does not seek to shine like yellow or blend like green. It just exists, quietly taking in everything as it is. No emotion affects it; no moment defines it. Black is the color of neutrality, of calm, of the ultimate stillness that lies beyond the chaos of reaction.

This is not emptiness. It is fullness. The black canvas holds everything, absorbs everything, yet remains undisturbed. It does not carry the burden of reflection, of having to respond to the world. It simply exists in its pure state of balance, untouched by the clamor of life.

Perhaps this is what it means to find peace. It doesn't mean to avoid emotions, but to be in a state where we're no longer ruled by them. To let them pass through like light falling on black, with no traces left behind. To be Black is to be free of the need to react, to reflect, to hold onto anything. It is to absorb the world as it is, without judgment, without resistance.

We have feared Black for too long. We have called it darkness, loss, even death. But perhaps we fear it because we do not understand it. Black does not take; it gives. It offers rest, stillness, peace. It does not carry the weight of light, of motion, of chaos. It is not an absence of life, but life stripped of noise, life in its most honest and quiet form.

Black is like sleep. In sleep, we let go. We drift into a state where we are no longer ruled by joy or sorrow, anger, or pride. In sleep, we are at peace. Black is like death, too. Not the feared ending, but the ultimate stillness where the struggles of life fade away. From the moment we came into existence, we have spent more time in the state of black than in this fleeting, colored existence. Before we were born, there was black. After we are gone, there will be black again.

And maybe this state—this black—is what we call God; maybe that's why Shiva is said to be black. Not a figure watching over us, not a force shaping our lives, but the stillness that exists beyond them. A state of perfect balance, where everything and nothing coexist. A vacuum, a void, a zero, not empty but full of meaning, "the quiet meaning of meaninglessness.". In black, there are no questions, no desires, no conflicts: only peace.

White blinds us with its brilliance, with its constant demand to exist, to feel, to struggle. Black asks for nothing. It simply waits, patient and eternal. Perhaps that is why it is feared! Black shows us what lies beyond the chaos we cling to. It's not about the presence; it has never been, but instead it's the absence without being bothered by the absence.

Black is not the end, because black doesn't have any beginning. It is where we begin and where we return. And in that return, there is no fear, no longing, no need, only balance. 

Only calm. Only peace!