{"id":46097,"date":"2025-09-21T11:44:46","date_gmt":"2025-09-21T15:44:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/?p=46097"},"modified":"2026-02-27T19:50:26","modified_gmt":"2026-02-28T00:50:26","slug":"the-possibilities-of-yellow-and-musical-impossibilities","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/the-possibilities-of-yellow-and-musical-impossibilities\/","title":{"rendered":"The Possibilities of Yellow and Musical Impossibilities"},"content":{"rendered":"
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21<\/h1>\n

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September 2025<\/h5>\n

Color Yellow
Music
Metaphor
Soul Vibration and Great Art
Cellular Memory<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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The Possibilities of Yellow and Musical Impossibilities<\/h1>

by Rachelle Rogers<\/a><\/span><\/p><\/div><\/div>\n\n

Decades ago I entered a competition in which I had to write a 150 word description of myself as if I were the protagonist in a novel. I was one of the winners. Here's what it said:<\/o:p><\/p>\n

She saw herself as the heroine of her own literary affairs du coeurs. She'd had three husbands, an inter-dimensional relationship with a famous Russian, a liaison with a younger lover doing time in a federal penitentiary. Her most recent passion was with a man who'd left due to fear of his own magnificence. Drama spilled into poetry, stories, novels. It was her identity, her inspiration. She wore mostly black. Soon, however, she became too wise for sorry stories. Angst loosened its narrative grip. She stopped coloring her hair, let it wind free in wild silver curls. She smiled a lot. For the first time, she experimented with the possibilities of yellow. But then, sitting in front of the keyboard on an almost spring morning, chickadees trilling in the bare branches of a sycamore, she wondered what in the world she could write about now that she was happy.<\/o:p><\/em><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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\"LUMINATIONS;<\/span><\/div>\n\n

John William Godward Girl in Yellow Drapery<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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The real me, who <\/span>did<\/em> actually wear mostly black, went on to experiment with the possibilities of yellow, beginning with a long skirt that I took to my yearly writers workshop and retreat. I don\u2019t think I had ever worn yellow before in my whole life. I did, however, have to surround it with black.<\/o:p><\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

After that, I didn\u2019t think about yellow again until a couple of months ago when I had a surprising yen for it. I couldn\u2019t tell you exactly why, but it had something to do with yellow as a metaphor for stretching the boundaries of my old comfort zones, for exploring new experiences in this seasoned phase of life. I had been searching for a chair that would directly face my TV so I could watch a film without having to view it sideways lying on the couch. I also wanted one wide enough for me to sit cross-legged, even if only for a few minutes at a time these days. Eventually, I came across the oversized chair I was looking for in a beautiful deep yellow. It was perfect.<\/o:p><\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Soon afterwards, I found I craved a new yellow tea cup and found one with a strainer for steeping loose tea, and an elegant round shape that fit perfectly in my hand. It makes me happy every time I drink from it.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

And during this time, I found I craved something else I had never thought about before \u2014 a steel tongue drum. While watching a few podcasts on YouTube, I had seen the tons of advertisements for Panda drum. It has a mesmerizing, meditative 432 Hz resonance that is said to be a healing frequency. I first bought a red Panda Plus, but after enjoying it for a few weeks, I found I needed more notes. I treated myself to a full size Pando Pro. Exploring it\u2019s possibilities has become part of my daily meditation. And since my niece had admired the beautiful sound of the red drum, I surprised her with it for her birthday. <\/o:p><\/span><\/em><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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\"LUMINATIONS;<\/span><\/div>\n\n

My Yellow Skirt<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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Yellow Tea Cup<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n

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Panda Pro<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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\"LUMINATIONS;<\/span><\/div>\n\n

Yellow Oversized chair<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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I thought about my connections with yellow. There was the RA \u2014 often representative of the Egyptian Sun God \u2014 at the beginning of my name. Even though the sun is more often thought of as a masculine energy, there are many ancient mythologies where the sun was worshipped as a goddess. In Northern European, Celtic, Inuit, and Japanese traditions, the sun is a female deity. There are many today who also recognize the sun as goddess with the feminine attributes of life, warmth, nurturing, and creation. Over the years, several of my friends have called me Ra, something I rather enjoyed.<\/p>\n

But my most significant connection to yellow comes from one of my beloved non-physical teachers who told me a long time ago that I was vibrationally of the Yellow Band. She also referred to this as the Michelangelo Band and the Romantic Band, as in the romanticism of 19th century art. The Yellow\/Gold band, she explained, was responsible for much of what, over the centuries, has been known on this planet as \u201cgreat art.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even though this is a major aspect of my Soul, I did not choose to express on canvas or \u201con stage\u201d in this lifetime. I did, however, retain cellular memory of what it feels like to have a faerie body that can lift into a perfect grand j\u00e8t\u00e9, or a voice that can vibrate a heart-rending aria, or exquisite hands that can slide an impossible rhapsody across a keyboard. The body I chose in this life had no such gifts. But because that kind of artistry is a major aspect of my Soul, on several occasions in this life, I have \u201crecognized\u201d others \u201con stage\u201d with whom I have a soul connection. (see The Soul, Other Lives, and Interdimensionality: A Perspective<\/em><\/a>)<\/p>\n

This larger association with \u201cgreat art\u201d has sometimes caused me frustration on many levels and in many arenas. But it has also inspired me to explore some of these soul attributes even with my physical limitations, music being one of them.<\/p>\n

Music nudged at me when I was about twelve or thirteen. My parents had broken down and bought me the piano I'd begged for, and I began taking lessons with Mrs. Stein. As I wrote in my memoir, Rare Atmosphere: An Extraordinary Inter-dimensional Affair of the Heart<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

\u2026Mrs. Stein, pronounced Shtein, my teacher, was a somber, unreasonable Jewish-German \u00e9migr\u00e9. Once a week, she came to our southeast Bronx apartment, assignments in hand, disapproving look across her stern brow. <\/em><\/p>\n

In Junior High School at thirteen, my fashion idol was beautiful, air-brained Tina Ferrano, who I let cheat off me on tests, Tina Farrano, who all the boys went gaga over. Following her example, I shadowed my lids with iridescent blue, lined them in kohl black liner that slanted upward at the outer corners, applied three coats of mascara, maybe four on piano lesson days. It drove Mrs. Shtein crazy. She insisted I remove \"those horrible bleck eyes\" before I sat down at the keyboard. \"You hev too much make-up,\" she would tell me, as if it were any of her B I business. On and off for two years, she'd made me practice scales and boring songs from the Thompson Modern Piano series. I hated scales. I hated baby practice pieces. I was not good at either...<\/em><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t remember how long I continued before I lost interest in the piano and my lessons were scheduled farther and farther apart until they were cancelled completely. It wasn\u2019t until decades later that another piano would come into my life.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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At forty-six, a year after I'd moved to Asheville, I met a friend of a friend who tuned and restored pianos. I'd loved and enjoyed listening to classical music all my life, but now I again wanted a piano of my own, was again drawn to become a participant, at whatever level, in another art form that played in my soul, one that moved me deeply.<\/p>\n

I convinced this friend to store a piano at the house in which I then lived. It was a beautiful but partially sick white baby grand he lacked room for at his workshop. It had been in a flood, and although it was tuned, the sustain pedal didn't work correctly above middle C. No matter. I had it for several months, practicing, in private only, every day\u2014Classics for Adult Beginners (Chopin transposed into G, Brahms into F); easy versions of Strauss waltzes, Joplin rags, Andrew Lloyd Webber, anything I could handle with only elementary lessons as a teenager.<\/p>\n

But then something miraculous happened. I actually composed two short pieces of my own.<\/p>\n

I had no idea where they came from. I \u201creceived\u201d a small section at a time that I \u201cplayed with,\u201d until I could remember it enough to move on to the next section. I couldn\u2019t write anything down. I could not write music. I wound up playing the pieces over and over until I knew them well enough to record them on a cassette tape.<\/p>\n

Another couple of decades later, after I was able to buy my own Yamaha digital console piano, inspiration for a few more short pieces \u201chappened.\u201d I mostly practiced them over and over so I wouldn\u2019t forget them. And, since I did not come equipped with \u201cpiano hands or brain,\u201d I was almost never able to play a piece through without messing up\u2026except for one amazing time.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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It was at the annual writers workshop and retreat I attended at Wildacres Retreat in the summer of 2005. Since, at that time, I did not have a piano of my own, I would often quietly go down to the empty auditorium in the evening to practice the two little pieces I\u2019d composed. On the small stage was an old Steinway Grand with the perfect \u201ctouch\u201d for me. It was almost always in need of a tuning from the summer humidity and lack of air conditioning, but I loved playing it.<\/p>\n

Late one evening I was practicing when I heard some people walking on the path outside the windows. Engrossed in my music, I did not hear them very quietly sneak inside the dimly lit auditorium. I seemed to be having a good practice, not yet messing up, and my full concentration was on continuing through the piece. Miracle of miracles, I played the whole thing through with heart, and without even one error. When I finished, I looked out across the stage and saw five of my friends in the audience standing and applauding. Tears filling my eyes, I got up, walked toward them, and took an exaggerated bow. I felt surreal, like I was wavering between dimensions, aware of both some long ago recognition, as well as the incredible wave of love I felt in that present moment.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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Photo by Ashley<\/a> on Unsplash<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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During these last couple of months, and after a long hiatus, I started practicing a little at the piano. I found some old sheets of music that I had photocopied at the library ages ago, something I did often in the days before computers. Feeling brave, I set The Beautiful Blue Danube<\/em> by Johann Strauss on the music holder. Although a fairly easy level IV version, it is six pages long, which I\u2019d taped together to open like three left and right pages in a music book. Trying to coordinate my fingers and my brain, In a moment of frustration I figured out that I\u2019d been practicing this piece for over twenty-eight years and still can\u2019t play it through.<\/p>\n

It also occurred to me that I had no record of any of the little pieces I\u2019d composed. That one very old cassette tape on which I\u2019d recorded those initial two compositions was long gone. Plus, my hands are older now, stiffer now, and in truth, I find the feel of playing on a digital piano difficult, so different from the smooth action of a fine acoustic instrument.<\/p>\n

I decided to make it a priority to figure out how best to record my few musical miracles. My Yamaha was pretty old and my computers pretty new so it was virtually impossible to easily connect with midi cables. Plus, I live in an apartment and only play with headphones on, so I cannot record directly while I play. Besides, it might take forever to get a mistake free version. What I decided to do was practice then record each piece, one at a time, into the piano. Then as each piece was completed, I would make a recording off of the piano\u2019s playback without using the headphones.<\/p>\n

In the end, I have so far only been able to get two pieces recorded, which, after much deliberation, I decided to share here on the blog. Each was duplicated directly from the piano with a different app and device. Neither is very good, but I will continue working on recording the few other pieces so I can have a record of them.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

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Two Short Pieces<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n

I think this first piece was the second one I created decades ago. Years later, I added words to it, and, after I got my Yamaha, I added the Choir enhancement to the last section. I don\u2019t know that I actually named the music, but the poetic words are called The<\/i> Eyes of Love<\/i>. Not a good recording, but here goes. And, although I don't know of any way a digital console piano can be \"tuned,\" I do think my keyboard sounds \"off.\"<\/o:p><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n