My sisters and I will on certain occasions repeat this phrase to each other: Indigo, Indigoing, Indigone. It's all because of a certain sensational author who lives in the northwest somewhere in or around Seattle. Probably a good thing I don't know exactly where because I might, in my wildest dreams, find myself ringing his doorbell and inviting myself in for a cocktail. It's probably not a unique thought, but a universal thought among women who read his novels. Based upon his writings, I imagine he gives great conversation (and there is no inuendo intended in this sentence, I'm sure). When things get tough, I remind myself to be a beet.
"At birth we are red-faced, round, intense, pure. The crimson fire of universal consciousness burns in us. Gradually, however, we are devoured by parents, gulped by schools, chewed up by peers, swallowed by social institutions, wolfed by bad habits, and gnawed by age; and by the time we have been digested, cow style, in those six stomachs, we emerge a single disgusting shade of brown.
The lesson of the beet, then, is this: hold on to your divine blush, your innate rosy magic, or end up brown. Once you're brown, you'll find that you're blue. As blue as indigo. And you know what that means:
~Tom Robbins (Jitterbug Perfume)