Between Black, White, and Blue: Seeing the Colors of Death

During my days in Chiang Rai, I visited three temples with vastly different styles—the White Temple, the Black Temple, and the Blue Temple. At first, I approached them with the eyes of a tourist, curious about these artistic sanctuaries so distinct from traditional Buddhist temples. But unexpectedly, they became mirrors reflecting my unspoken longing, unresolved pain, and a profound dialogue with death. White: Is it pure redemption or silent pain? The White Temple is an almost surreal existence. Its snow-white structure is covered with glass fragments that shimmer in the sunlight, dazzling like the gates of heaven. Yet, upon closer inspection, the intricate carvings reveal hands reaching out for help, faces twisted in agony, and fallen souls. It’s not just an allegory of hell but a plea: "Do you remember me? Can you forgive me?" Standing on the bridge, looking at the boundary between hell and heaven, I suddenly thought of those who have left me, those moments when goodbyes were left unsaid. I always believed time would wash everything away, but I never realized it only buries the wounds deeper. I used to think that if I walked fast enough, sorrow couldn’t catch up to me. But the White Temple reminded me: true redemption is not about escape but confrontation. Black: Is it the shadow of death or the echo of memory? The Black Temple is not a temple but feels like an artistic experiment on death. Every exhibit whispers from another world—animal bones, bizarre artifacts, and nightmarish structures in dark spaces evoke an indescribable fear and oppression. Yet amidst the darkness, I unexpectedly felt a sense of peace. Perhaps it’s because the black here is no longer a symbol of terror but a space that allows sorrow to exist. Death is not the end but a part of humanity. I began to understand that our fear of death stems from our unwillingness to let go of regret. The Black Temple is not beautiful, but it is truthful. It seems to remind me: "Death is not a denial of life but a profound question within it." Blue: Is it the resting place of the soul or the gentle light of farewell? Finally, I arrived at the Blue Temple, a shade of blue that exists between dreams and reality. This blue is not cold but tranquil; not sorrowful but forgiving. A resplendent golden Buddha sits at the center of a blue universe, as if saying to me: "It’s okay. You can let go now." In the Blue Temple, for the first time, I didn’t cry. I just stood quietly, looking at the cycles of life painted on the ceiling, watching the light seep through the door cracks, as if someone gently patted my shoulder. In that moment, I no longer resisted the idea of death. I no longer saw it as the universe’s punishment but as a form of reassembly. I miss my loved ones, but I no longer see sorrow as the only way to remember them. I can finally say: "I miss you. I miss you so much." Death has no color, but emotions do. In Chiang Rai, I saw three colors: white, the purity of pain; black, the honesty of shadows; and blue, the gentleness of forgiveness. They are not about religion but about the human heart. I will still fear loss, but I no longer avoid the presence of death. Because I know that every farewell brings me closer to the depths of my soul. Death has no answers, but this journey taught me how to coexist with it. It also taught me that sorrow doesn’t need to be healed; it only needs to be understood.