You walked by
Did you see me
Image: From my camera
A second womb
Given birth to flight
Now barren and abandoned
Image: From my camera
Felt like some “arty” playing around. Perhaps there should have been another image of him standing in front of the vase. :-)
Images: created by me
One of the great joys I experience living in London is the aesthetic spirit of the city. Little scenes of beauty greet your eyes wherever you go. Londoners are extremely proud of their city. Here’s a pub I photographed with my phone.
But it goes further than this. The British spirit is infused with an appreciation of beauty, especially in nature. Numerous scholars link this wonderful cultural disposition to the spirit of the great nature poets, William Wordsworth, Emily Dickinson, John Keats, Samuel Taylor Coleridge and many more. What a legacy they have left, and to be able to share in this, is such a gift and privilege.
Images: Taken with my mobile phone
Yesterday I was reading an interesting fact about what is called “bystander intervention.” Certain experiments were conducted by social psychologists John Darley and Bibb Latane in which they set up situations that seemed like emergencies, e.g. someone fainting in the subway etc.
They observed something quite interesting. The likelihood of someone offering help to the “victim” depended on the presence of others in the particular context. If people thought they were the only ones witnessing the incident, they usually extended their help. If there was another person around, they were less likely to help, and if there were lots of people around it was unlikely they would offer any help at all.
It really got me thinking. Does a collective perception make us lose our sense of individual responsibility towards one another, or does it enhance it? Do we have to have a sense of the individual to awaken a sense of individual responsibility? Can we take collective responsibility for something without a sense of individuality? Still pondering on all this.
Image – courtesy Pixabay
Have you noticed how that little word, “hate” is so easily cast about nowadays. I hate this, or I hate that, or I hate him or her and so it goes, a bit like opening the tap full on to fill a glass of water unaware of the power that can knock the glass right out of your hand.
Wasn’t there a time when the sheer efficacy of the word was respected? You thought twice, no, ten times, before you uttered it. I think there was. The tragedy for me is, if we’ve done this with the word Hate, what have we done with the word, Love?
No doubt, when words like “love” and “hate” are tossed about like confetti, superficiality stands back and smiles.
Image – Courtesy Pixabay
O’ hell, I’ve just found out that the little town of Maycomb in which Harper Lee’s novel “Go Set A Watchman” is set, is fictitious. I was told politely that I could look for it on the map until the proverbial cows came home and not find it. It just doesn’t exist. Dammit! So beautifully described by her and simply not real. I’m afraid that’s the literal side of me talking which I know causes me a lot of problems at times. But, never fear, redemption has come in the form of Monroeville, which does exist, and can be found on a map. Its the little town in Alabama in which Harper Lee was born and raised and used by her to model her Maycomb on. I feel much better.
Here’s a small part of the description of Maycomb which I find so captivating and down to earth.
“What saved it from becoming another grubby little Alabama community was that Maycomb’s proportion of professional people ran high: one went to Maycomb to have his teeth pulled, his wagon fixed, his heart listened to, his money deposited, his mules vetted, his soul saved, his mortgage extended.”
Thoroughly enjoying the book.
Image – from my mobile.