Tradesman’s entrance

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Tradesmen (9) by John Johnson in the ownership of the Bodleian

There are times when all one craves is a supercilious footman to peer down his nose and instruct the person at the door “Tradesmen round the back”.

As the country braces itself to rise in full height to dignify higher ideals of the #special relationship, it is possible to lose focus on its transitory players. Thus, we reflect on the curious mirroring of throwing toys from the pram which the peoples are doing inspired by the jejune reactions of their elected [and candidate] leaders.

The United Kingdom is not alone being in turmoil. Turns out it appears to be a function of the Millenium. If we look at neighbours near and far, none seems immune from expressing national displeasure. Seems that in leaving the Twentieth century behind, an appetite developed for refreshed engagement between rulers and ruled: the peasants have revolted and contrary to 1381’s precedent, are unlikely to re-submit to serfdom.

All of us are at the service of something beyond us in one way or another, whether the demons who drive gamblers, the merchants who drive trade, the oligarchs who swell their coffers, the families we wish to cherish and protect. What seems to have shifted and opened a space for dialogue is the acceptance that absolute power is an indication of the absolute corrupt-ness of its holder. And with that acceptance, it is discounted.

With the #Resident’s arrival through the Palace’s gilded front door° moments before the seventy fifth anniversary of D-Day’s Normandy beaches landings, perhaps there’s a chance to take a breath, listen to echos of the sacrifice others have made on our behalf and extend empathy for all those trapped in cycles of hellish atrophy.

© Akron Museum                                                     Put’s things in perspective

° Just learnt the #Residential party will land in the Palace back garden.

The Jung Ones

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© Ben Elton?                                       Neil, Rik, Vyvyan & Mike in younger days

Could Jung’s proposition of archetypes – that psyche is a composition of three elements namely the ego, personal unconscious and collective unconscious – influencing our behaviour explain the synchronicity of trans-polar neighbours.

In one of the twelve pearls that are the episodes of The Young Ones, the phrase negative reality inversion is uttered by the hapless Neil upon emerging along with clones from a muck-heap.

Ras and the #Resident could be a tribute band instead of the democratically elected leaders of the OyesUR & USA.

The seeming reflected image over the polar ice-cap of two slight and trivial individuals who appear willing to heap responsibility for their own actions to the shoulders of collective consciousness is dazzling. Along with an election-boosted ego and personal unconscious, Ras will be in power til 2024 which coincides with the #Resident’s planned departure from the term of office for which campaigning as already begun.

Never mind the precedence it sets, load your rowlocks for a fast getaway otherwise heavy, heavy, heavy: it’s gonna be the negative reality of an invasion.

 

In-credible: fear & credulity

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say_gullible_slowly

Image: Eric Johnson

Trump. The whole story in a word.

What was expected? It appears what is being done was expressly planned and announced: well in advance. There seemed no lack of credence at the time. Perhaps we didn’t Listen to what was heard?

Cambodians didn’t deserved Pol Pot, Rumanians Ceaușescu, Ukrainians Stalin. So it can’t be right to suggest we deserve the politicians we get; other than in fully paid up members of Democracies, naturally.

Listening and hearing are similar but not akin. To Listen, attention must be paid: to the words used, the manner of expression, the way the body is held, the breathing that ventilates the ideas, the light in the eye, the kindness – or otherwise – in the demeanor.

The hard work of Listening yields surprising dividends that justify honing skills on a daily basis. Even so:  #ResidentTrump evidently spoke to something in us. To the fear in us, perhaps?