#philosopher in the rain

[gearbroth]

who put all these owls in my house smh

[mysharona1987]

[thedarkacademiagraduate]

I walked past this building for years and years and saw it in decay and renovated and operating as a school again.

It was once a school for boys, a school for men and a school of men, artistic and educated and polyglots; urban philosophers.

Right across the street, there was this live club. " The Rodeo" it was called. Bands and tribute bands and school bands all played on its stage. And the youths and the fans would line up impatiently until the doors were opened. And the men, those philosophers were there. Moving in their natural habitat of unlimited capacity.

Sometimes we would take the underground together, I couldn't help staring in awe; they were real, breathing creatures. Sometimes they would share a smile, timidly. The night was out there waiting and we would indulge in its pleasures once the air would touch our faces again, timidly.

Part of the urban environment, the cobblestones which paved the city's culture, part of myself, part of who I am, part of who I am to be, indeed. Part of what I am to leave behind.

The boys. The men. The dreams.

[rainsnires]

that one breaking bad meme about mike that has him like "acab means everyone including me" except its me about philosophers bc a few years back i tried to decide if i should eat meat or not and accidentally deconstructed the concept of objective morality

[smute]

u ever read a book that makes u feel so stupid and inadequate and illiterate

[azumasoroshi]

watching savedatateam's playthrough of trials and tribulations and we just met godot and he's so funny

like. sir this is a wendy's

[bookschocolateandtea]

Harvest Moon, 20.09.2021

Above the clouds one of the most amazing Moons of the year. But down here thunderstorm, finally.

I think I'll remember this Harvest Moon: the luck turned around.

Reading Tolkien while it's raining and classical music inspired by the Glowing Lady is playing gently, knowing that my little black cat is back home once again, I wish this night would never end.

The sadness and all the agony that I feel just before the change of weather, all dissappear when I stand before the enormous clouds coming full of beauty and power.

I love a good melancholic night.

But mostly I love this crazy life that in the past year gave me the worst and best moments. Damn..I'm so in love that not even the image of a child running and playing and laughing and jumping and eating chocolate can describe how I feel.

I want to wear the burnt orange and brown of the leaves tomorrow. It is time.

[rainoverthemountains]

the persistence of childhood fantasy

It can be fascinating to revisit a place you once lived as a child.

When I was 7 years old, my family became rich. I didn’t know how it happened, but we did. We moved into a virtual mansion in an upscale neighborhood. Behind this mansion ran a creek that was nearly the size of a river, surrounded by a massive forrest of ancient, beautiful trees. My best friend and I spent many wonderful days by that river, exploring its mysteries and collecting its treasures to build ourselves a well-provisioned home in the shelter of its glorious banks.

Two years later, we moved away, and I proceeded to grow up and learn enough of the world to put things in perspective, as children often do. The mansion was just a house, the river was just a reasonably pleasant creek, and the forest surely didn’t extend quite so far as I remembered in a typical suburban neighborhood like that. Still, the image of it all remained vivid in my mind.

Just recently, though, I drove by that house and got out to look around. It was... not quite what I remembered. The mansion was a one-story house with a small, finished walkout basement - not exactly remarkable for a house on a hill in tornado alley. The river-like creek in the deep, old forest was a drainage ditch running between a line of trees. Our collection of treasures in our little riverside home was long gone, of course, but looking back on what it was - some broken pieces of concrete we used as dishes, a discarded old Christmas tree we dragged in from somewhere, an old tire stuck in the bank with pea gravel inside - it was, basically, trash. In a drainage ditch. In a neighborhood that was only better than our previous one by virtue of an extra bedroom or two and a bit of regular maintenance.

And yet, even having seen it for what it was with adult eyes that understand so much more of the world, the memory of that place remains - especially the creek. What’s a pile of trash in a drainage ditch running through a line of trees in the face of my riverside home in the forest, that sheltered place that we made all our own, for the first time in our lives old enough to escape the constant supervision of adults and in a safe enough place for them to let us do so?

For, you see, hidden away in that first hallowed place of our own, we weren’t a couple of socially awkward kids just entering that phase when the restrictions of adults begin to chafe and their expectations of excellence begin to crystalize into an inherent measure of self-worth. There, we were independent grownups building our own home, and those grownups might be sea creatures or aliens or explorers eking out a life deep in the wilderness, depending on our whims. It didn’t matter that that tire full of pea gravel was no more a treasure chest than I was Maisa, warrior princess of planet Eseika, because in that place it was, and I was.

The two places co-exist now in my mind, the objective reality I’ve seen with my own eyes somehow having no power to overtake what I saw when I knew so little of the world but imagined so much of it. And that, I think, is how it should be. Childhood fantasies aren’t frivolous things that must be cast aside once we find the maturity and perspective to see things as they really are. Some will fade, certainly, and others will change, shifting and growing as we shift and grow to accommodate the places we go and the people we become. Some, however, persist, locked in as a snapshot of a treasured time in our lives. I haven’t seen that friend in 20 years and doubt either of us would recognize the person the other has become. I doubt the me of those days would recognize the person I’ve become, either, with how carefully I hide away most of what was once her under facades of normality and respectability. Nevertheless, she remains, forever playing make-believe with her best friend in their riverside home in the forest, and therefore, so too, do I.

[abwwia]

Kathleen Raine CBE (14 June 1908 – 6 July 2003) was a British poet, critic and scholar, writing in particular on William Blake, W. B. Yeats and Thomas Taylor. Known for her interest in various forms of spirituality, most prominently Platonism and Neoplatonism, she was a founding member of the Temenos Academy.

Kathleen Raine was born in Ilford, Essex, the only child of schoolmaster and Methodist lay preacher George Raine, from Wingate, County Durham, and Jessie (née Wilkie), a Scot who spoke Scots as her first language. The Raines had met as students at Armstrong College in Newcastle upon Tyne. Raine spent part of World War I, 'a few short years', with her Aunty Peggy Black at the manse in Great Bavington, Northumberland. She commented, "I loved everything about it." For her it was an idyllic world and is the declared foundation of all her poetry. Raine always remembered Northumberland as Eden: "In Northumberland I knew myself in my own place; and I never 'adjusted' myself to any other or forgot what I had so briefly but clearly seen and understood and experienced." This period is described in the first book of her autobiography, Farewell Happy Fields (1973).

from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kathleen_Raine - read more!

  ____________________

Inspired by #MUSTREAD: Weavers of Wisdom: Women Mystics of the Twentieth Century by Anne Bancroft (1989) ____________________

Photo Credits: Kathleen-Raine Mayotte Magnus  National Portrait Gallery London Kathleen-Raine young and smiling Detail of photograph, showing Kathleen Raine on Gwithian beach Cornwall 1924 reproduced courtesy of Judith Rodden - Fellows and alumni who have made a difference in the world _ Girton College, Cambridge Photo of Kathleen Raine speaking at the combined launch at the Museum of London of The Fire and the Stones and Selected Poems: A Metaphysical's Way of Fire with, from left to right, Asa Briggs, David Gascoyne and Nicholas Hagger in the background, 22.4.1991, source: https://www.nicholashagger.co.uk/36-kathleen-raine-speaking

[blackwaxidol]

10 year old me after finishing Wolf's Rain

[gemrose]

And how deeply, the passing moods of weather affected our own. ~ Meeta Ahluwalia

[euesworld]

forever remember the souls that have crossed your path and are yet to emerge💕they teach you lessons of love and life-but ever so subtly

"Rainy weather teaches us to seek shelter or dance in the rain, it is our choice to do either.. and in my life, if paths are trying to cross mine then I am looking for an umbrella cause those drops hit me from all directions."

We can only hope that it is a summertime sprinkle with the sun shining high in the sky and it feels delightful - eUe.. ° .. ❤💕❤✌

[ashton-slashton]

Me, holding up several pictures of George C. Scott: I just think he's neat :)

[kelian-ao3]

Magic time

[this-is-krikkit]

list your 10 fave movies using only gifs, then tag 10 people

I was tagged by @batnbreakfast, hey and thanks!

1. 

2. 

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

Aaaand I tag @living-the-fandom @kateyes224 @arguably-an-alien and everyone else I wanted to tag’s already been tagged so that’s it!

[silverskye13]

And faced with nothing left to think about… he thought about himself. And he wondered quietly if he would ever understand anything in this world, or if he would be this aimless for the rest of his life.

Casting Rain -- Chapter 80

6141 words