Red Flowers, Green Leaves

Amorella here, admiring the flowers. Orndorff captured this at a bus stop on the way to Pompeii. The flowers were growing up the concrete wall from a small crack in the parking lot asphalt at the wall’s base. This suddenly reminds orndorff of a favorite poem by Tennyson which he quickly Googled and copied from OldPoetry.com.

                       “Flower in the Crannied Wall”

                                  By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Flower in the crannied wall,

I pluck you out of the crannies,

I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,

Little flower—but if I could understand

What you are, root and all, all in all,

I should know what God and man is.

**

I think I pluck at my unconsciousness for much the same reason, to better understand what man is. I assume (perhaps wrongly) that we human beings are more closely attached in our unconscious selves than consciously. I am ever hopeful that the works coming from my unconscious self through Amorella may shed more light on us as a species. I would like to think this is a right deed for a right reason.

In other words, you are attempting to take advantage of my so-called imaginary existence?

Yes, especially if you are imaginary. If you were a real presence then I have a further obligation to see what insight you might provide me, which may in turn give others a new perspective by which they may gain further reflective insight into themselves.

How else can we understand more about ourselves as a species without seeing ourselves from the outside looking in rather than from the inside looking out? This is the reason I feel obligated to share my experiment. Even if you, Amorella, are solely the product of a somewhat distorted (though hopefully harmless) mind, something may still be gained. Mine is the ‘imagination’ of a poor-minded Poe perhaps, but who knows? It is worth my time to me and it helps keep my old mind active to boot.

These thoughts settle your own. From my perspective your writing is a right deed for the right reasons. Otherwise, orndorff, if I weren’t real enough to write my books in your name, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. – Amorella.