There is a decorative rod on my living room wall from which a quilt once hung. For the December holidays, I draped a string of large, old-fashioned multi-colored lights like these across the length of the rod:
Both because they're a PITA to take down, and because I like how they look, I decided to leave them up. For some reason during the last couple of weeks, Momma has begun to get as close as possible and sit staring at the lights.
Here she is studying a red bulb (the colors refuse to photograph properly).
And here she is, studying a white bulb.
What secret information is she gleaning? I am not privy at this juncture. Maybe she is trying to burn out her retinas because of something she saw on Facebook.
I can relate to that feeling.
I am routinely disappointed to see images posted on social media showing results of graphic violence and abuse under the guise of calling folks to take action. I feel subjecting others to those images is in itself a form of abuse.
This isn't a matter of squeamishness; I have seen horrific graphic situations in real life. I am not squeamish, nor weak-stomached. I actually have been accused by peers in the nursing profession of being cold-hearted and unfeeling as far as my reactions to disturbing scenarios go. Let's just say I did my job, and did it well, come-what-may. I left the freaking out for later, once the event was over.
I believe it unnecessary to post images of aborted fetuses, abused animals, and victims of violence in order to trigger empathy.
Unfortunately, the disconnect between our society's tolerance of violence and our capacity for sympathy has grown to epic proportions. Maybe some people do have to literally see the results in order to condemn the actions that lead to them. If this is the case, I hope the paradigm shifts quickly and tips in a positive direction.
Momma, resting her overworked eyes
