online: 24 january 2003

23 january 2003 a friendly and lively spirit


13:00 An unnamed seat near to the pine trees on Beech Mount. Sunny morning. Northeast wind, blue sky with low fluffy clouds - moving quickly. Air at ground level is moving slowly.

Pleased with progress of works (on this website) - they are beginning to integrate with each other and with other people and situations... am I emerging from wilderness?



13:29 Outdoor cafe. Many people eating out today - it's so warm and still in this high-walled garden that I look about for signs of spring. I don't see any leaves sprouting but I imagine that the first lambs must be appearing in the country. But all the trees and shrubs here are entirely bare as if in midwinter...The sky has now cleared and it is an unusually pale blue - with brilliant white fluffy clouds on the southern horizon.

I look up and find myself looking at a man with white hair and a face that reminds me of a monkey. He wears glasses. This is meant as a compliment - he appears to be listening and talking seriously and intelligently with several others. I think that is rare and I imagine that he is a person whom others are glad to know.

The brains of the world directed by a friendly and lively spirit?

But I suppose that there are as many unfriendly and dull people as there are friendly and lively ones... or is it that we can each be like either of these types according to circumstance?

Yes, I prefer that possibility... (which makes nonsense of fixed categories such as the introvert/extravert of C G Jung, much as I tend to accept his Psychological Types*.

...at which I remember the remark that people who did not know P B Shelley were often hostile to him and his work but those who knew him liked him and what he did and became better people because of his influence**...


It is now nearly two o'clock and my tea has become cold and most of the people have gone. I could write notes like this forever!


*C G Jung, Psychological Types, A revision by R F C Hull of the translation by H G Baynes, Routledge and Kegan Paul, London, reprinted 1999.

**For the moment I can't find the reference - was it written by his biographer Richard Holmes or by Mary Shelley in her collection of his poems? I read it only yesterday.



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