It’s eerie to me that so many people take so many photos of themselves with their phones and then post them and pin them, send them and exchange them with so many others in cyberspace. All of this “sharing” and yet the world is lonelier than ever.
And people covet their photos, keeping and editing the ones that highlight what they want highlighted and project what they want projected into the world.
Words, conversation are not apparently enough anymore; photos are better because a photo captures…
So I suppose words are outdated. Perhaps it’s because words worth uttering can sometimes take time to put together and there doesn’t seem to be much patience in the world anymore.
But all these photos, these images, fracture the soul. They leave thousands of tiny images of “us” scattered and stranded in the fiction of time. When we try to integrate this mosaic of images into “ourselves,” we see them for what they really are: nothing but images.
Photos of images made in the image of God, it’s true. But still just images. Not the original. There is no camera or copier that could possibly be constructed that could take an image of the human soul. Such an “image” would mean nothing to our eyes or to any of our other senses because there is nothing material to perceive.
Photos draw us away from our essence and back into the world of forms and images. Which is a place I’d rather be from.