And they change.
Likewise, Jazz is a manifestation of pure morality. It is total focus on what is the good action unto the particulars of an existence. It tells us that we are welcome to - and indeed, should - pursue every motion, that we are not necessarily barred from anything, that we are absolutely free in our efforts to achieve righteousness and as well The Highest shall be - hopes to be, ought to be - itself surprised by what that is.
Likewise, Jazz is a manifestation of pure morality. It is total focus on what is the good action unto the particulars of an existence. It tells us that we are welcome to - and indeed, should - pursue every motion, that we are not necessarily barred from anything, that we are absolutely free in our efforts to achieve righteousness and as well The Highest shall be - hopes to be, ought to be - itself surprised by what that is.
WATCH:
And how ugly to think that any dogma should be absolute? What a terrible fate for Whomever's Watching. The only dictum I could willingly bind to any existence is that it ought to want for itself, however.
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| Krupa wants himself. |
Lately, I've decided to try my hand at being occupationally "successful". It already suffocates me; I am doing well. I feel that our system renders personal aspiration as only a commitment to means manifested as rigid, physical patterns which you lose the ability to live but instead begin to live you. I am confused. "No" emanates so deeply from my guts - out everywhere but my mouth.
No, I do not want to do this thing nor that thing. I do not want to pretend to want to do this thing. No, I do not need to do this thing to get that thing. Not now, not ever.
These horrific things called jobs.
There was a time when the earth paid us stipends just to be alive. Tree branches bowed to a kind height under their weight, rivers swelled with their flesh. This is what I feel in my guts, in my chest, in every interstice of my existence: that I ought to be paid just to be; that my only debt is the symbolic gesture of graceful acceptance, of an open hand, an open heart. A product of some shaded place's desire for easy, volitional love.
This way of being has been stolen.
Every atom that makes me shivers with anger/love, an impulse to fight.
These horrific things called jobs.
There was a time when the earth paid us stipends just to be alive. Tree branches bowed to a kind height under their weight, rivers swelled with their flesh. This is what I feel in my guts, in my chest, in every interstice of my existence: that I ought to be paid just to be; that my only debt is the symbolic gesture of graceful acceptance, of an open hand, an open heart. A product of some shaded place's desire for easy, volitional love.
This way of being has been stolen.
Every atom that makes me shivers with anger/love, an impulse to fight.
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