Art
Nov 2, 2014 Brooklyn, NY
2014 2 0 1 4 two thousand 14 years since Jesus Christ was born in the town of Bethlehem, south of Jerusalem, to migrant parents who happened into town. He was a smart kid, though not very social. Always thinking, that kid. Always observing life around him, wondering if this was it, or if there was more to it. Did things have to be like this? Can't we all just get along?
How quickly things started changing. Flatter roads for faster travel, ever better weapons for wiping out foes, production, production, production, to feed and clothe the growing populace. The speed picked up, and everyone was simply amazed at how much seemed to get done and "progress" for mankind.
I can only shake my head in wonder. What have we been chasing? The chance for one in a thousand of us to make it rich and live in luxury? (When I say rich, today I mean $10 million or more--enough to truly never have to worry about it being depleted.) That seems to be the primary motivation. It's certainly not more leisure time--only the very wealthy enjoy that. Progress has not been about providing that, though it was the promise in the 1960's as convenience and time-saving products were flooding the market. The washing machine--think of the time it saves. But that time now is spent working, because we can't spare a minute of that.
We're sickened ourselves with the pursuit of money, luxury, comfort, power. I'd venture that most people have lost sight of any quest for true meaning or purpose. We are consumers. We consume the energy at our fingertips, we consume the time that's given us, we consume food and other products like there's no tomorrow and rarely look ahead.
My heart lives with the writers, the artists, the musicians, the craftsmen. People who give themselves over to something they must do, who must express themselves in these ways because it is native to their pure souls. This is what matters in the world. A brush well stroked or dabbed on canvas, gut strings well plucked and strummed, a dish so well blended and prepared as to make your eyes water and heart swoon with the perfection of its being. This is what matters.
2014 2 0 1 4 two thousand 14 years since Jesus Christ was born in the town of Bethlehem, south of Jerusalem, to migrant parents who happened into town. He was a smart kid, though not very social. Always thinking, that kid. Always observing life around him, wondering if this was it, or if there was more to it. Did things have to be like this? Can't we all just get along?
How quickly things started changing. Flatter roads for faster travel, ever better weapons for wiping out foes, production, production, production, to feed and clothe the growing populace. The speed picked up, and everyone was simply amazed at how much seemed to get done and "progress" for mankind.
I can only shake my head in wonder. What have we been chasing? The chance for one in a thousand of us to make it rich and live in luxury? (When I say rich, today I mean $10 million or more--enough to truly never have to worry about it being depleted.) That seems to be the primary motivation. It's certainly not more leisure time--only the very wealthy enjoy that. Progress has not been about providing that, though it was the promise in the 1960's as convenience and time-saving products were flooding the market. The washing machine--think of the time it saves. But that time now is spent working, because we can't spare a minute of that.
We're sickened ourselves with the pursuit of money, luxury, comfort, power. I'd venture that most people have lost sight of any quest for true meaning or purpose. We are consumers. We consume the energy at our fingertips, we consume the time that's given us, we consume food and other products like there's no tomorrow and rarely look ahead.
My heart lives with the writers, the artists, the musicians, the craftsmen. People who give themselves over to something they must do, who must express themselves in these ways because it is native to their pure souls. This is what matters in the world. A brush well stroked or dabbed on canvas, gut strings well plucked and strummed, a dish so well blended and prepared as to make your eyes water and heart swoon with the perfection of its being. This is what matters.
posted by stamblog1 at 8:19 PM
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