As I read Ginsberg "Kaddish" again, trying to grasp it firmly with my feeble mind, tears come to my eyes.
I recall my mother and how I'd like to appreciate her in her life and never ever eulogize her death.
Isn't this the beauty of art, nay the power of art.
The power to evoke emotions.
Of course these emotions are conditioned with our conditions (circumstance).
This is why a piece can make us happy one day and sad the next.
Maybe art doesn't evoke emotions, but rather shines a spotlight, amplifies our feelings.
As theater cannot exists without lights, life cannot exists without art.
For without it,
we'll no longer be able to distinguish life from death,
jubilance from despair,
love from hate.
Those who want to kill art and silence minds,
want to kill life,
want to take away our basic right to feel.