You should love your dreams, not your pleasure. Dependence on your own pleasure is a problem. After all, if you loved your goals, you went to them through pain and fear... but you do not love art, but yourself in art. You are afraid of pain and fear, so you have an avoidant personality disorder and chronic procrastination.
To love a person is to admire them and be happy that they exist. Dependence on his attention and love is drug addiction, obsession with their own pleasure and inability to extract this pleasure from other sources.
Karma is generated by actions, but actions consist of motives and actions. Actions are faith, faith is born of love. What exactly do you love? Art or your own pleasure in art? Motives are hope... what are you hoping for? Carry the goods? To serve beauty and art? Are your hopes fueled by pride, lust, greed, anger, and other deadly sins?
The task of the evil teacher: keep the flies away from the beauty. The proud love only their Ego, and therefore, unable to tolerate criticism and disrespect, they run away.
The Creator is a parent who not only has to create a child, but also raise it, learn it, and bring it out into the world. In other words, let the parent's rage fill you with strength and energy. If God gave the child, then God will give and raise it. Your task as a Creator is to promote your creation to the masses.
The same thing can be called beautiful and ugly. One says it's beautiful, ten say it's not beautiful. Who is right? The one who is stronger is right. The source of power is faith, the source of faith is love. The light of even a single weak candle in the dark does not fear the legions of darkness. Love, when it meets resistance, only becomes stronger.
Real poetry will not ask anyone whether they like it or not. Real poetry is beauty, and beauty is the power that governs reality. Reality is bound to love beauty, otherwise there is pride, which destroys reality. You love beauty, or pride will destroy you.
No one took me to art, I was not even allowed on its doorstep. But then I noticed that art is a kind of house, or a walled city. And I thought, why am I, in fact, there breaking? There are a plenty of free space, just operation near another city. I shouted, " People, I'm building my city, my art. I am philosophy." I told the people. And people, hearing this outrageously vain heresy, began to throw stones at me and pour mud. It was from these stones and dirt that I created my art.
পাসওয়ার্ড:
NeuronNet
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