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Jazzamor
    • 1
    • live
    • Not Only In Spring (Jazzamor Mix)
        (4 :30)
    • 270
    • 2
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    • Time
        (4 :01)
    • 174
    • 3
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    • Sunrise
        (3 :40)
    • 148
    • 4
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    • Sommer
        (4 :14)
    • 133
    • 5
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    • The Cat
        (3 :32)
    • 124
    • 6
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    • Yonder Heights
        (4 :55)
    • 113
    • 7
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    • Tattoos
        (3 :39)
    • 108
    • 8
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    • Illusiones
        (2 :54)
    • 107
    • 9
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    • Strange To Be In Paradise
        (15 :25)
    • 101
    • 10
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    • Lullaby
        (5 :26)
    • 91
    • 11
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    • He's Not There
        (4 :21)
    • 90
Love, hate, the complexities of our times lacking simple solutions - resonating in Jazzamor's question: Isn't it strange to be in Paradise? When we sing our love songs and when we celebrate the wonderful experience of humans embracing each other in a rather mystical happening of emphatic passion, we cannot deny the fact that in each and every case there are others in fear and horror, being tortured and slaughtered for nothing but the raging passion of hate. Is it not strange to be in paradise at the same time? To live in a world where we are supported in all kinds of ways, while at the same time other humans suffer? What is there to do with this strangeness to be? We are confronted with this human contradiction whether we like it or not. We can look away, or we can face these opposing appearances of life and the questions they pose. We choose every time we look at it. But to go beyond we must look into what provides us with that option. Our nature which is able to love and to hate almost at the same time. The transit well of wonderment. This never failing fertile fountainhead. There is the profound experience of creativity, the explosion of ideas, the blitz of insight. Creativeness itself is the strange exotic lead and it's only restriction is the narrowness of hate. It has no image. It is a kind of abstraction without an idea. But because it is providing our life with a constant flow of ideas we do not need anything beyond it. The unknown given of all this real was non as life begun. At one point no-one was categorized as black, white, male, female, Christian, Jew, Moslem but somehow these narratives evolved. They have a history. They where suppressed, privileged, preached, forced, annihilated. They came from next to nothing. They became stories - histories - and an empty bird of wonderment is touching them lightly with superb grace to breathe life into them. That is: we do! And we have to be curious about what else we can achieve. We should not turn away from suffering, even when we do have no inkling about an answer. Nor should we be content with the easy answers the experts give us - let us not forget: They depend on histories. Let us consider directly the questions posed by humans lost in paradise, humans who die in paradise, just as the dice are cast.

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