On Emotional Maturity

As I read my favorite blogs, I've noticed the recurrence of a certain theme, relationships, mental attraction, and intellectual intimacy, very interesting subjects indeed.

I've once wrote that to me..intellectual seduction is one I admire, it shows beyond the obvious, there's nothing more "perfect" than being taken on a trip to the stars by someone, physical beauty is the first impression, but first impressions can change..with time, to the better..or worse..once the intellect kicks in.

No two people are alike, but people who can't read their own emotional chart are more proned to mis-reading other people, mixed signals are signs of emotional ineptitude, in its innocent form, and emotional manipulation, self gratification through control of someone's feelings..in its most sinister form, some might think that they're "having fun", people are entitled to have fun as much as they like..but there comes a time when commitment is a sign of responsibility, moral..and emotional, and hopefully by the time this happens..people would've reached "Emotional Maturity", not just the age seen by society to be right for commitment, otherwise, all the past childish "fun" would result in a very rude awakening to one's personality, causing lifelong problems, and sadly..more often than ever..very short lived happy marriages, or marriages..period.

When you know that you're capable of adding something to someone's life, when your life reaches the point of wanting to give rather than take, emotionally..intellectually, you probably are on the doorstep of emotional maturity, what I'm talking about here is the intangible aspect of commitment, the one only you..and that certain other would experience, intellectual intimacy. Minds interact away from the rules of nature..and society, they can literally be together while being physically a thousand miles apart..although it would very much help to be in the same room, as vision, sound and scent increase familiarity, it doesn't matter if that same room was shared with a thousand other people..minds tune to a certain wavelength..a shared station..the remaining stations of all humanity are turned off.

I like observing people..despite the famous related proverb, you tend to learn from people..if you're not selfish to the point of not looking beyond your own nose, another sign of emotional maturity.

Random Thoughts.

Epilogue

He couldn't close his eyes to dream, he didn't need to..his whole life was a dream, he spent his waking hours watching the distant paradise as it slept like a baby in her cradle, the space between them vanished as the night grew older, he could see the lights of Andalusia, the lights which showed him the way through the darkness of estrangement, of body..and mind.

As dawn washed the hills with thin shades of divine light, he boarded the first boat to take him across this barrier, this carrier of longing for his land, where he belongs; every cell in his body identified with an identical grain of sand on the beaches of Almeria, every blink his eyes made identified with the flip of a bird's wings in the gardens of Granada, every beat his heart made sounded in the valleys and plains of Seville, this was a reunion witnessed by all creation..silently.

He reached the promised land, his promised land..where rivers of milk and honey flowed..he swiftly jumped off the boat and ran like a child into his awaiting mother's arms..his mother was called Andalusia, and she was waiting for him behind that rocky veil..Gibraltar, as it sheltered his tired body. He was looking around..reassuring himself through his drunken sobriety..he couldn't make sense of this feeling..it was as if all his past had been erased..he was born right there..as he stepped on the shore, he was a newborn child..coming home for the first time, everything he had said and done before his birth..rebirth, was deleted from his system..this was the beginning..beginning is an only child..it has no siblings.

As days went by, he walked in the tired streets of the "late" Cordoba, and saw the signs of old age on the faces of even the young people, the air wasn't the air that once filled his lungs, Cordoba..the idea..was a distant past, funny how your past catches up with you sometimes, how it drives you to a better future, it's even more intriguing how everything from your past changes and you..remain the same, or so you think.

He never found her, he never found his freedom as he never found the promise he had set out to find, but he was content with his fate, for at last, he had become victorious over his own continuous defeats of doubts, and despite the inexplicable state of mind he had reached, he was finally home, home wasn't the one he was hoping to find, freedom tasted different..freedom wasn't there to find him, but the enduring effect that old man had left on him, Metropolitan, Jaffar, and the scar she had left in his heart would keep him going..as he witnessed the new chapters of Cordovan epics being written; Esperanza.

Tangier

Every time he won..he lost soon after, and every time he lost, the colorful Mosaic called his life became more fragile, as it became more detailed. The most beautiful objects in the world are the most fragile, his sadness over Cordoba, over her, over his lost identity..was complimented by the loss of a sudden friendship, sudden in its creation, sudden in its deep effect, and sudden in its loss.

Tangier was now close, and our friend could tell that his awaited liberation was near, he was missing her..he was missing the details of her face, she was Cordoba, and Cordoba was her, his quest for her..for the reconquest of his subsequent defeats was the redemption of all his past sins, he was a deep believer in the sacred geometry of chance, chance was by which he had met her, chance was the driver of his gain, his loss, and the force that got him to set on this journey.

The sea wind was carrying a familiar scent, a scent he grew up smelling, the orange orchards of distant villages laying beside the sea were the first signs of his nearness to home, nearness to her, those orange orchards carried ripe jewels, he could almost see them shining in the distance with their teasing color, he could tell...that from now on..home was within his grasp, she was home, the streets of Cordoba where she walked were the veins in his body, and the streams running through its valleys were his blood.

The ship lowered anchor as the sun was setting in the western sky, and north of here was Andalusia..a fresh breathe of northern air away. He walked the roads of Tangier, the markets were closing for the day and merchants were gathering their goods and heading home, the scent of eastern spices mixed with the smell of Andalusian jasmin, Tangier was the younger sister of Cordoba, they both have the same eyes, the same smile, and the same noble lineage, people spoke almost the same way as they did in Cordoba, speech sounded like music, distinct to the opposite banks of Gibraltar, that rock stood there..proud like a noble Andalusian woman, announcing the nearness of beauty, defending it from prying foreign eyes, it was the veil on Andalusia's face, behind it was the face of Arabia..Iberia, united in sound, united in blood, that defending veil on the face of Andalusia was staring at him from the short distance between them, and as he stood on the beach..his feet were being washed by waves coming from Gibraltar..even the sea knew that this was a son longing for his mother, those waves touched his feet gently..they were the fingertips of Andalusia, and she was embracing him privately..away from all humanity.