On Emotional Literacy

I've recently grown more aware of the learned aspect of emotional conduct, the one you tend to pick up as you grow older, or is put within you as a child by emotionally literate parents.

I've always been amazed by the effect of Good, but good isn't just a nice trait of character, Being nice to people is something taught, and I don't mean respect..for respect can be forced, but your own voluntary genuine feeling of compassion towards people is one of the greatest heights of Emotional Literacy, your smile in the face of people in the morning, your humility and tenderness towards children, the compassion and patience you give to the most vulnerable; children, older people, the less fortunate..the sick and weak, is learned..and taught.

Your awareness of the importance of making others happy, and your deliberate intent to make a difference, taking a minute to put a smile on someone's face..whether that someone is close or a stranger is a great sign of emotional literacy, for you reach the calculated conclusion of the importance of human interaction..positive interaction can create miracles, it might even be a healing force, it also makes you feel good..as you provide a proverbial breath of fresh air to someone who might be gasping for it, Emotional Philanthropy is the highest degree of human conduct.

Never underestimate the power of kindness, a smile..a lending hand, can go a long way, it charges the soul with a mysterious charge..one probably blessed by angels, for kindness is a divine attribute, it probably smells like lilac and tastes like cotton candy, your execution of an act of kindness is an extension to the compassion of God towards His Creation.

I have enormous respect for people who work in Humanitarian aid and charities, those people are the most emotionally literate Humans..their minds are set up in a totally different way than ours, they wake up in the morning, they make someone's life a little bit better, and go back to being unnoticed only to do it all over again and again without seeking recognition or reward other than the recognition and reward from within, those people teach me..and us all a lesson every time we run across them, and by doing so..our own emotional literacy is enriched and complimented.

Music in My Head

So here's the deal: I'm a very music oriented creature, I like listening to music..when I'm working, when I'm walking, when I'm in the shower..yes I know its weird but what can you do!

So during one of my unintentional moments of contemplation, I've reached the conclusion that most of the Arabic songs that I like..express defeat and anguish for the most part. I sat up straight so that the blood would have a smooth sail into my brains and hence get my thoughts in order, and I realized that most Arabic songs, the most "romantic" ones..express a feeling of pain for the loss of love..hmmm, why? you might ask..well, I think that we -Arabs- enjoy heartache, it's a genetic feature embedded in our DNA, our culture is one expressive of consecutive heartaches..both collective and individual, the stories of Qais and Laila, is an example of the individual, the story of Da7es wal Ghabra2 is one of the most renowned collective traditions of heartache, let alone the tragedies both we and our forefathers lived, from the loss of Al-Andalus to the invasion of Iraq.

So coming back to the present day..some of us aren't good to our hearts, some of us are intentional manipulators of others' hearts, it makes us feel better when we can decide if someone is happy or sad, some of us aren't even able to decide whether we want to be happy or sad, others are always victims, whether they really are or not. It is an embedded code in our genes..and it's reflected in our music, 7abeebi absar shoo malo..tarakni wo ra7..ma banam el leil...etc.

These lyrics sink in the deep corners of our minds, and we keep them in our psychological archives until our real lives cross the path of similarity with those hidden lyrics..and when they do, and instead of having emotional intelligence, we resort to the very silly game of emotional manipulation..we punish our loved ones..so we become the ones who leave..physically or mentally, for a short while or for good, and by doing so we create a stupid romantic tragedy where we become the heroes, and where the soundtrack is always on standby to be played, or; we are the one's who get the short end of the stick and are left..again with the soundtrack ready to be played, and by creating that romantic tragedy we convince ourselves of the virtue of pain, even if we really have no idea why we liked the person we left to begin with, or why we left them, the pain of loss cleanses us, even if loss wasn't that tragic, or was our fault..one way or another.

We enjoy heartache, and we like emotional deprivation, it makes us feel good, it makes us innocent..even if we really aren't, it proves us true to our hidden personalities, the personality of the emotionally oppressed, which might be part of a series of other kinds of oppression; political, social..etc, or the personality of the emotional dictator, which might be the only way we can really be "in control"..funny enough though, both alternate roles as days go by and neither is aware of the other's existence, but they both feed our collective feelings of defeat.

"يوميات واحد مش فاضي "فيكشن

الساعة ستة ونص الصبح: بتقوم من النوم غصبن عنك عشان تروح عالشغل غصبن عنك

الساعة ستة ونص وتلت دقايق: بترجع تنام خمس دقايق بتصحى بعدها بتلت ارباع الساعة زي المجنون اللي طلعلو الجن الأزرق وبتنط بالشاور (لإنك بتحب النضافة) ولإنو المي بتصحي القرود، بتحلق وبتلبس اللي عالحبل وبوجهك عالدوام

الساعة تسعة وعشرة بتفوت عالشغل زحف عشان ما حدا يعرف إنك متأخر (زي كل

يوم) بس (زي كل يوم) بيشوفوك

عالكاميرا وبيخبّروا عنك وبيخصموا من راتبك وإنته زي السطل مفكر حالك ذيب

الساعة طنعش بتبلش معدتك تتظاهر لإنك (زي كل يوم) ما بتفطر ببيتكم فبتصير تدور بالجوارير على أي إشي تسلي فيه حنكك، بتلاقي حبة شكلاطة بس لإنك جنتلمان (زي ما قلنا القصة فيكشن) بتعطيها لزميلتك اللي بتشبه فلونة، بس اللي ما بتعرفو حضرة جنابك هو إنو زميلتك فلونة بتحكي إنك بتشبه عبسي فهيك بتطلعوا خالصين

الساعة وحدة بتهرّ من الجوع و بيزغللو عيونك وبتصير تتفلّت عشان تطلع تتسمم

الساعة وحدة ونص بترجع عالدوام (طبعاً زحف زي الصبح) و كأنه أبو زيد خالك لإنك ضحكت على المجتمع الدولي وطلعت أكلت..مش بس هيك..وشربت كوكتيل كمان

الساعة وحدة ونص و خمسة بتصفرن وبتوقع عالأرض وبيحملوك عالمستشفى وبتطلع متسمم من الشاورما اللي تسممتها

الساعة تلاتة وتلت بييجي مسؤول يزورك وبيصوروه بالتلفزيون وهو بيطمّن على

حضرة جنابك و إنته منسدح بالتخت

الساعة ستة ونص بييجي مديرك وزملاءك يزوروك وبيبشرك مديرك إنهم قرروا يزيدوا راتبك ويرَفعوك ويعطوك إجازة أسبوع نقاهة

الساعة سبعة بييجوا أهلك زي المصاريع بعد ما شافتك جارتكم

عالتلفزيون وفضحت سماك بالحارة لإنك كنت توبلس ومادين منك برابيش

الساعة سبعة ونص بيسمحلك الدكتور تروّح مع أهلك وبيعطيك دوا للتسمم

الساعة تمنية بتطلع مرة تانية عالتلفزيون والمسؤول عم بيزورك..وبيقرروا إنك طلعت مش متسمم و إنما معك مرض مزمن و إنته ما معك خبر...مبروك

La Luna..La Luna

One of my most favorite pastimes, is to endlessly stare at the moon, a pointless activity to some extent, but observation of the cosmos is a very subtle way to obtain certain doses of wisdom, and like the high and low tides, humans are affected by the moon, or so I'd like to believe, besides the folkloric tales of vampires and werewolves.

This gem in the ancient sky is probably the only thing that literally unites humans, for each human, from the beginning of time, till this earth and its moon are taken off the proverbial stage, every single human..has stared at the moon for some time, at some point in their lives, and that thought in itself is a witness to the greatness of the Creator, who shows us a sign of His Eternity every single night, it is up to us mortals to seize that moment of direct contact with Heaven.

Adam might have looked up to the moon on the first night of his and Eve's life on earth, as they both explored their new world, Alexander The Great might have stared up one night as he reveled in his conquests, Moses might have done the same as he contemplated on his imminent encounter with the Pharaoh, Jesus probably sat on the outskirts of Jerusalem one night and looked up to the full moon seeking God's peace and guidance, Muhammad might have crossed the night sky with his sight, gazing at the moon from the cave of "Hira" on the very night Gabriel came onto him to announce his prophecy. Cleopatra might have had one of her milk baths under the moonlight, Elissar surely thought of the people she left behind in Tyre, when she saw their shining faces in the reflection of the moon in the calm waters of the Mediterranean..as she sailed west to Carthage, Averroes, Aristotle, all stared on a clear night into the light in the sky, thinking, meditating, praying, seeing someone's face in the silver lining of a full moon.

Poets, lovers, warriors, sinners and saints were all captivated for a fraction of a second by that silent lantern as it rose in a mid summer night, as it lit the nights of Ancient Greece, Babylon, Pheonicia, Cordoba, Jerusalem, and The ancient Mayan Kingdom, and as it did..each human, travelled in time..to their past, or their future, staring into the eyes of their loved ones, their unborn descendants, as they stared into the moon.

Tonight, look up to the moon, and think that you're looking at something all humanity saw as you are now, your own great grandchildren might sit one fine night under its light in the deep future and steal a moment of innocent intimacy with their loved ones. This thought..is enough to make you feel immortal, for a fraction of a second, Tonight..look up to the moon and speak to prophets, visionaries, artists and lovers, and tonight..look up to the moon and speak to your unborn children, and theirs, for one night..they just might look up to the moon and speak to you.

On The Mystery of Souls

Souls are supernatural entities, unearthly creations that lie between our ribs, they have their effect on our bodies, but never are burdening on our physical or mental weight, they're delicate light biengs, and their delicacy is only explained by their unexplainable, instinctive messages that make us like..or dislike someone minutes after we first meet them. First impressions last..that's what they say, but first impressions aren't actually decided by the heart or the mind, but by the soul, preceding any physical attributes' interference and subsequent manipulation of the other..the heart sometimes manipulates the mind, it tricks it into accepting the otherwise irrational decision to like..or dislike, and with age, the mind manipulates the heart into doing the same, the intellectual decision is more likely to be successful, in the earthly rule of the survival of the fittest.

Souls on the other hand aren't bound to any rules of logic, or gravity..they penetrate bodies and minds in a speed probably faster than that of light, searching for a certain code of familiarity in the deep corners of the "other's" soul, they interact independently, they talk..without actually doing so, touch, without actually touching, they might even travel without even doing so..or maybe they do, causing us to become more familiar, sometimes to the extent of telepathy, and foreseeing certain details to come; deja vu. Children are controlled by their souls, they like without rationale, they also hate without rationale, hence their instinctive innocence, and probably unearthly wisdom; a childish playfulness in our all grownup rule controlled world, we might actually be tricked into believing that we become wiser as we get older, when the fact of the matter might be the opposite; one of the mysteries of existence.

This interaction between souls, is probably the only rational explanation -although irrational in its discourse- for the noticing of physical details in someone, their scents, their pronunciation of certain words, the causes of a witty unconscious smirk, and the ways to generate it, all in their own right are subconscious attempts to synchronize the frequency between the body and the soul, an attempt of sorts to reach out..or in, and express agreement with one's soul, with its genius, its mysterious perceptions, and a way to show gratitude for its delicate Divine inspired guidance to the heart, and the mind.

Souls give their responsible guidance, when you're aware of their effect, once you reach the point of consciously consulting your soul, your soul would give you the wisest of all advice, one that comes from a place as mysterious as the entity giving it, souls are silk gowns on diamond manikins, treat them with the delicacy and care they deserve, they can lend a helping hand, if you tune to their infinite frequency.

Who knows..the ancient Silk Road just might be the highway of souls!

The Thin Thread of Sanity

It was early evening..and the ancient sun was getting colder, as her journey across the western sky was about to end..giving way to serene darkness, and the last shy rays were teasing his face..causing him to close his eyes..not to dream, but to remain awake.

She still comes to mind..whenever light touches him. Light touches..invades without permission, often reaching the heart before the skin, and whenever light is gone, his being became possessed with a weird feeling of longing, a subdued one, he knew that night would always give way to light, and that it in turn would always give way to night..and in the short distance between the two, when the sky became washed in that distinct color of goodbye..whenever he witnessed that..his ever present sadness would mature..for he knew that the sky was expressing her own sadness..for parting with light, ironic..since that same sky would be literally glowing with that same color moments before light came back a few hours later. The color of a parting embrace..and a reuniting embrace..is the same, the only thing that sets them apart is the freshness in the air of the latter, the scent of a renewed promise, a promise that is both kept and broken every day.

He sat on the cliff, every evening..and watched the sunset, he saw the sky turn her bright blue color into a sad shade of purple..as she fought with the thought of losing light, he saw the songbirds stop their singing and return to their nests in an act of protest and solidarity with the sky that carries their wings on hers. He sat and saw off that purple color of goodbye..and witnessed the return of darkness..every single evening.

The sky still glees in that same color every dawning morning, forgiving and forgetting the earlier unwilling parting. But he remains a resident of those moments between light..and night, and his sanity..is slowly becoming purple.

On The Beauty of Arabic..

The following is an excerpt from a poem by a man who preceded Romeo by a Thousand years, and he wasn't a fictional character, you can hear more of this poetry under "My Music", and Again, I thank Noura for introducing me to Ensemble Ibn Arabi, whose Music I'm hosting.

Who said The Desert of Arabia was barren??

نهـاري نـهارُ النـاسِ حتـى إذا بــدا
لــيَ الليــلُ هزّتنــي إليــكِ المضــاجعُ

أُقَََََََََََََََضّـي نَهـاري بالحديـثِ وبالمُـنى
ويجمعُنــي بالليّــلِ والـهمُّ جامِــعُ

لقَـد ثَبَتَــتْ فـي القَلــبِ مِنــكِ مَــودّةٌ
كما ثَبَتَــتْ فـي الراحَتيــنِ الأصابــعُ

وأنــتِ التـي صَيّــرتِ جســمي زُجــاجةً
تَنُـمُّ بمـا تحتويــهِ الأضــالعُ

فلا خيّــرَ فـي الدُنيـــا إذا لـمْ تُزَرْ بـها
ليلــى ولم يَجمَـعْ لنـا الشــملُ جامِــعُ

وأفرَحُ إنْ تُمْســي بِخيّــرٍ وإنْ يَـكُنْ
بِها الحَــدَثُ العــادي تُرِعنـي الروائِــعُ

وأعمَــدُ للأرضِ التــي من ورائِــكُمْ
لتُرجِعَنــي يوماً إليـكِ الرواجِــعُ

فيـا قلـبُ صَــبراً واعتــرافاً لِـما تَــرى
ويا حُبَّــها قَـعْ بالذي أنـتَ واقِــعُ

مجنــون ليلــى