Roses

A new day in the metropolitan city. Everyone is carrying burdens of their day before the day loads them on their shoulders; assuming burdens existed yet. In fact what you assume affects how you feel.

I started my day with cool music and hot coffee... Relaxed mind and energized spirit, minding my own business... Though the roads seemed like a wide parking lot spread across the city, I leaned my back to my car chair and spent quality time pampering my senses with music while enjoying my hazelnut-flavored coffee taste and aroma.

Across the sidewalks was that girl. Every morning I see her standing there, around the same spot, about the same time, for few days so far. About early twenties, with gypsy looks, dressed in old stained dress and a pair of old leather colorless shoes, with bed hair and dusty face that just woke up from restless sleep. Her face was covered with days of weariness and her colorful eyes conveyed long sleepless nights. Her arched posture expressed the load she bared on her shoulders and the despair of a drowning soul... She was looking at the passerby crowds, looking for something, looking for someone, looking for herself... She was holding few roses in her arms, looking for a buyer who would empathize with few pennies. Someone who dares to buy a rose. O' little girl! Who would buy your roses? Why would anyone buy your roses? Though, she sells her roses cheap to every passerby willing to offer her the pennies.

A stream of thoughts was flowing in me while watching that scene. Sometimes we are in that little girl's shoes. While we may feel burdened through our days we grow desperate for something to feed our starving hearts and quench our thirsty souls. We sell our roses but we're never offered them. People might see our faces, but not what may be going-on in our hearts and boiling in our guts. While we smile and laugh to hide mountains of worry and troubled confusions. We are judged by the stained dress that barely covers the body from cold nights of grief, but fail to regard our human inside.

She passed by each car trying to earn sympathy from each and every car rider, until it was my turn. She came at my car and tapped on my window. She seemed desperate for selling her roses, down-spirited expecting no answer from me though. She was trying to draw back her hair that shaded her eyes, nose and lips behind her ears using one hand, while holding the roses with the other. She leaned on the car window with her free hand where she placed her forehead. She murmured words of persuasive sympathy to get my heart tangled and buy a rose from her… I looked at her behind my shades while dropping down the car window. I took off the shades and gazed at her. She seemed hungry; hungry for being someone, someone to be looked at and noticed in the mindless crowds of every day traffic.

She extended her hand towards me and offered me a naked shortened thorns-clipped rose and said: “Sir, would you buy roses to the one you love?” I smiled. She made me smile, a bitter smile. I thought to myself, you are offering me a rose to make it up for the one I love, while you barely get pitied mindlessly. Before I took the rose from her, I paid her. Then, I lifted the rose between the tips of her fingers, had a glimpse of its scent then placed it on the side of her face, to fix her hair that has been bothering her for while by that time. Her amazement blended with astonishment while watching me putting her hair into place via the rose. A roses-seller that was never offered a rose before. Her eyes grew wider and her mouth was released open. Her eyes looked in the direction of the rose while reaching her hand to feel it in her hair, as if she didn't believe what has just happened, making sure that this was real. When she was sure of it, she stretched a wide smile that shines the day and blushed her cheeks while looking back at me as if she was asking, “Was this  for me?”

“A rose for the rose.” I said, while my eyes were alternating between her eyes and the rose. Her silence was full of words, and unorganised thoughts of joy. Excited, though she only replied modestly “Thanks Sir.” But I can still hear those words of silence on her face.

Now, lights just went green. Time to get my wheels rolling.

“Have a lovely day young lady.” I said. Then I stirred through the flow of traffic. In the rear mirror I can still see her, crossing the street back to the sidewalk hopping lightly with joy, while her hand is still clinging to the rose…

 

 

Andy.

 

 

 

 

Thoughts on Moral Psychology: About "Reasoning and Judgment"

It is interesting how we - humans - Judge, Reason and Justify; pretty funny though. Usually, it's  perceived as a simple and linear process however, it is a complex process that involves more influences than expected.

Let's settle couple of points to set up the basis of few arguments.

- Judgment and Reasoning are two different mental processes that occur in different areas of the brain...

- Judgment always precedes Reasoning but, Judgment is not necessarily followed by Reasoning...

From the previous two statements we can infer that at least the spontaneous and superficial judgments are irrational most of the time. People make moral judgments immediately according to their emotions. Reasoning is merely the servant of the Passions. And when the servant failed to find any good arguments, the master didn't change his mind. People make moral judgments quickly and emotionally while their moral reasoning is mostly a post-hoax search for reasons to justify the judgments they already made.

Apparently, we do moral reasoning not to reconstruct the reasons why we ourselves came to a certain judgment, but instead, we reason to find the best possible reasons why somebody else ought to join us in our judgment... 

As per David Hume, Reason is the slave of Passion. i.e. Reason is not enough to take action or make a decision. Knowing an action is right does not necessary result in proceeding with doing it. Reasoning shall be accompanied with PASSION; like Love, Envy, Anger, Pride, Fear, Desire, etc... . Passion alone could trigger action. It could lead to doing what is known-and-reasoned to be wrong though, going against what reason would advise. Thus, we shall be aware of our driving PASSION(S) according to which we Rationalize our Actions and Judgments.

Constituents of our thoughts, judgments, impressions and ideas, more often than often, come from experience. Our experience and actions contribute to building our self-constructed beliefs. Here is how it goes... First, we do actions out of a certain underlying passion, then we rationalize our actions according to those passions we have; or at least we shall be found biased by our passions. Then, we believe in the rational we just created behind our actions; we choose to believe what we do. We can conclude that, we can create and acquire beliefs as the result of Urge or Inference as well as by Reason... 

Maybe that's why sometimes Common-Sense is not that Common...

Just thoughts.... 

Inspired by Righteous Mind - Jonathan Haidt

Andy.

About Hope!

Hope! It’s why we sleep at night expecting sunshine in few hours, to wake up and enjoy our journey of life.

Hope is not merely a feeling. It is the Action we take once we Decide to Desire-with-Belief in Achievement and to Expect-with-Confidence success we bring through... Our successful Actions and Decisions are built upon the Hope and Expectation that what we want is achievable. You wake up and go to school or work or where else because, you expect that you will arrive there safely. That is Hope. You plant a seed and you water it every day with a belief that it will turn into a plant, into a tree, into a fruitful living being in few days or weeks or months, or maybe years. That is Hope. Depending on how hopeful you are this will consequently result in how victorious you are in life.

Hope is cultivated, developed and learned just like learning how to walk… It takes time and it takes effort. But, more than that, it requires faith, will and action. Grow your Hope every day. Water it like a seed in the ground... Nurture it with care, till it grows into a big, huge, giant tree so, birds in the sky come and make nests and dwell in its branches.

Always be sure that there is hope, just as much as you are sure there is air in the atmosphere, as much as there are stars in the sky and water in the seas,.. If you believe, then you can make use of it and act in accord to that Faith; Faith in hope and hope based on faith.

Every day is a stand on cross roads of hope and despair. Strong minds hope, cause hope and inspire hope. . Always start as if you already succeeded! Start with attitude of success!

Have hope through actions of hope. Hope in EVERY THING you pass through and in EVERY ONE you pass by.

Andy.

Quietly!

Quietly I opened her bedroom door, carefully stepped in, making sure not to interrupt her sleep. I sneaked in and closed the door.

I looked at her, calm and peaceful, how adorable she is inside out. My eyes glanced over her inch by inch… Her skin was perfect and smooth, colorful like caramel. Her hair was soft, dangling on her face, covering her eye and hiding a shy cheek. Her nightclothes strap slipped down her shoulder. I reached out my hand and stirred her hair to reveal her divine face. And rearranged her strap in place. I didn't hesitate to grab a chair to sit back beside her bed and contemplate her sleeping, paying attention to details; like a guardian angel watching over her. It makes me feel more human.

Her face was tranquil. Her delicate cheeks looked stunning like ripe apples, soft and bouncy like marshmallows where I would dip my lips lovingly, or I might just move the back of my palm over them carefully. Her brown hair cascaded down over the pillow around her head, like a saint’s aura, ornamenting her look and emphasizing the beauty of her charming face. Her gorgeous little nose that I usually like to grab, teases me and her tiny flawless chin just makes me joyous when I look at her. Her petite lips just fit together as a sensibly chosen pair. They speak even though they don’t move. Her closed eyes tell the dreams that she longs for and the fantasies she craves. She wishes to wake up from her sleep to find them all came true. Her hands settled tenderly under her chest, comforting her heart, as to say “It’s all gonna be Okay dear.”

Maybe she is asleep, but indeed awake in heart. She knows that I’m there and that I’m enjoying her loudly silent performance. Her breath was calm like the surface of the ocean and I wonder what would be there under.

I stood up from the chair, approached her, and knelt on the floor resting my arms on the side edge of her bed. I deliberately ran the back of my fingers over her bare arm, from shoulder to palm, then I bent down, closed my eyes to kiss her gorgeous sweet hand. The smell of her skin was intoxicating that I wish that moment took forever. I murmured: "I believe that one day you will come to value the treasure in you. I believe that you are worth love and worth life. I wont give up on you." I wish she could have heard and felt it all. Though, I bet she did.

Then, I stood up and walked towards the door, turned my head, to have one last look for the night, at the dear package of beauty reposed in bed, before I step out of heaven, full of hope for now and tomorrow and full of dreams, dreams with her and for her... Dreams of us feeding one another our love. For I never give up on her. But, instead, I genuinely believe.

So as not to interrupt her sleep, I opened her bedroom door, carefully stepped out... Quietly!

Andy.

More often than sometimes...

Sometimes you may just need to hear kind loving words; other times you might need those arms to roll up and fold around your ribs to squeeze your burdens out…  When you are worn-out, you may long for that shoulder to soak it in your tears, while you lean your head on… You wish those hands would slide on your cheeks wiping sorrows that have been draining your eyes and rub warm your back to comfort you bringing down the castle of your fears.

Sometimes you crave the heart that beats to the beat of yours. A heart that would listen, understand and speak right into yours …whose touch would cure the ache. You yearn to the eyes that would look through yours, right into your precious core, and see how diamonds and pearls are found pitiful for falling short of your equity.

Who would that be? Who would have those arms and whose heart would it be? Who would collect bits and pieces of the broken you. Bit by bit would fit you together and fill your cracks, fashioning a fresher new YOU. A new YOU that would be incomparably wondrous than the one you ever aspired to be.

Who would watch you while you’re sleeping, waiting for you to shine back the day. While you lay your head on his knees, he would run his palm through your hair combing your worries away and melting down your doubts. Who would drink you sip by sip and never would waste a drop of you. Who would offer himself flesh and blood to keep your heart intact.

Sometimes, even more often than sometimes, you dream of such heart to be yours, or to be yours…

Andy.

--

Honey-sweet Paradox!

Between the lines are the inexpressible yet, manifested. There reclines the unseen yet recognized, distinguished and identified. You can feel the confusion caused by a honey-sweet sourness, hesitation of a confident heart, a smile of eyes filled with tears and the benevolence of a broken heart. Between the paradox of synonyms and the agreement of antonyms, words fall short to weave the portrayal of what's in him.

Sometimes it’s all said when she says nothing... And its always there when they speak. They tease the air between them trying to figure out what's within one another, though inviting joy among them. A look here, a blush there and eye to eye sight that she cannot bear... They enjoy their togetherness wherever they may go and ending their meetings does nothing but spicing up what they experience together..

When its bed time, she hugs her pillow tight, squeezing it as much as she misses him, wishing it would incarnate him, even for some time. She rolls in her bed of dreams finding no comfort while spilling thoughts of him everywhere around her pillows. And she doesn't fall asleep for no dream would be compared to her thought of him.

Yet, what's between the lines remain between the lines... But, maybe one day those lines may fade to reveal what's in there between them... If I would be able to strip the poems off their words, and the music off its tones, just to know what's there between the lines... But what would music be with no tones and poems with no words... So, let the inevitable truth reveal it all, for it's all said when she says nothing..


I bet you have put yourself in Her/ His place... It has been the case with many, for so long... Same old story, same old song...

Andy.

How she is and how we are...

Yeah... An experience no like tasting deliciousness neither seeing extravagant beauty nor touching heaven with my hands... It eradicates the worries of the day and kindles joy in my heart. Her voice soothingly expressed morning greetings, like the flow of a smooth water fall into the rivers of my veins…  As close as her voice is over the phone, I wish her lips murmured it into my ears to feel her breath brush my cheek, wrapping me up in softness of her words…  

I can hear her smile and see her laughter. It just fuels my heart with her charm. The scent of fumes of mutual yearnings, fills our surroundings, fills the gaps between us… She sighs at my words, trying to keep pace of her breath while losing the thought of the now and traveling on a cloud of reveries… She enjoys it all for the state of trans she dwells within while experiencing something of me, something about me, or maybe just me...

She offers me the chance to be lazy full of fun, allowing me to fake my helplessness that puzzles her mind. That’s when her motherly instinct shows up to me, acting like mummy towards her babe... She loves it when she scolds her naughty boy for whatever. She will just give it a name and rebuke him for it... 

She wonders anticipating my every thought… She's captivated in words that irritate her curiosity, growing her restlessness and steering butterflies of anxiety in her stomach, shaking her inside out. Even my silence provokes her, drives her out of sanity, though I never meant it.

That's just a snippet of how she is and how we are... 

Andy.

Good Morning

She! She's not just a she. For him she is the moon and the stars. Without her he is a dark, empty gloomy sky. She would trade the world for him. He is the world she lives in. He is the dream she fantasizes and the reality she dwells within...

She is the tenderness of lilium and beauty of daffodils, yet she is the spirit of restless enthusiasm of an unstoppable dreaming child... Wherever she steps, she blows out joy like jasmine spreads its scent on a spring morning sunrise.

He was in the garden reading one of his favorite novels, sitting on the grass and leaning his back against the tree. The tree that witnessed most of their moments together and heard the sweet words they used to share.

She strolled into his solitude and sat beside him on the thick green carpet of grass underneath the tree, leaning forward so she can see his face, looking at him from the side. He turned his head slowly to look at her startling eyes and her genuinely smiling face. He reached her cheek with his palm and slowly placed his lips against her forehead releasing a kiss saying “Good morning”.

Andy.

Hypnotized

I opened the door, and she came in spreading her fragrance before her. Her every single step into my place was diffusing a scent of pride and sweetness, tenderness and arrogance, warmth and chill. While she was passing me, her perfume stroked my breath and dazzled my senses. 

While I was walking her to the reception, I wish she didn't but, she untied her hair, disturbing the air, overwhelming the atmosphere with that puzzling mixture of the outdoors' rainy air, her scent and her fragrance. It made me drunk and thirsty for more... It confused my common sense and allured me to submissiveness. 

It reminded me of those old glorious days, when I used to enjoy that scent while running my nose on her arms, through her shoulders and up to her neck. 

The whole thing kept me hypnotized for a while, that wish, that sweet dream never lasted...


Andy.

The Gift

I wish I could undo the pain… Undress you of the rugs of a cruel past and dress you up in the finest new garments of a content present, wearing in your hair a flower of hope. I wish I could unlock the door of your essence, and tread the road to your soul, to unleash the shells from your eyes, and unburden your heart from the mounted up tears of all the past years.

Your heart has been beating forever, beating lifeless. If only you would offer me the chance, if you would abandon your heart in my hands, I would have undamaged it and unbroken every edge of it. I would have wrapped your heart in silk and gold, breathed life into it and given it back to you.

But you unwanted my hands, since you ignored what I have for you, and un-embraced the empathy I wished to offer. You abandoned my offerings to your longings, to people and things that offered you nothing but a false temporary delight.

I unsought everything, wanting nothing but your joy. But, you always looked at me with accusations, expected me to dig for rewards. I hope you curb your pride and receive my gift. For the ultimate repayment of a true giver, is just accepting the gift.



Andy.

Many Thanks to Michael Nessim for quote design.