The Demon Of Maturity.
I do not usually post personal letters. I got permission for this one. It is a rant, but one that is very close to my heart. Thus, I share it with you.
You know, I created a blog for the sole purpose of avoiding writing long letters.
I do have one thing to say though.
I hate a lot of things. Maybe more than I should. Mostly inanimate objects, smilies, cliches, etc. But there is one thing I hate more than the rest and that is any creature who looks down on what they parochially interpret to be immaturity. Let me be more specific.
I mentioned juvenility. I do not in any way associate that with immaturity. Actually, I consider the humour, the carefree-ness, the innocence, the interest in everything, the playfulness, the awe with which it treats the world, the tenderness, the way it is uncalloused and untarnished, unburned, limitless, free, wild, and untamed, uninhibited, trusting, the sparkle that it has to it that is not found in all the decaying defined "maturity" in the world, I consider all THAT the highest form of maturity that there is. And though I do not pretend to be all those things, I have been tainted by "maturity" some, unfortunately, still I would consider it my goal and the highest success I could achieve to be juvenile for the rest of my life.
I do not want to rot, ever, and I plan not to. I detest adulthood, it is a lukewarm disease that has nothing to do with age. I don't care how old I get, how much I accomplish, if I cannot stay bright eyed for the rest of my days, it is a waste.
The best in love, the best in happiness, the best in courage, the best in forgiveness, even the best in anger, in ferocity, and the best of example of shortlived-ness in them both, is found in the child. A child is not bitter, jealous, malicious to anywhere near the degree that a typical "mature" adult is. With "maturity" comes sarcasm, mistrust, stonehearted-ness, arrogance--all of my own demons stem from the curse of "maturity". It is out of a shred of unwelcome "maturity" that I am writing this, like this. A child would shrug and smile, and forget.
Did you know that romance itself stems from juvenility? Your average "mature" man will not sweep you off your feet, he will buy you a can opener. Do you want a can opener man? "Maturity" shys away from love because it knows the consequences. I have been there. A child does not know, and so jumps off the edge. I have been there too. Juvenility with age, a kind of sustained childhood that springs from knowing both options and choosing to remain a child, choosing to jump anyway, also knows what awaits him, but doesn't care, and so jumps--and this is when you can experience, when you can feel in the rushing wind what you have never felt before. Not the unknown, and not the unwanted, but a known and wanted acceptance and encouragement of the bad that comes inevitably with the good, because splatting at the bottom is worth the beautiful sensory rush of falling.
Get your "mature" man to write you a poem. Get him to run through fields of flowers with you. He won't. Get him to care enough when you cry and run out the door into the rain, to not hesitate to run after you and beg your forgiveness on his knees in a puddle. Get him to trust you again with his heart once you've inevitably broken it for the first time. Get him, I dare say to propose. To bare yourself that much to an inherently evil being could not be the work of a "mature" heart.
The "mature" heart is the first to frustrate, ice over, and grit its teeth. It longs to beat you to throwing in the towel. It looks for opportunities to cut off your legs and blame it on you. It schemes toward its own benefit and disregards all else because it doesn't care. It nails feelings, emotions, and passions to a cross and watches them bleed to death with satisfaction.
Faith is the picture of a child. Salvation is the picture of a child. Grace is the picture of a child. Self-righteousness, hypocrisy, and darkness all come with age.
Pleasure cannot be enjoyed with "maturity" because enjoyment and "maturity" are not congruent. "Maturity" is stifling and afraid and reticent and unwilling, all opposites of pleasure. Pleasure can only be free and pure and uninhibited, or else it is perversion. Pleasure is natural. "Maturity" hates simplicity, instinct, unprocessed anything, and thus is a perversion. "Maturity" is a perversion because it inhibits, binds, and impurifies, and with that comes twisted, misshapen desires, or a lack of any desire at all, a coldness, which is the worst perversion and the most frequent "maturity-induced" one. I should know. Ask anyone who knew me a few years ago.
"Fun" is a word that is not understood by the "mature". Well, let them scowl and fume, and wonder why we laugh, what that light is in our eyes. Let them try to put it out.
To hell with them anyway.
Rant. Tangent. I do. But rant with passion, or not at all.
It was brought to my attention that my rant is incomplete. There is a wonderful side to maturity, which I left unexplored. Maybe I should not have pegged it with the all-encompassing word "maturity". I did so because it is a word you will understand. I hope the quotation marks
clarify the type I am referring to.
So, run in the rain, against the wind! Wear a Burger King crown around for a few days--that will do the trick.
I am talking to myself, not to you.
I love you.