Reverie of the Moroccan Furniture

You nod politely to your father-in-law. He sits across from you, making wild gestures as he emphatically lauds the virtues of plastic. You have never been so bored in your life. Fortunately, you have good taste. Here in your Mediterranean parlor, the Moroccan furniture captivates your attention with exotic tales of adventure and romance. You are sustained by the elaborate decor which has afforded you with infinite distraction in the past.

The topic changes to politics. Hiding behind the steam of your Harira soup, you steal glances of the six-sided Moroccan table standing between you and your mundane guest. Hand-carved Romanesque designs embellish Moorish arches in a fascinating concordance of design. Ancient and modern. East and west. Traditional and progressive. The pure geometry and meticulous craftsmanship of the Moroccan table resolve the timeless debates. Cinnamon earth tones exist peacefully between vibrant shades of sapphire and vermilion. And somehow you know that there is more to learn from the silent artistry of a Moroccan table than from a hundred political diatribes.

The Alhambra bench yields patiently beneath the insistent enthusiasm of your guest. Gazing at the bench, you allow yourself to be mesmerized by intricate patterns in the wooden latticework. Every curve was fashioned by hand. Tracing them with your eyes, you follow a human drama through centuries of labor, accomplishment, and innovation. Morocco is the cultural crossroads between Europe and Arabia, and Moroccan furniture embodies the blissful spirit of cooperation. Classical, Deco, French, Berber, Moorish - the bench quietly reminds you that there are no distinctions, no boundaries in time and space. And why should there be? The best of all worlds is harmoniously encoded in the flawless design of Moroccan furniture, shaking antique paradigms to their very foundation.

Now the topic is religion. In your kasbah, Moroccan lanterns scatter brilliant shapes across the Andalusian tile. The Mediterranean parlor is consumed in a phantasmagoria of light, and you feel and the presence of something far greater than yourself. The universe avails itself in the henna designs of a nearby Moroccan rug. Looking past the design, you see yourself from above. Reality becomes a fractal, a neverending pattern of function and beauty. It is astonishing, yet obvious. It seems there can be only two types of people in this world: those who love plastic and those who find meaning in the noble artistry of Moroccan furniture. But in your Mediterranean parlor, you have learned that such dichotomies are meaningless. Time itself will distinguish the genuine from the contrived, and history is on your side. Surrounded by Moroccan furniture, you are heir to the divine legacy of mathematics and creation.

Your father-in-law looks at your expectantly. You collect yourself, admitting to him that you were briefly distracted. What were we talking about? The topic is Moroccan furniture. And you are bewildered because never before has your guest been this quiet and attentive. How do you begin to describe the carvings on a Falola chest or the engraved facade of an armoire Arabesque? How can you explain feelings so visceral and profound? Sipping your mint tea, you consider the question. For right now, silence is the best answer.