Crush Your Fears

Yemeni mp

Ahmed Saif Hashed

At the end of my first year of high school, I traveled from Aden back to the village, passing through the “Shaab” area where we would often rest—sometimes at Saeed’s, other times at Adeeb’s, and previously at Hajj Mahmoud’s. We allowed ourselves a respite until dusk before continuing to our distant village via routes that cleverly evaded the northern checkpoints.

Ancient tales from my early childhood suggested that the uninhabited area in “Mujran,” beneath the white house on the northeastern side, was haunted by ghosts and spirits. I had a significant story tied to this place.

Dusk had fully descended, and at that moment, I held a Russian-made “Tata” pistol in my hand, loaded and ready to fire, prepared to face any surprise or emergency that might cross my path in that location or elsewhere along the way. The pistol granted me a sense of safety and immense self-confidence, even in the presence of the ghosts whose existence I had begun to doubt; my beliefs about them had softened considerably compared to the intensity with which I had held them in my early childhood.

Suddenly, in the empty space rife with tales of ghosts and spirits, I saw something black—a distinct shape resembling a specter. It grew larger, a shadow darker than its surroundings. It appeared to be a massive figure, nearly the size of an elephant, blocking the path as if ready to intercept me. I felt that both I and my path had become targets of this presence.

I wanted to veer right, away from this figure shrouded in darkness, avoiding a confrontation based on the assumption of its existence. I shifted to the right alongside the mountain, but I saw it move with me. I tried again, this time to the left, only to find it mirroring my movement in that direction as well. It obstructed my path no matter which way I turned.

Unease washed over me, and I thought: this enormous specter seems intent on preventing my passage, yet there is no other road available. Turning back now would be a shameful retreat for the rest of my life. What would I say to those I was returning to? Should I tell them a spirit blocked my way? Should I admit that a ghost turned me back from the path? Or confess that I am timid, frightened, and cowardly? Even if I sought another route far away, I would still face myself as that coward, at least in my own eyes. I resolved fiercely and defiantly: I will not turn back, no matter the cost of passing through.

The magazine of the pistol was loaded with bullets, and a single shot could kill an elephant—or at least hinder it. With eight rounds in the magazine and a ninth in the chamber, ready to fire with a mere squeeze of the trigger, I felt a surge of confidence.

I had to move forward, come what may. There was no choice but to confront this ominous specter. I began to advance towards it, adopting a crouched stance, prepared to unleash my fire. I moved slowly, each step becoming more deliberate as I cautiously approached the figure looming before me, enormous and terrifying. My index finger was poised on the trigger, fully prepared to apply pressure should I encounter any horror or surprise. My awareness sent signals to all my nerves, including my hand and that ready finger, primed to pull the trigger.

My neural programming coursed through every fiber of my being, filled with the confidence that it would not fail me, no matter how shocking the surprise. I felt ready and assured, my pistol and the wiring of my instinct residing in my finger poised on the trigger, prepared to fire at a moment’s notice.

I advanced, crouched and stealthy, towards the ambiguous figure, eager to uncover its nature. My finger lingered on the trigger, waiting for the precise moment to press, the pistol aimed at the specter, fully prepared to unleash its fire at any instant.

I moved closer and closer. As I neared the apparition, a soft twilight enveloped me, and I was unexpectedly surprised. I discovered it was a medium-sized palm tree, its fronds swaying gently in the breeze. Shrouded in darkness and influenced by the remnants of the old illusions I had heard about this place, it appeared to me as a ghost swaying from side to side, leading me to believe it was intent on obstructing my path or ready to confront the consequences should I insist on moving forward.

* * *

Everything was revealed, and all illusions faded away, including my own fears. I breathed a sigh of relief, laughing at myself. I advised those to whom I had shared my story to overcome their fears and illusions, to conquer the ghosts that sought to turn them back to where they came from, even if that meant returning to the wombs of their mothers.

You can defeat the ghosts if you first conquer the illusions and fears that dominate and control you. Free your consciousness from the delusions that enslave you, rendering you submissive and powerless. Do not allow them to send you retreating, defeated and shamed.

You can vanquish all ghosts even without a pistol or rifle, but with a will that knows no defeat. You can topple any oppressive authority, no matter how strong it appears, if you liberate your awareness, triumph over your illusions, crush your fears, and resolve to dismantle or shatter it like any idol, even if it is “Hubal.” You can defeat those greater than Hubal, indeed, every tyrannical and oppressive power.

* * *