Diary
(5) My mother and she shapes our conscience – Ahmed Seif Hashed
My memoirs.. from the details of my life
(5)
My mother and she shapes our conscience
Ahmed Seif Hashed
My mother used to tell us – me and my brothers – captivating tales.. We used to follow her narration word by word. We were led after her speech as bewitched.. We were tied to her without bonds.. In every plot and twist in the story we looked forward to our passion to learn more, until she reached her story. The last, and the desired end.
Our attachment to her never ceased before the story gave its happy ending, in which truth triumphs over falsehood, and justice over injustice.. We follow its rhythm and hold our breath until we reach the climax. Goodness and with it we mobilize our passionate emotions throughout its narration until it ends with its joyful and joyful victory after fight, flight and defeat.. These are stories that deserve our follow-up, taste and integration..
Our consciences were delicate, our minds tender, and the receptors of our consciousness sensitive and captivating.. Those stories made good bright and captivating, so they developed it in our conscience, and called us to siding with it, urging us to do it, and on the other hand, growing our hatred against injustice, falsehood and evil, and confronting them without urging us to resist them. despair or surrender…
She refined and nurtured our morals day by day.. Developed our emotions and our equilibrium.. made us human and developed our beautiful feelings and delicate feelings.. I am part of you, mother. I am still to this day as you used to hope and wish.. What do I think I’m doing, Mama?
What my mother told us was to a large extent together..attractive to us, affecting our conscience, and deeply felt in our souls..she was excavating her tales from the circulated heritage and popular awareness transmitted and transmitted on his lips..
Among the tales that she told us more than fifty years ago in our dark evenings and nights: Al-Hamid bin Mansour, Abd al-Rahim, Hamamat al-Maramid, the old woman the priest, “Al Jarjof”, the wolf, Abu Nawas, and the Seven Brothers..
We listened and stood in front of her while she was speaking, as if she was Buddha and we are his students.. I often lived the scene that she was telling as it is.. I took in myself while listening to the character of one of the good heroes of the story.. I live the role until it reaches its climax.. I interact with his emotions and rhythms.. I follow them as the schedule follows its course.. I yearn for the end to relax myself, and rejoice, and then sleep quietly and calmly..
Tears streamed from my eyes, and rolled silently down my cheeks, some stuck to my lips, I felt their hotness and fed their saltiness, I know my tears as I know myself, and the night had its virtue; Because he covers her and hides her from my mother and my brothers, just as my mother’s attractive narration style had another advantage, as it drew my brothers’ attention so as to prevent their intrusion into my eyes, my tears, and my restrained emotions.
Then, in my youth, I was surprised that some of these tales were recorded in the book “Yemeni Tales and Legends” by the writer “Ali Muhammad Abdo”, and when compared, I found in my mother’s story some additions and additions, perhaps she came from her imagination, or added by the imagination of those she received from before her..
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As my mother used to talk to us about God, Muhammad, Ali and the angels, and everything she received from her ascetic father and fondness for reading the Qur’an.. He would tell her about the stories of the Qur’an and some of its teachings and interpretations.. I was fascinated by the story of Mary and her son Isa, and the miracles of this prophet, which stuck some of his influential biography in my mind. To today..
When I grew up, I understood why Christ said – while suffering from the throes of death at his crucifixion – “My Lord, why did you forsake me?!” I was touched by that immortal phrase to him “He who has no sin, let him throw a stone at her.” I sympathized with the one who lost his father.. I have compassion for foundlings who do not It is their fault..I side with the victims, whoever they are..I understand the mistakes and what life brings to the human being..
I understood what it means for a person to live and die unjustly, or resisting oppression and tyrannical authority.. I knew what glory and immortality reached Christ after his death or after “his lameness.” However, I was more saddened when his name was exploited and his blood was exploited by some tyrannical kingdoms and empires, And the miscreants who ruled it, and how the peoples were subjugated, occupied, and exploited under its name, and how Christianity became a hell and burning in which free-thinkers, scholars, and the enlightened were thrown!!
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My mother also used to tell us that God sees us wherever we are, and that each of us has two angels, one on your right writes your good deeds and the other on your left writes down the bad… From her, and she tells me that my hand will come pregnant and swollen with her pregnancy on the Day of Resurrection.. and this matter remained in my mind, very present even after puberty..
Despite my mother’s warnings, I did not increase, as I went too far in her and abused her and maybe addicted her for a long time.. Whenever I decided after committing her that I would quit her forever, I found myself returning to her not long after with a longing and craving greater and more than the previous one.
“Something with something is mentioned.” I remembered this while reading Milan Kundera’s novel “Immortality,” in which a believing mother was urging her daughter to break some of the habits that had stuck to her, as the mother would say to her daughter: “God sees you.” He hoped by this that she would get rid of the habit of lying, and usually Biting her nails, and inserting her fingers into her nostrils, while the opposite happened, which is what was happening.. She did not imagine the Lord in particular, except in these moments when she was practicing her bad habit, or in moments of her shame..
I also used to remember the Lord as soon as I did what you warned me about.. I would practice the habit and repeat it despite His control and feel the most disappointment and remorse after it.
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My mother also used to warn us a lot against drinking wine, and slandered him, the one who drinks it, the one who wears it, and the one who pledges allegiance to him, an angry campaign more than the wrath of the Lord.. a hatred that I do not know from where it crept in, and she did not know that after fifty years her son would “rattle” “the group of people who are not Drunken by blood” in response to targeting him and his companions, and protesting against the bad conditions, and against the blood that is shed and shed with unprecedented madness, after we found the life that was supposed to be better has become more than miserable, and the head that we were keen on from cold and headache, has become the other Underestimated or worthless, he will be bored or exploded by a bullet that may come to you from a miserable illiterate person in thought and culture, and perhaps from those who cannot read and write, while the miscreants run the scene from their safe and fortified dimension..
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Continued..
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