Diary
(8) Attempting to cross the subconscious..A message to my father..Ahmed Seif Hashed
My memoirs.. from the details of my life
(8)
An ethereal experience of crossing the subconscious.. a message to my father
Ahmed Seif Hashed
How much I love you, father.. when I was writing about you, I saw you in a dream angry and lonely.. I may have used to see you angry, but it did not hurt me to see you alone.. I do not mean to detract from you, for I am part of you and your spanner in a long chain of stretch that overcomes annihilation, departure and interruption. .. Also, I do not mean, my father, to record any championship against you, and what championship is this that a son can record against his father .. I am not the one who records championship against his father, even if I convey the bites and lessons to those who need it in an environment that almost closes its door on itself and suffocates, in the middle of Lavish with shame, hypocrisy, falsehood and pretension.
How much a scene tore me to see you alone in a dream.. I felt that you blamed me as I went to the smallest details.. I felt as if I tried you in your absence, an unfair trial similar to the trial of an accused in his absence.. I felt that I was confiscating the right of your presence.. but how would your presence be and how to conjure your transparent soul ?!!
I tried to prepare your soul more by what I read.. I tried to inform you of my loneliness and my great loss of you.. I am curious to know the details of your world to which you left.. I actually tried, on a very black night, to conjure up your dewy soul.. I felt like etheric waves storming me and running through my body from Below it to the top..a stream of ether waves sweeping me from the feet to the shoulders and ascending to the throat..repeating and repeating as if I was saturated with ether..the last waves were stronger than the ones before..
Your voice was rattling in my throat, or my throat was rattling with what your voice made, or my voice was trying to cross to you, or your voice and my voice were trying to cross to the impossible… The sound in my throat began to be heavy and withdrawing like a recorded sound The power or validity of the battery that activates it has run out. I felt that one of us had reincarnated the other..I felt a state of wear..My heart almost jumped out of my mouth..I could not bear the experience..
I was terrified, and panic gripped my limbs, and my face was pale and dull.. It was not my first experience trying to conjure up your soul, Father, and I could not finish what I had started from a strenuous experience I do not know what its outcome will lead to, is it to reveal what I am looking for, or the death of the one who defies impossibility Or crossing into the unconscious, or passing into the world of madness and the demise of the mind?!!
Perhaps some of what happened was an illusion or a fantasy in the impossible, but the most important thing is that it reveals my need for you and my desire for your embrace, which I did not dare to ask you in your life for your prestige.. The last seven years of your dewy life were filled with kindness and tenderness and you supported me, and relieved me of what weighed me down. My shoulders..
I wanted to ask your permission and I wanted to ask you about your world to which you have become, and to search through you for the secret of the truth or its details that we are looking for and did not find! I wanted to cut off doubt with certainty, and verify all the gossip and allegations that have filled our heads since man began asking about his existence, so most of the answers came according to what the poet said:
“Everyone claims a connection with Layla *** and Layla does not recognize a connection with them.”
I felt blamed for you while I was writing about you, so I came back to write about that old man who used to live in you, and what suits you as a father and a human being.. I still remember that day when I found you by chance and my mother was next to you, and you wept and your tears streamed down.. Your soul sobbed up as if it did not want to return. You, and you weep with burning, bitterness and anguish that do not want to leave your body that is burdened with the deterioration of sadness and pain.
I was surprised when you cried hoarsely, and endured that much oppression that erupted, I did not know that day why you cried, and my mother did not tell me about any oppression that had befallen you .. But I later learned the reason that my mother kept from me, and then pleased me with it after my insistence and hesitation from her.
It is not a shame, my father, that we see your tears.. It is not a shame that you show us the details of your sadness in your crying face, O human.. You should not have removed your face from us to hide it from our eyes, while you were weeping, and trying to put your head among the “coffee peel” bags next to you in The sad corner of your shop, to turn your back on us, and hide the map of your sadness in your naked face, your withered eyes that sadness lost their luster, and your tears that I saw when you turned and were pouring like rain..
I learned, my father, after a while that you were remembering and crying for your son over me, despite the passing of many years since his passing.. How were you able to hide from us all this sadness that inhabits you, and the oppression that weighed your soul for years with the concealment of the men who persevere and are patient.. You are wonderful, Father.. Why I knew that you hide from us all this torment, absence and loss within you, and you turned away from us all this torment that seems to have become greater than you, so he rebelled against you with all this violence..
I wanted to tell you that day: Cry as much as you can, my father, and let the tears fall as you wish, and do not mind them and do not suppress them, and do not be ashamed or embarrassed by us, O man, and seek the help of relentless patience regarding the loneliness and eternal absence of death caused to the dearest of our loved ones..
Today, my father, we are living through all the calamities.. Today death extends and the cemeteries flourish.. How great are your days despite their misery and deprivation.. They are no longer comparing us between our days and holding you.. Today, insolvency and all calamities beset us in the presence of war, death and ugliness..
Today, the barbarism of the occupation has become in their awareness of a protected liberation, and what is an occupier they turn against its name or in conflict with its name!! And the racist rudeness they said about it: The Holy Qur’an, beware not to touch it with objection.. Father, concepts have changed in an unimaginable way.. Death has become lavish, and ugliness is messing with the country, and we are in the crowd of our presence, engulfed in absence, and exhausted in our daily concern.. Beauty in its four dimensions is agonizing Weeping.. Oh misery of the stage..
***
He follows..
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