Near and Far

Sometimes I feel you are getting near to me, so near to become even part of myself. I really love the idea and how it feels, so I ignore all the calculations in my head and I disregard all the societal and even commonsense rules in this world we are living in to become so near to you, nearer than I ever thought I would. Then I lose myself .. I just lose it all, all for your lone sake. Then I become occupied, totally occupied with you all over inside me. And at this point you no longer become near to me, for the laws of distance and matter become broken all of a sudden, and you and me become just one entity. Or that's what I think we become, at least for a good while...

Other times I feel you are far, so far to reach. A mirage in the desert, and I am the thirsty traveler. And so after you become close, enough to be in solid contact, you just pull yourself away, you withdraw and leave me lost in an endless maze of mixed thoughts and questioned feelings. Some mysterious force appeared without reason, without planning, without any know-how. Whether it is right or wrong, proper or improper, leading to somewhere or not leading to anywhere, it just appeared, and it is attracting the 2 poles together. Or at least that's what one of the poles believes...

Perplexing enough, it just goes on and on.

Confusing enough, nobody has any idea what's going on.

Enigmatic enough, no one controls it, and it seems run-on.
I'm not really sure who you are, what you are or where you are,
Yet all I know is that I want you there, being near or even far...

A Piece of a Puzzle

This life is strange. So strange. I don't know whether it's life, or it's the people, or maybe it's me. I'm no longer sure. Not sure about anything... 
Sometimes you feel that you got it all, that life became so comprehensible, that people became so predictable, and that your self became no longer a mystery. Yet, that does not last for long, does it?! The people you think highly of think that they are faulty, and the self you think to be faulty is thought of very highly. You look into others, without them knowing it, and others look into you, without you knowing it. You look up to someone: if I just have what you have; but that someone somehow looks up to you too: take what I have but give me this thing you have! You give advice to others while you're the one in dire need for it, and you are given advice by others though they are in no better case than yours. Running circles, chasing dreams, hurling after the mirage of a faraway ocean while being already surrounded with lots of ponds and lakes and rivers. No wonder why you are always thirsty for more! A non-practicing preacher!
What's bothering you? A missing piece of a puzzling life? What if we are all pieces of the same puzzle? And what if there is no puzzle from the first place? The wonder continues, and the puzzlement goes on and on...

It Is in the Eyes

    There are some sorts of things which are worth telling but cannot be told, worth writing about but cannot be written. They originate from the heart, then move to the mind to be processed in the form of words, then somehow the mind finds them unprocessable so they are sent back to the heart, but they become a load on the heart, specially if they keep on piling up, and therefore the ailed heart finally decides to send them to the eyes, where looks and gazes are the only comprehensible language, a desperate measure to say what you want to say when you simply cannot say it, and sometimes even when you do not want to say it. However, neither does everybody know about such internal process, nor does everyone understand this unspoken language, but it happens, all the time.

     It is in the eyes, all what you are looking for. A word can carry only its meaning, but a look can carry books of meaning. The heart almost always says yes for it is fearless, and the mind almost always says no for it is reasonable, while the eyes do not speak, for they are truthful. A look can be so revealing, so plain and obvious. Yet unlike a thought or a feeling, it can be so easily captivated, so easily deceived. And in the inner mind-heart-eye conflict, the upper hand almost always goes to the voice of reason, for it is the most authentic of all three. However, reason does not always get the last word, does it?!

     So you run and run, away from confrontation, mainly for the fear of getting hurt. And you sit there, imagining a million of scenarios, though you know very well how things will go eventually. Your mind is overwhelmed, your heart is aching, and your eyes are closed. No one knows anything about what you are passing through, but what about you? Do you really know what others are passing through? So open your eyes. Maybe the things you considered so much alive are already fading, and maybe the things you considered already dead are so much sprouting, but not through words, spoken or written, but through just a look in some sincere eyes. 

حكاية عم صابر..اللواء

     حكاية عم صابر (اللواء)... من الإسم أول شيء ممكن يخطر على بالك هو صورة راجل غلبان و عجوز، إدى للدنيا أكتر مما أخد، و دي أكيد حكايته مع بهدلة الأيام و إزاي فضل صابر و راضي و فضل بطل قصة الكفاح الطويلة المستمرة حتى النهاية السعيدة المتمثلة في صورة توتالة بتضم عم صابر و أولاده و أحفاده و هما مبتسمين و رافعين علامة النصر. للأسف أحب أقولك إن انت أبعد ما يكون عن مضمون الحكاية... خيبت ظنك شوية معلش، بس إيه رأيك تحاول مرة تانية؟

    هتركز أكتر في العنوان فهتلفت نظرك كلمة ’اللواء‘. و هتقول لنفسك: "إزاي مخدتش بالي من الكلمة دي و انا بقرأ العنوان أول مرة. هو أنا دايماً مندفع كده؟!" .. ’اللواء‘ .. ده أكيد كان لواء في الشرطة مثلا و حصلت معاه مشاكل خلته يسيب الخدمة أو يتقاعد أو ممكن يكون كمان حصلتله حادثة ضيعت فلوسه أو صحته أو أسرته، ولكن برضه فضل بطل لنفس قصة الكفاح الطويل اللي انتهت بيه بنفس الصورة التوتالة و هو بيبتسم و رافع علامة النصر .. برضو!

     أنا مش عارف إيه حكايتك بصراحة مع الصور التوتالة أو مع علامة النصر و إيه سبب حبك الشديد للقصص الدرامية اللي بتيجي في البرامج و المسلسلات، فهخيب ظنك تاني و أقولك جلّت منك برضه المرة دي. غالباً هتبتدي تجيلك بعض المشاعر المتضاربة اللي أغلبها سلبية عن نفسك و عن الحكاية و عن قصص الكفاح و حتى عن عم صابر بذات نفسه (ومش بعيد عني أنا شخصياً!). بس تداركاً للموقف هقولك إن التفكير في أي شيء بنقابله على أساس الصورة النمطية اللي متعودين عليها ده شيء طبيعي و موجود عند كل إنسان. والاندفاع برضه حاجة أنا نفسي ساعات كتير بقع فيها، فهون على نفسك و على حكايتنا و على عم صابر (و عليّ أنا كمان أكيد)، ويلا بينا نشوف مين عم صابر ده.

     دي حكاية بلطجي .. أيوة، بلطجي. صابر اللواء في يوم من الأيام كان الملك وكل اللي في المنطقة التابعين بتوعه؛ طول ما هما بعيد عنه و ضلهم مابيفارقش الحيط، سلموا من شره، بس لو طلعوا بعيد عن الحيط، اتكووا بناره. عنف وخناقات وسرقة و ترهيب وتعاطي ومزاج و سمسرة وعلاقات وتظبيط. وكله عيني عينك، واللي مش عاجبه يعترض، بس يستحمل اللي هيجراله! وعن أقذر الألفاظ و السباب (بالذات سب الدين) محكيلكش. مسك الدنيا بإيديه و لعب بيها بقوته و نفوذه، بس نسي إنها دنيا غرورة، و إن دوام الحال من المحال. نسي إن القوي مش إنسان، ده خالق الأكوان. و في ليلة، في لحظة، خسر قوته ونفوذه. وبعد ما كانت إيديه مسكة الدنيا مسك، وقعت الدنيا من إيده و مسك بدالها عكاز!

      و أديه قاعد على دكته اللي في الشارع، يبص على الرايح واللي جاي. يتحسر على نفسه  و على أيام افتكرها دايمة، على أفعال افتكر نفسه هرب من حسابها، و على دنيا افتكرها طوع أمره. بس ده بيبقى للحظات قليلة. ما بقاش فيه حيل للخناق و الزعيق، بس لسة فيه حيل إنه يدمر نفسه. لسه بيحشش، لسه بيسب و يلعن أهل ده و دين ده، لسه جواه صابر اللواء كبير المنطقة .. كبير المنطقة اللي العيال الصغيرة بيحدفوه بالطوب دلوقتي. لسه متعلمش حاجة و معتبرش. لسه ظلوم و جهول لنفسه قبل غيره. ولسه ربنا بالنسبة له اسم مابيذكروش إلا عند السباب أو الحلفان كذب. وبرضه لسة قاعد على دكته بيبص على الرايح والجاي. وهيفضل يبص، لحد ما تجيله ليلة تانية، لحظة تانية، بس المرة دي مش الدنيا بس هي اللي هتقع من إيديه، ده العكاز كمان...

20 Ways to Win a Sweetheart

20

Listen as if you care, and if you don't want to, just pretend .. it always works

19

Talk, sweet talk, hypocrite talk, tender talk, strong assertive talk, even nonsense talk .. show her that she got competition

18

Lie

17

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, a relative matter .. However, it is a thing to continuously admire, or else!

16

Be the prince and crown her the princess

15

Be there when needed

14

You are the bodyguard .. just make sure nobody gets killed in the end!

13

Presents! They are so lovin' it!

12

 Two things to keep the heck away: your internet password and most importantly, your wallet!

11

She's your one and only guardian angel .. just tell other people so even if she's not, at least to ensure a good night sleep .. away from the coach or worse, the floor

10

Lie again!

9

Physicality is critical, even if she won't admit it

8

Bring your skills to the surface, any skills, any

7

In trouble, head towards the ears!

6
Responsibility is your fate, so grab it from now and get used to it

5

Forget about all what's written in books about them, and get real

4

En garde! .. other possible sweethearts

3

Just lie!

2

Act as if you understand her, even if you don't (and most probably you won't!)

1

Be yourself

Out of Mind, Out of Heart

Disclaimer. What is written next is not about you!

It is healthy sometimes to get crazy for a bit. It is recovering often to move from pole to pole, from ultimate sanity to utter insanity! It is worthy usually to live on the edge, one leg on solid ground and the other floating in the air. It is required once in a while to embrace forget of anyone and anything looking simply familiar. 

A single smile can hide a million of tears. A single wink can hide a million of insults. A single laugh can hide a million of daggers. And a single blush can hide rivers of blood! And here you are, standing but not withstanding. You have been playing fair, without knowing who the opponent is, who the judge is. And the whistle never really blew.

Stubbornness makes profanity and parting makes vanity. So you run away from the us, by departing the you in them. The vanquished is relinquished, sovereignty rights are claimed. Perseverance is irrelevant, resistance is futile. Out of sight, out of mind! And out of mind ... quod erat demonstrandum!

D for Dreams

Do our dreams have any meaning? Why are they even called dreams? The dreams of your sleep the same as  the dreams of your wake, the future, the past, and the present dreams and ambitions and expectations and hopes...

What if you dream of someone? What if someone dreams of you? Awake or asleep, will they ever know? And will you ever know? What is the point of dreams if they are not acknowledged, if they do not happen, if they are kept inside and not translated to the outside world?!

Dreams versus reality, ambitions versus reality, expectations versus reality, hopes versus reality, an ongoing struggle. But why there should be any struggle? Because life is not fair? Because life is pain? Because to err is human? Because you are just not good enough? Lame excuses and faulty beliefs. There is no struggle...

Dreams are so powerful that they can totally take over you, make you so obsessed to the extent of refusing reality, or ignoring it, or fighting it, or sometimes even fearing it. However, whether you like it or not, reality is just there. It is always there. It is life. You will be a fool if you think for a moment that by living in a world of dreams you can cheat reality. As much as it is the other's reality, it is your reality as well, no running, no escaping!

Everything has been created for a clear purpose, and everything happens for a Divine wisdom. And this surely applies to dreams like everything else. So dream but do not over-dream, and live but do not over-live. Dreams and reality, they just intermingle. Realistic dreams and dreamy reality, you have got a perfect match...

Suffocation

     You did the mistake that many of your ancestors had done, and many of your descendants will do, and now you are suffering from its consequences. Suffocated, strangled. The atmosphere is turning into airless vacuum, places are turning into dark boxes of solitude, and walls are jails of barbed wires, getting closer and closer, till they tear your flesh apart, till they get you totally crushed. And the people, they turn into hollow shadows, with no marked features, no faces, no details, just piles of dust surrounding you, staining you, infecting you till you turn like them. And you, you cry inside in pain, down in the cage of depression, your body responds with weakness, and your mind joins with numbness. Yet, you can feel it all: your lungs are not producing much oxygen, your chest is so contracted, and your heart....well, it is going bloodless! 
    You put your trust on a person you did not know well. You believed everything that person says, everything that person does. You believed in the best of him (or her!). You saw something in him and ran after it like a little child, till you got captivated. Like a puppet, you got manipulated, you got used, you got played with, and like a puppet, you faced one of three eventual fates: either you got broken and damaged, or you got thrown away, or you got put away, totally neglected, till dirt buries you alive. 
     You are the hero of your drama, and you keep on fighting and fighting, wars of words and wars of silence, wars of love and wars of hate. But like every hero, there comes a fall. And you fall a victim of your own hamartia. So down and below, at the land of depression, and the tunnels of suffocation... 

Do I Know You?

It is eye widening how you need time to really know the people you thought you knew, enough time, lots of time. It is also mind opening to look back at your previous decisions and see how wrong and short-sighted they were.

I can see you now without the makeup and glitters, a trivial, careless, arrogant, cold, selfish, playful, hypocrite, immature, deceiving type of person. I can see why I once chose you and was amidst taking the serious decision to fight the world for you. I can see that between your sugary words and captivating smiles and tender voice, there were other intentions deep behind: there is nothing special about you, but I just needed you to fill up an empty spot that's all; you're not intended to complete me and I'm not intended to complete you, or anybody, and love, love is only a game of hearts, while soul mate and for better and worse and happily ever after, well, you'd better give up on those, for they are only some silly romantic ideas woven by the worn out fabrics of your naive imagination! I can see why I stopped, I suddenly stopped, to have a moment to think it over, for there are signs that cannot be ignored.

I can see you, but have I ever really seen you? I can see you, but have you ever seen me? I never put makeup, I never wore glitter, and never will, yet still you aren't seeing me, are you? Or perhaps you are seeing me but only the way you want to see me, a step to tread upon, a doormat to wipe your dirt on, a shadow to cover your insecurities, and another man falling behind. We have a man down! MAYDAY, MAYDAY! I think he got hit (by me, but who cares!). I think he needs help. He was trying to help me and then he fell. I think he needs help .. Over! But he didn't know that I never considered a word he said, for what I want I will always get. It is so easy, and they are all the same. Easily distracted, easily controlled and manipulated. And I wanted him and I got him, and now it's time to get rid of him; his time is up, he's an old fashion to throw away, and his services are no longer required.
Hang on, for help is on the way ... Over!

The Wonder Box

When you are in the means of transport and you discover the faces of the people around you, and your eyes hike over the hard hills of their complexion, all pulled down and deep inside or up and far outside, all silent, all gloomy, mostly wishing to find a way to escape reality, to have a break from life, and death, to lose count of time, so you find them listening to songs, or to Quran, or to the radio, reading a book or newspaper, playing games on the mobile phone, or checking the Internet or Facebook, looking through the window but for not really seeing anything particular, at least with their eyes, for their mind is most probably occupied, and their mind's eyes are contemplating some past event or some present issue or some future concern, and their facial expressions could change in some moment of spontaneous madness, no matter how hard they try to hide it, one moment it is a smiley face, the other it is totally grumpy, then back to the poker face, and of course there also remains the option of checking the people around back and forth, trying to figure out who they are and what they think about, an attempt not to breach their privacy, for you already value yours very much, but to get closer to them, to their essence, and consequently to yours, lots of scenarios, rarely correct, scarcely of any good sense, but a means to pass time, to get transported from one stop to another, and from one wonder box to another.

Consumption Rationalization

     The human being could be considered the biggest consumer on this Earth, even bigger than grasshoppers, or maybe viruses. This is simply because not only does he find it enough to consume everything around, but he also consumes everybody including his own self! Everything his hands drop upon, his feet step upon, and his eyes fall upon, an expiring creature living in an expiring world! 

     The lifecycle of the Homo sapiens (Hominidae, Primates): they eat, drink, excrete, sleep, move, wash, dress, talk, shop, produce, reproduce, inhale, exhale, receive, transmit, hit, destroy, dirt, burn, hurt, wound, kill, cure, hate, love, envy, support, think and feel and act and react, survive, and die... All forms of consumption, all forms of life erosion.

     The merchandise of life are everywhere. Some are on shelves, piled in boxes, and stored in depots, buy and sell and show us your money Mr. Big Spender. The others, however, are just there everywhere, no shelves, no boxes, no depots, no cha-ching or ba-bling! Buy and sell same still but this time show us your deepest truest will.

     Such a capitalistic view! We make you love to consume. We make you live to consume! No 'consumption rationalization', for that is a silly unrealistic term of little dreamy boys at school. If you have more than enough, why should you rationalize if you can still have enough? If you have enough, why should you rationalize if you can still have less than enough? If you have less than enough, why should you rationalize if you can still consume the little you have till you have nothing? And if you have nothing, well.. What are you living for then? So you keep on running after the mirage of brand names and you set a price tag to the non-priceable before the priceable. Yet brands are tricky and price tags are not sticky.

     To be controlled and distracted and wasted or to control and focus and establish. It is your call. Fair enough, isn't it?  

A Toy Story

     What if you discover that all that time you have been a toy. An entertainment to others and a drama to yourself. A game in destructive hands, you get your time and then you are thrown away. The source of happiness and pride, but only temporarily till a new toy takes your place, till the novelty fades away, or maybe till the highlights of interest are focused on another possession, another fun activity, another subject of enjoyment and self-satisfaction.

     And you remain there, alone and neglected, till rust invades your gears and ageing wearies your motor. But still not in peace, for you still get used but this time to shatter you into pieces, to dismantle you, to get your precious inner carefully crafted metal and magnets, to leave you hollow, and then to throw you into the garbage.

     Such a tragic fate! Only because you accepted to be a toy. To fall into unsafe hands. To have no will. No value. No life...

Until you fall in the hands that really appreciate your existence. So they reconnect your abused parts, they gather your inner pieces, and they take good care of you. They fix you. And you become a toy no more, but the only reason for real joy and serene happiness. You become alive.

Entangled

   What are you thinking? What are you seeing? What are you doing? The vision is blurry, confused thoughts, tangled and entangled networks of incomprehensible ideas and feelings and concerns, a huge whole city, with a single inhabitant, surrounded by barbed thorny wires, no trespassing, in or out!

     You are the only real entity. You are the only sensible identity in an insensible existence. Time passes, but not necessarily you do the same. A face who needs a mask, encountering masks who need a face. Walking masks, insane masks, painted masks dropping their infectious ink on you, to deprive you of your ingenuity, to deprive you of your sanity.

     What are you thinking? Overload. What are you seeing? Illusion. What are you doing? Sometimes fighting, other times giving up, sometimes passing, other times failing, yet all the time getting hit, getting hurt, mask or no mask, real or imaginary, getting doubtful and critical, entangled, strangled, and then recovered, incognito, and salvaged, come la luce del sole...

إنفلات

     يوم آخر شاق في عمل لا يستسيغه، ينتهي وتبدأ معه سكة سفر مرهقة أخرى في ليلة معتمة أخرى تتخللها رياح الشتاء الغاضبة و البرودة القارسة و على ما يبدو بعض كائنات الظلام الموحشة. أحس بوجود ظل ما يتبعه، شابين أثاروا فيه الاحساس بالريبة وأطلقوا عنده أجهزة الإنذار الداخلية محذرة بخطر قائم مع دفقة دفاعية احترازية من الأدرينالين عكست توجسه عند رؤيته لملامحهم المسعورة التي لا توحي بخير، خاصة في ذلك الوقت المتأخر و في ذلك الشارع التي هجرته الحياه و نامت أعمدة نوره مبكرا إلا عمود واحد على بعد عدة أمتار بدأت تبدو عليه آثار المعاناة من الأرق فيظل يشدو وحيدا بضوء خافت و لكن كاف لإيضاح معالم الشارع فيشكو إلى المارة شدة الإهمال و يناجي نفسه سوء الأحوال. يهتز نوره فتهتز معه دقات القلب المتوجس و تهتز سكنات الجسد المتأهب.

     "معاكش اتنين جنيه والنبي يا برنز عشان ساكنين بعيد ومعاناش حق الميكروباز؟" تلك هي الدخلة الكلاسيكية المنذرة بالمتاعب، فما كان منه إلا أنه لم يستجب و شرع في فتح الخطى عسى أن تكون ظنونه في غير محلها. ولكن ثبتت صحة ظنونه فتحرك الشابان خلفه بسرعة في تشكيلة كسرب من الطائرات المعادية المهاجمة للقواعد السالمة، فوقف أحدهما في الأمام بينما الآخر اتخذ موقعه في الخلف و في لحظة انقضت الأيدي و برزت المطواة وانهالت الشتائم ومالت الأجساد ناحية ركن مظلم تماما نأى بنفسه بعيدا عن أي ضوء بدا مثاليا كمصيدة أو كقبر. 

     غريب أمر ذلك الأدرينالين، من أين أتي بتلك القوة و تلك الجرأة؟! ذلك الفتى النحيل، خائر القوى بعد يوم آخر في مطحنة العمل الخاص، تغتصبه و تمص قواه تلك الآلة الجائرة و تطبق على أنفاسه و أنفاس غيره. يبدو أنها كانت بركة دعاء الوالدين، أو هكذا علق أخوه مشاكسا، شيء من لطف الأقدار و ستر الجبار. لم يشعر بنفسه إلا وقد انتفض في ردة فعل غير متوقعة غير مبال لشفرة المطواة التي شعر ببرودتها تلامس جسده ولا لعرض القوة والترهيب من هؤلاء البلطجية، تلك الفئة الطفيلية التي لم يخف أبدا كرهه لها ولأمثالها. وجد نفسه واقفا تحت عمود النور الوحيد المضيء الشارد الشاهد على كل ما يحدث، يحتمي به و يلوذ بنوره عسي أن تشفع له أشعة نوره الباهت، ينتبس بكلمات لم تسمعها آذانه في ظل الضجيج الصادر من دقات قلبه السريعة، تدق في عنف تكاد تخترق صدره.
     لدهشته لم يتبعه أحد بل ظل الجميع لوهلة في سكون عجيب. ربما أذهلتهم تلك المقاومة التي جردتهم من قوتهم المصطنعة، ربما ظنوه ضحية سهلة، ربما أخافهم ظل بعيد لرجلين يتسامران، ربما هم مثلهم مثل تلك الكائنات الليلية الخبيثة يهابون أقل ضوء، يحترقون عند ملامسته لأجسادهم المتعفنة، لا يحتملون اختراقه لأوصالهم الهشة التي أنهكها السير في خطى الشر. فألقي في قلوبهم الرعب و انطلقوا بعيدا، و لم يبق في المشهد إلا هو و عمود النور الوحيد، يؤانس وحدته و يحكي له همه، ثم يتجه بعيدا إلى مكان أكثر إضاءة و أكثر دفء يحمد ربه على سلامته و على فضل نعمه.

اللي يعيش ياما يشوف

اللي يعيش ياما يشوف. يا مين يسمع، ولو معروف. ناس أشكال و ألوان وأنواع. ناس يتضرب بيهم المثل، وناس يتضرب فيهم المثل. ناس تاخد منهم عبر، وناس متاخدش منهم إلا الضرر. شوية درر و شوية بقر! وشوية قلوبهم أقسى من الحجر. وشوش و نفوس و سعد و ألم. حياتهم كراسة ومصيرهم قلم. دنيا مينفعش فيها إلا البكاش، اللي يتلون بكل لون مع الأوباش..يلا، محدش بيتعلم ببلاش!

تشوفهم نوع نوع تتعجب وتستمتع. وتشوف روعة الخالق في خلقه، ما أبدع. عندك اللي عنده كل حاجة معتبرة، تخليه زي بير الميه في الصحرا. بس بإيديه بيضيع كل ده في خراب. هو لسه زي بير الميه لكن اتحول لشوية سراب. بعديه يجيلك اللي عايش حياته و كأنها فقرة كوميدية. عيشني انهاردة و موتني بكرة، بس انت قدم النية! عايش حياته حاجة كدة سبهللة. ووقت الجد يموت الزمار و تموت معاه الشخللة. يجيلك الواد المعجباني مثال الجدعنة. بس ده ميمنعش وجود شوية سهتنة. يقف معاك تلاقيك بتقول لنفسك هي دي الرجولة. تجيلو البنت إياها، والله يرحمك يا رجولة!

تشوف ده بقى، تقولش حكيم زمانه. لسانه بينقط كلام كتير له ميزانه. بس تلميذ خيبان، حافظ ومش فاهم. النظري غير العملي لو انت فعلا لحكمك عالم. وده بقى نوع سرحان، عايش بس في التوهان. بيدور على حاجة، مش عارف إيه هي. ربنا يهديك يابني، إياك بس في الآخر متطلعش عسلية! واللي جاي ده بقى أخطر الأنواع. ساهي وداهي، أسطورة في الإقناع. بس من كتر وشوشه متعرفلوش حال. لا له قريب و لاحبيب و لا حد شاغل البال.

دي مجرد عينة والباقي لم يصبه الدور. اخرج للدنيا هتقابل الباقي و عينك ما تشوف إلا النور...       

لحظات عبقرية

     و إذا بي و أنا أهيم من موجة إذاعية لموجة أخرى من خلال الراديو الصغير الكائن على مكتبى، والذي تردمه تلال من التراب من قلة الاستخدام و الاهتمام، إذ تمر على مسامعي نغمات تلك المقطوعة الموسيقية الهادئة. أنا متأكد من سماع تلك النغمات العذبة يوما ما، الأمر الذي تطلب مني التحديق بجهاز الراديو لبعض الوقت و كأنه شخص ما ذو ملامح مألوفة جدا لدي. فما كان مني إلا إنني شعرت بأنني رويدا رويدا لا أشعر بالزمان ولا المكان، و إذا بي وقد تناغمت تماما مع كل نغمة تعزف. يا له من شعور غريب! وكأني أطير على سجادة علاء الدين! و لكن منذ متى تحول ذلك الراديو القديم إلى آلة زمن؟!

      المكان نفس المكان لكن الزمان مختلف. قبل قرابة العشرون سنة. عشرون سنة! كم كبرت في السن أيها الفتى الطيب! وأنا من كان يظن نفسه لا يزال شاب صغير؟! نفس النغمات تصاحبني و تؤنس شعوري بالوحدة في هذا العالم و تهون صدمتي بمدى قدم تلك الذكرى. لازلت أتذكرها و أراها أمامي بمنتهى الوضوح. من أجمل أوقات حياتي. 

     انتهى العام الدراسي و بدأت الأجازة. ولكن الاسيتقاظ المبكر لم ينته. وكيف أفوت تلك اللحظات العبقرية من الاستيقاظ باكر يوم الأجازة و فتح شباك التراس و الاستمتاع بنسمات الهواء الحنونة الهادئة الصافية الممتزجة بالعطر المنعش لزهور الياسمين التي كانت يوما ما بمثابة حديقتنا الخاصة مع تغريدات العصافير التي اتخذت الأشجار القليلة المحيطة سكنا لها. و لكن السبب الرئيسي لتكبدي عناء الاستيقاظ المبكر حينها لم يكن ذلك المشهد الرومانسي، فقد كان كارتون الساعة العاشرة على القناة الثالثة والذي لم أكن أستطع مشاهدته أيام الدراسة هو الهدف الأسمى. فها أنا أفتح التلفاز ثم أتجه للجلوس على الأريكة المقابلة انتظر في لهفة دقات الساعة العاشرة و بدأ البث. و لكنها لا تزال التاسعة و هو ما يعني الانتظار لمدة ساعة كاملة و لكنه لم يكن بالأمر الجلل حيث إن وقت الانتظار كانت تتخلله تلك المقطوعات الهادئة والأنغام الجميلة لقناة المعلومات التي كانت تسبق بداية البث بسويعات قليلة (ذلك أيام التلفاز الأرضي الحكومي ذو التسع  قنوات قبل غزو الأقمار الصناعية للفضاء وقبله للعقول!).

     موسيقى رائعة، معلومات مفيدة، أخبار الدنيا، هواء منعش، جو صحو، نقاء ذهن و صفاء قلب. هل تحتاج إلى شيء أكثر من ذلك؟ و يمر الوقت و أنا أغوص في بحور المعلومات و أقفز من نغمة لنغمة و أطير من نسمة لنسمة في ظل أريج الياسمين الأخاذ، حتى تأتي تلك المقطوعة، فتعود بي من حيث أتيت، جالسا أمام الراديو في سكون و ربما في ذهول من هول تغيرات الحياة. وعندها تسللت إلي بعض مشاعر الحزن، ولكن كان عزائي الوحيد هو استرجاعي لتلك اللحظات الماضية المفرحة بكل تفاصيلها: ذكرى ظلت وستظل محفورة في الكيان، ومن يدري، فلربما تعود يوما وأعود معها إلى واقع غير الواقع و حياة غير الحياة و عالم غير العالم...

The Potential Candidate

     This life is getting stranger and stranger. As you grow up in it, you start to learn more about yourself and much more about others. Yet growing up does not necessarily mean getting older, but getting to know how life works and seeing clearly what people want.

     God has given you a gift called kindness, but the more you deal with people, the more you realize that such gift does not actually belong to this awkward life, for the equation is turned upside down: before, in the good old days, Kindness=Goodness, while today, in the messy current days, Kindness=Weakness!

     Temptation rules! Self-interest prevails! And you are for others simply a mere potential candidate! So you run from people who want to get you used, but you fall in the hands of those who want to get you abused. There is no room for humanity or the slightest commonsense. Terms like respect, love, kindness, goodness, charity, trust, honesty, and others of the sort are becoming day by day obsolete. Words that are gradually losing their places at the dictionary to become a vague part of a vague history. Only the naive would believe in such platonic terms, as naive as you!

     What do others want from you? How do they see you? You see them as friends, while they see you as a service provider, and once the service is done, your presence is no longer required; you see her as a girl who deserves your trust, while she sees you as a potential suitor, and once she realizes otherwise and that you are dealing with her from the human level of respect, she turns to search for another potential black suit, for that seems to be her life objective and her built-in idea of a man; you see him as a real man, while he sees you as a body with no soul, and once the body is exposed and the eyes drown in the flesh, you turn into a disposable entity, a burden to get rid of.

     It is contagious! Today you are used, the next day you are the user. Today you control your self, the next day your self controls you. And it starts over and over again. Friends are mere objects at your service, girls are potential suitoresses, and men are a senseless cover for insecurities and desire. And kindness fades away, a normal result for recurrent states of frustration and depression. And life becomes full of frantic creatures tearing each other apart. And you stand all alone in the middle of the frenzied crowd, with all the tears of blood and the scratches and bruises, and then you realize what you are really made of. We are our own victims, and others are just a good excuse, suitable potential candidates!

No Mercy for Fools!

     And it was so painful to him to realize that all that time he was such a fool. Her fool!! He totally believed her. Totally believed in her. An angel from outside, but a devil from inside. So ugly, so scornful! He thought she was a saint, while she was nothing near it! All this time she was using him. Playing with him like a silly puppet. He kept on thinking about her and that she deserves all the goodness in the world. He even thought that he could take a bullet for her sake! He trusted her blindly, without reading the rules of the trust game manual! Trust Game for Dummies: Rule #1--She bluffs, he calls, she's the winner and he's the crying loser!! 

     He was an easy prey and fell into the webs of this 'black widow' so willingly! She strikes her thorny fangs and sucks his streaming blood, and he is still totally blinded! Call it a miracle that he got saved before she surrounds him with her 8 hideous legs and turns him into a lifeless skeleton: for her webs were as fragile as her lies and deception! 

     So he fell, hardly conscious, with a very slow recovery to come. She is still winning, temporarily, seeking another prey and another blood to suck, another game to play. And he lost, but no more a loser! No mercy for fools, that is true. But once a fool, never a fool, for at last he saw her dark side and broke through her multiple masks. She is totally exposed! And he is finally released...

دعنا ننطلق .. معاً

هل أتاك ذلك الشعور بأنك تدور في حياتك في حلقات فارغة مفرغة، و كلما حاولت الاقتراب من مركز أية دائرة من الدوائر العدة التائه بها كلما كان الابتعاد. فتظل تدور وتدور دون توقف و دون جدوى! وتدور دون حتى نقطة تلاق مع أي كائن من كان يمكنه أن يهون عليك مشقة الدوران أو حتى أن يشاركك. كأنك تعيش في عالم خاص منغلق مخيف لا يجرؤ أحد على الاقتراب منه أو على الأقل محاولة اختراق أسواره الهشة. كأنك تتحدث بلغة لا يفهمها أحد و لا يحاول أحد تحدثها أو التعامل بها أو معها ولو بالإشارة، ولم العناء! ابق في عالمك المغلق و سد فتحات كهوفك بالحجارة القاسية و أجج فوهات براكينك بالحمم الحامية و املأ حقولك الخضراء بأبابيل الطير الأسود الضارية و أغرق بحورك بالأمواج العاتية... ابق في مكانك و دعنا و شأننا، فأنت لا تستحق أن نتكبد من أجلك مخاطرة مواجهة المجهول وإن بدا حسن الطالع! اندمج مع العوالم المختلفة و تحدث بلغة غيرك و تخلى عن كهوفك و أخمد براكينك و آنس طيرك و حول بحورك أنهار وستجد نقطة التلاق، وعندها ستجدنا أول من يهون عليك أي عناء و يشاركك أي حدث! إفعل ذلك، ودعنا ننطلق .. معاً ....

At the Dark Alley of Life

At the dark alley of life, there they slither;
There is always a buyer for every commodity,
A dog barking at its own reflection.

A Message

Writing to you what I dare not say,
Saying to myself what I failed to portray;
Thoughts drift through seas of ink on piles of tidy paper,
Feelings flow insomuch that each word turns into a skyscraper,
But all are to wear out.
Paper boats sailing in seas of turbulent thoughts nestled,
Paper planes flying over skyscrapers of streaming emotions unsettled. 

Living in a Chessboard, or in a Painting

It is as living in a chessboard; every move counts, directly towards fate.
Every step needs serious planning, or else .. Checkmate!
But am I the player or just a wooden piece on the plate?

Like being in a picture surrounded by a frame so obtuse,
The frame is cracked, and the picture is broken loose,
But am I the painter or just a painted figure in recluse?

I am my own player, but sometimes others' wooden piece,

I paint my own life, but my whole existence is a masterpiece,

But whether a game or a work of art, my meditation is never to cease.

Who Am I?

Am I my father's likeness, or maybe my mother's resemblance?
Am I a human being, flesh and mind and soul?
Or maybe a mere container of maps of genes and cells?
My veins and arteries are roads and blood is its passengers.
My bones are the residence and the flesh and muscles are its inhabitants.
And my skin is the stretched coating, covering this whole city!
Am I the only conscious being in this world?
Can I feel what people feel, think about what people think about?
After all, do they feel or think at all?!
What does it take to feel alive? What is meant by 'life'?
Metabolism maybe? Growth? Adaptation? Response to stimuli? Or even reproduction?
So what about sharing, learning, loving, caring, thinking, dreaming, or even blaring?
Am I someone whose ancestors were long ago thrown in this world, a consequence for their sin?
Am I a sinner? Am I a repenter?
The flesh is weak, but the spirit is willing.
To err is human, but to err humble is divine!
Are my thoughts the outcome of my body functions or just a means for setting my life course?
My thoughts are my beliefs, my beliefs are my behavior, and my behavior is my attitude!
I am the son of my father and mother, a creation of my Almighty.
I am a conscious being, but not so conscious.
I am rational and emotional, yet relative and not absolute.
My life is a fruit, so fresh and beautiful: not so ripened, but not at all ripped.
Science means everything to me, but so is religion.
My ancestors are me; their sin is the gate to the sanctuary of my repentance.
I am who I am, what I am, and where I am.
Another breath on the wall. A body, mind, and soul.
I am a human being...

In the Operating Room

The Day of Surgery. It is 6:30 am. The loud ringing of the alarm clock is shattering the peace of such quiet morning, but seems that this peace has been already shattered for some time now as I have been already awake. Maybe I am letting my nervousness and worry from that day take control of my thoughts and senses. It is my first surgery ever, and, ironically enough, it is the only type of surgeries which makes me simply breathless whenever I watch it or hear someone talking about it! Now I have an hour before I head to the hospital, enough time to remind myself of the plan for the surgery: go through it, hang tough, get out of it standing tall. A plan so simple! As much as I hope that the Matrix's famous line "There is no spoon!" applies here, I am pretty sure that there will be not just a spoon, but a whole silverware! Where is Neo now when you need him?!! 

In the Hospital. It is 8:30 am. I checked in into the reception and went for the nursing department to do the final check-ups before the surgery, and then a long wait ... Waiting for my turn, for my name to be called. It is interesting how masterful I am in hiding all the nervousness and the shiver deep inside while appearing so calm and in control from the outside. The longer I wait, the colder it gets, the more I recall all the thoughts that prevented me from having a good night sleep the night before, the more the effort I exert to bury the shivers under the soil of my innerness. Then, the waiting is over.

In the Operating Room. It is 9:30 am. I am inside the operating reception room, all by myself: no companion, no support, even no clothes but that loose blue garment and that white baggy head cover. The wheel bed is set, the needle is in my vein, and the solution is in my blood. Being all set, there I am transported to this fully equipped room. There are the bright lights above my head, so bright like the day light. And there I get swallowed inside these lights, totally embraced by its chilly rays. The surgery begins...

Where am I? I remember that vast green meadow, with its tender sun, its delightful weather, and its evergreen trees and colorful flowers dancing happily in the fresh breeze. One of my oldest dreams. And there I am, a little child, running and running without getting tired, feeling so cheerful with that pure smile drawn on his innocent face. A scene so pleasant to the beholder.

Suddenly it gets dark, and there are a couple of surgeons performing a surgery to somebody. And the closer I get, the more amazed I become, for that 'somebody' is no one else but myself! Is this a dream? Or maybe a nightmare! and if so, will I ever wake up from it?? I can see the patient shaking, but so am I. I can feel the patient is semi-conscious, but so am I too. A trembling image of some kind of spectrum, longing to return to its flesh and blood form. Then a voice comes from nowhere: "Hang tough, it is almost over." It looks like the voice of salvation, and upon following it, the darkness gradually fades. The surgery is over.

Deliverance. I do not know what time it is. I am not sure where I am. I am sure of only one thing: it feels so cold in this place! So there I go, or I am helped to go, to the same operating reception room, and here I am, standing tall, taking careful steps towards the door of deliverance. The shiver is withering, the lights are glowing, warmth is finding its way inside my heart. Strangely enough, I see a picture of that same green vast meadow on my way outside. More strangely enough, I feel like that little boy, so happy and willing to run and run without getting wearied. The spectrum is liberated to join its fellow sun beams. I am free.

That First Love...

Have you ever had a first love? That first instance of a feeling towards a person of affection or passion so great, that it makes you just paralyzed: unable to control your senses for they are totally occupied with the pleasant picture of such lover. Well, I had one.

People believe that the first love is the most sincere, yet the most reckless, especially when you encounter it at such a young age, like a child in a primary school. It is the kind of love that might not be defined as love, seen from the eyes of a youngster, but it just remains deep inside as long as one lives!

That girl from the other class, it is difficult to recognize why, or how, I still remember her. Why am I even having these thoughts now?! I hope there is some good reason behind this! I still remember the way I kept looking at her, totally love-struck, totally infatuated, like someone who drank an excessive dose of a love potion to the extent that he got totally captivated to the enchanting impact of her enjoyable presence. I still remember her innocent face, her neat long hair and elegant way of dress, and, most importantly, her performance as a student. It is so strange that the first thing that made me so attracted to her was her cleverness: so hard to imagine that a child could think like this! She was the top of her class (3/A) and I was the top of mine (3/B). She was not the most beautiful girl at my year, yet tell that to little cupid! 

I still remember those very few times when I collected my whole grains of courage to go and talk to her, yet that could not prevent myself to stumble even at the minutest rock and to fumble even at the smallest talk. And when she sees that she just gives me that tender smile that makes me just fly above the ground, feeling the strength of the mighty Hercules or receiving the enthusiasm and energy of a hundred boys of my age. And that was enough for me.
Such 'Platonic love story' continued till the end of the primary stage, when we had to take different roads and go to different schools for the preparatory stage. It is funny that like 10 or 15 years later, I came across her by chance. The odd thing is that I directly realized her; she did not change much, but just became taller and veiled, a grown-up. However, the bizarre thing is that at this time my feeling was not love; it was like a shock, a fear from a ghost withdrawn a long time ago, an incarnation of some kind of memory kept deep inside that came back to the surface out of the blue. And like the old days, I stood watching her from a distance, but this time mainly surprise-struck. And like the old days, I just went away without saying a single word, for such memory belongs to the deeps and got no place on the surface. People are true to say that first love is like an ever-green tree with its deep roots planted inside us, but it just stays inside .. where it belongs ...

A Difficult Talk

     "Because I'm afraid of you!" he says with a trembling voice, leaving her shocked from such an unexpected answer. "Yes .. I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid about you. I'm afraid for you ... I'm just afraid that you'd love me!" Then silence roams the place...... 

     He thinks again about what he has just said. How could he say that to her? He has never been that open to anybody to say what he really feels. He has always liked that sense of mystery that people felt in him. A man of few words, a man of integrity. He respects everybody and expects everybody to respect him in return. He does not like to hurt anybody so that nobody would hurt him. He never gave importance about what people would say about his extreme calmness and his many times of solitude: some would say he is so intelligent, so innocent and kind, while others would think he is arrogant, complicated, not social, tight minded, or even a psychopath!

     She, on the other hand, does not know what to think about. How could he be afraid of her? What does he mean? Afraid of loving her?! No, it was afraid that she loves him!! She wants to reply to him but she just cannot. Her feminine pride tells her to tell him that she has never loved him, that love has never been a part of the equation. But has love really not been part of the equation?! They have known each other for enough time now that if she lies he would sense it, the same as her sensing it when he even tries to twist the truth about anything. So she remains silent, hoping he would liberate her of such prison of quietness, a prison she cannot bear.
     "Do you think I cannot notice what is happening here? Do you think I cannot see the shine in your eyes that exists for nobody but me? We have known each other for a long time now ... You are a beautiful human being. Everything about you is just perfect: inner beauty and outer beauty, a mind so bright, a heart so pure. God knows that you are someone dear to me, someone I respect so much. But this cannot happen. This is a mistake. That is not the way things should go ... I felt that day would come. I tried to escape from it, but I was deep inside sure that sooner or later we should have this talk, this so difficult talk."

Black and White

Imagine yourself living back at those days of the black and white ..... 

When the people had manners and respected each other, old or young ... When they had this peace of mind, when they honestly smiled (a rare occasion these current days!) ... When everything and everyone got taste: The taste of the fresh food that is not contaminated by some greed or indifference and dishonesty, the taste of the new clothes well woven and sincerely made, the taste of the long-living appliances and devices staying from generation to generation as hard as a rock (not as fragile as a china plate like nowadays'!), the taste of the refreshing clean air and the beautiful view of those distinguished buildings and neat streets and green everywhere, and most importantly the taste of the people, doing everything in their life with taste ... No wonder that the people at those days used to live longer and enjoy superior health and better living no matter how simple or even primitive it was (although they did not witness such advances in technology or medicine which are supposed to have been produced to ensure a safer and longer and more enjoyable life, ironically enough, or maybe sorrowfully enough!).
When the country was a real country, its people feeling the pride of being related to it and the enthusiasm to defend it against any harm and to make it a leading place .. When the corruption was there, but not that evident, not that dominant .. When religion was a true faithful message for the good of humanity, not a means for some personal interest or some cheap trade .. When a man was a real man and a woman was a real woman, every one has a particular role, accepting their differences and even encouraging each other to build a sound society, not exchanging roles and fighting and harassing each other .. When love was grace and not some kind of lust, when emotions were idealistic and  not materialistic .. When schools and universities were real minarets of science and education and illumination, real teachers and real students .. When everything was either black or white, unlike today's multicolor living, with the colors so multiple that we are losing perception!
As life goes on, it is supposed to get better (like the progress from black and white to technicolor). But it seems that, as life goes on, same as humans, the world suffers from aging, experiencing the common symptoms of senility: a tasteless, meaningless, disrupted, weak, and dying life!

The Fallen

He fell .... He fell for her innocent smiles and her inviting looks. For her stunning beauty and attractive charms. For her softness and tenderness and her sweet seductive voice. He likes her long hair and her colored eyes, along with some other physical things, but not worthy to tell. He keeps on thinking of nothing but her. Like an addict to some kind of drug, one day away and he just goes lunatic. All in the name of love.

Women are the best distractors, or so they say. And he got distracted!

It's amazing how a woman's weakness can be the source of her utmost strength. How easy it is a job to manipulate and have full control of even the strongest man. The strongest physically, for sure; the strongest mentally, maybe; the strongest spiritually, never!

He fell and fell and kept on falling, a victim of his ugly lust. "This is the best day of my life. I'm on top of the world!" or so he thinks. But from the highest top to the lowest bottom, a faraway distance, and there he lies. So far below.

She .... She fell for his handsomeness and his smiling face. For his manly calm voice and strength. She likes his sweet words, his care and gentleness, and also other things, not worthy to tell. She keeps on thinking of him, her knight in shining armor and savior. Willing to give him anything he asks for .. anything .. all in the name of love!

Women are easily blinded by sweet words and thoughtless emotions, or so it's said. And she got blinded!

It's striking how a woman's weakest part could be both her ears and her heart. A sensitive string to play upon, to juggle with even the most immune woman. Physically immune, certainly; mentally immune, perhaps; spiritually immune, not a chance!

She fell and fell and kept on falling, a casualty of her deficient commonsense. "You're my king and I'm your queen. Happily ever after!" or so she thinks. King and queen on the throne of sin, and there they lie damned evermore.

They both fell .... They fell for their weaknesses, for their ignorance and vanity. For their full indulgence in worldly indecent matters and full oblivion of most decent ones. But like all dark times, soon a ray of light appears. Repentance is the word, with true honest regret. Hope always exists, and His Mercy covers all. Rise up and fall no more, and have sincere faith, for darkness is only in the mind and in the heart. And soon you'll be asked, so are you ready to answer?

Cross Thy Ruins

Lost in the ruins of an old dream
Trying to cope with the running stream
Escaping from the reality of a present life
Trying to endure such a daily strife!

Looking everywhere like a runaway thief
Running hastily without a moment of relief
Carrying a fancy crime on his bare shoulders
The panic of crossing the ugly truth's borders

Lost in the ruins of an ancient world
Roaming through its memories as freely as a bird
Waiting for a time to come but in vain
Waiting for the Guidance to a world more humane

A soldier in his shining armor, all by his own
Fight after fight, not a single groan
Miles and miles from home, yet still walking ahead
Faith pumping the heart, and prudence nourishing the head.

سائح في بلاد التصوف

     مررت البارحة بتجربة؛ هي ليست بالجديدة بالنسبة لي، حيث إن هذه ليست المرة الأولى التي أذهب بها إلى ذلك المكان أو أرى ما رأيت أو حتى أفعل ما فعلت، ولكنها المرة الأولى التي أرغب حقا في الكتابة عنها لتدوين بعض الملاحظات التي بدت جلية لي ولقليل من المتواجدين بالتأكيد. 

     اليوم كله عمةً مضى على طريق غير مخطط له. فبدأ اليوم باستيقاظي في الصباح الباكر ليوم الجمعة قبل ساعات من التوقيت الذي كنت قد حددته سلفاً على المنبه مساء الليلة الفائتة لذلك اليوم لإيقاظي بوقت كافي قبل الصلاة للإفطار و الاستعداد للذهاب للمسجد الملاصق للبيت تقريبا. وعلى غير المخطط لم أكمل نوم تلك الساعات الباقية و ظللت مستيقظاً، فتمت دعوتي للذهاب إلى ذلك المكان فرفضت اولاً ثم وافقت على الذهاب. وعلى الرغم من أني (كسائر مرشحي الرئاسة في بلدي تلك الأيام) "لم أكن أنتوي" الترشح ... أقصد الذهاب، ولكني وافقت كتغيير للجو و كسر لرتابة الروتين اليومي من عمل معظم الوقت و بقاء في المنزل لبقية الوقت. 

     فتحضرت سريعا للذهاب و ركبت حتى مكان تجمع الباصات السياحية المخصصة لرواد و مريدين ذلك المكان ثم انطلقنا. أخذ الطريق حوالي الساعتين حتى وصلنا إلى تلك المزرعة الواسعة مقر إحدى الطرق الصوفية التي يتبعها بعض من أهلي. وهناك سكنا إلى البيت الخاص لأحد أقاربي لبقية اليوم لحضور مراسم مولد صاحب الطريقة (أو هذا ما علمت و سمعت من الناس الجالسين حولي في الباص) والتي ستبدأ بعد صلاة المغرب. فقضيت يومي هنالك و لاحظت بعض النقاط السلبية والبعض الإيجابية.

     كنت قد ذهبت إلى هذا المكان عدة مرات من قبل ولكنها كانت المرة الأولى التي أشهد ذلك الزحام. تلك الجموع من الناس من شتى المحافظات و من سائر المستويات الاجتماعية و حتى من بعض الأجناس و الجنسيات غير المصرية. ولكن هذه هي طبيعة الموالد فلم أكن مندهشاً. كانت صلاة الجمعة مختلفة، أو هكذا بدت لي دائما في المرات القليلة التي حضرتها هناك. فغالباً ما تتناول الخطبة الصوفية وكيف أن تلك الطريقة أرشدت الناس إلى الطريق الصحيح لعبادة الله و مدى سوء بعض التيارات الدينية والطرق الأخرى المتشددة و مدى علم و أخلاق و سماحة و بركة صاحب الطريقة، أو وليها كما يسمونه أيضا، و الدعاء له والتبشر به والتوسل به، و ليس إليه (على الرغم من أن البعض يتوسل إليه ويتمسحون به فعلا!)، كي يقودهم ويدلهم على الطريق الصحيح للقرآن والسنة، فهو "فخر الدين والدنيا" و القرآن والسنة هما "درعه وسيفه" كصاحب دعوة وطريقة.
     وتمر تلك الخطبة كما تمر دائما، وألاحظ وجوه الناس من حولي وأجدهم كما أجدهم دائما، يودون انتهاء الخطبة و أداء الصلاة سريعاً حتى يستمعوا إلى "درس سيدنا الشيخ" الذي يعقب الصلاة مباشرة. وهو ما حدث. فتمر الصلاة على نمط أسرع قليلا من أي نمط صليت به الجمعة قبلا، ثم يتوجه الجميع إلى الاتجاه المعاكس ليجدوا ذلك الشيخ جالساً على مقصورته وهم جميعاً في حالة من التأهب لسماع ما سيقوله الشيخ وما سيعلمهم وحتى البعض يدون ما يقوله الشيخ كمحاضرات الجامعة (مع الفرق طبعاً).
    ويتحدث الشيخ، مرتديا بدلته الأنيقة ومتحدثا بالعامية البسيطة، وهما شيئان يتباهى بهما الشيخ ومريدينه أو مريدين الطريقة كاختلاف عن الصورة النمطية للشيوخ أو الصوفية. ثم يلقي بعض الدعابات للتقرب أكثر من المستمعين ويبدأ الحديث في موضوع ما. يكون الحديث في بعض نقاطه مفيدا حقا، ولكن بما أنه مولد صاحب الطريقة ووليها الأصلي الذي توفي من فترة ما (وذلك طبعاً قبل تغيير اسم الطريقة أو انشقاقها كطريقة جديدة لتصبح على اسم شيخها الجديد) فكان الدرس عنه في بعض الوقت ثم عن من يتحدثون عن حرمانية الموالد وفهمهم الخاطيء للدين ثم التهكم على بعض شيوخ الأزهر وضعفهم وفهمهم الخاطيء بالدين ثم الرجوع لصاحب المولد و في النهاية تلقي بعض الأسئلة، إن وجدت، و الاستجابة لطلبات البعض للدعاء لهم ولأولادهم وبناتهم والتي ترسل إليه في ورق عن طريق بعض المنظمين والمساعدين. ولكني استفدت من بعض النقاط على الرغم من كون أغلبها لا علاقة لها بموضوع الخطبة الأصلي. ثم ينتهي الدرس بعد هالات من التصفيق الحماسي الحاد على روعة ما يقوله الشيخ و موجات من الضحكات العالية رداً على قفشات الشيخ. ثم يتسارع عدد كبير ناحية الشيخ للسلام عليه وتقبيل يده والتبرك ببركة "أحد أولياء الله الصالحين" و لكن تلك المرة، تقريبا لكثرة العدد، اكتفي الشيخ بالإشارة عن بعد و السلام و الناس جميعهم تقريبا رافعي أيديهم عاليا للسلام عليه وذلك مقرونا بابتسامة غالبا معناها الفوز ببركة السلام على الشيخ.
     ثم كانت العودة للبيت، بعد تخبط وعناء من كثرة الزحام أولاً عند الخروج من المسجد ثم ثانياً لصعوبة إيجاد حذاءك الذي عند وجوده كان في حالة يرثى لها لكثرة الأقدام التي دهسته ثم أخيراً لمحاولة جلب شيء من ذلك السوبرماركت و كثرة الناس المنتظرين خارجه و طول الطوابير الواقفه داخله (ولكننا نعيش في زحام وعشوائية وفوضى منذ فترة طويلة فلم التذمر؟!). و في النهاية حمدا لله عدنا لتناول الغداء وللراحة قليلا قبل موعد صلاة المغرب المنتظرة للاحتفال بعدها بالمولد.
     أذن المغرب. فذهبت إلى تلك الساحة الكبيرة بأضوائها المعدة للاحتفال وعدد كبير من الشباب كمنظمين للمرور وللحفل. وبعد صلاة المغرب مباشرة كان الاحتفال. الشيخ كالعادة جالسا على تلك المقصورة وشاشات العرض معدة لمن يجلس بعيدا عنها و بجانبه مقصورة صغيرة معدة لبعض الضيوف لإلقاء بعض الكلمات. بدأ الشيخ كعادته ببعض القفشات والناس كعادتهم في حالة من الحماسة الزائدة من ضحكات عالية وتصفيق حار. شعرت كسائح في بلد غريب لعدم وجود تلك الحماسة داخلي على عكس الغالبية العظمى من المتواجدين. كنت فقط أتابع ما يحدث باهتمام كشيء لا أراه دائماً. ثم أنهى الشيخ كلمته القصيرة ومرر الكلمة لابنه، والذي يبدو أنه يعده ليقود الطريقة من بعده ويعد مريدي الطريقة على قبول ذلك فهو في الأول أو الآخر "من نسله الشريف". تناول ابنه تعريف الطريقة ومنهجها وسموها عن الطرق الأخرى، ولكن في كلمات مملة أشعرتني أني أقف أمام مندوب مبيعات يريد اقناعي بشراء سلعة ما ولي طبعا في النهاية حرية الاختيار (مع الاختلاف الكبير بالتأكيد). بعد ذلك تناول بعض من سيرة صاحب المولد ولكني أيضا لم أشعر بانجذاب لما يقوله. فعلى الرغم من نظرات والده الجالس وحيدا على المقصورة الكبيرة من فخر بابنه واقتناع بما يقوله، يبدو أنه ليست لديه بعد الكاريزما التي يتمتع بها والده. أنهى الابن كلمته فكان دور مسؤول الطريقة في بلاد الخليج ثم مسؤولها في بلاد الهند. كلها كلمات مدح كثيرة في الطريقة و نموها وانتشارها و تمدح كثير بالشيخ الجالس صاحب البركات ثم مديح بصاحب المولد في كلمة أو اثنتين. وبالطبع قبل إلقاء الكل لكلمته و بعدها كان يذهب للسلام بحرارة على الشيخ وتقبيل "يديه الشريفتين". وبالطبع لم يشعر أحد أن وقت صلاة العشاء قد أتى ومر دون حتى أن يرفع الأذان، بل ظلت الكلمات تتوالى.

     و بعد تلك الكلمات التي وجدتها مضجرة لدرجة الرغبة في النوم، أتى وقت "الحضرة" و هو ما يعني قيامي من وسط الحشود و الاكتفاء بالوقوف بالخارج والمشاهدة لعدم اعتيادي على أداء مراسم حضرة صوفية من قبل. وبالطبع لم أسلم من بعض تلك النظرات التي عادة ما يلقيها البعض على السياح لاختلافهم الواضح عن ما حولهم في الشكل أو التصرفات. ظننت في نفسي أن أرد على تلك العيون أني مسلم أيضا و أني الحمد لله أحافظ على فروضي وأحاول أن اجتهد لأكون شخصا أفضل ديناً و أخلاقاً و لكني  اكتفيت بتجاهل تلك العيون. ثم بدأت الحضرة بشخص ينشد بعض الأناشيد الخاصة بالطريقة وشيخ الطريقة والنبي محمد (صلوات الله عليه وسلامه تسليما) والناس تردد "الله" و تفعل بعض الحركات بأجسادهم وأيديهم (حركات لا أفهم سببها أو مصدرها ولكنها يبدو أنها سمة من سمات مريدي التصوف) فالحضرة في حد ذاتها عند الطرق الصوفية هي طريقة من طرق ذكر الله. و عموما في النهاية كل يذكر ربه ويصلي على نبيه بطريقته (المهم إنه يذكرهم).

     وكانت الحضرة هي الحدث الختامي لذلك المولد والاحتفال الصوفي والذي تم بعده توزيع "النفحة" على الموجودين (وهي تكون عادة أرز و لحم أو أرز باللبن) لتناولها والتحلي ببركتها قبل الاستعداد للرحيل و العودة كل لبيته.

     كانت تجربة مختلفة و كان يوما غير تقليدي. عالم مختلف و اجتهادات في الدين قد تكون صحيحة و قد تكون خاطئة (الله أعلى و أعلم). أن يكون لك شيخ تثق به و برأيه و ترى أنه عنده من العلم ما يكفي لإرشادك إلى الطريق الصحيح هذا شيئ جيد جدا، ولكن هذا لا يعني أن تلغي عقلك و قلبك و تنساق وراءه بكل جوارحك بمبدأ "الطاعة العمياء" والتي كان من الغريب أن أجد ابن شيخ الطريقة في كلمته يدعو لها. في النهاية ذلك الشيخ بشر كسائر البشر يخطيء ويصيب وفوق كل ذي علم عليم. هو ليس نبي أو رسول، وحتى كونه "ولي من أولياء الله" فهذا شيء الله أعلم به و ليس أنت. أن تشعر بالراحة في مكان ما أو بفعل عمل معين هذا شيء يرنو إليه الجميع، ولكن هذا ليس معناه أن من لا يفعل ما تفعل فهو خاسر أو مضلل. أن تجد من يعلمك في مجالات الدين و الدنيا بشكل مبسط و تلقائي ذلك أمر يحسد الناس عليه، ولكن يجب أن تبحث أنت أيضاً في صحة ما يقال لك و أن تعمل عقلك و قلبك و أن تكون لك مصادر أخرى صحيحة ولا غبار عليها تتلقى منها العلم و المشورة. و نهايةً، الله سميع مجيب، فعلاقتك به لا تحتاج وسيط يوصلك إليه. أعمل عقلك و جاهد نفسك وتعلم من غيرك و تفكر في الخلق حولك و استفتي قلبك و إياك أن تنسى قدرة الله عليك و على غيرك و تحصن بالمعرفة الصحيحة و بمكارم الأخلاق و بعظمة القرآن الكريم و السنة الطاهرة تجد الإيمان والرضا والجنة (بمشيئة الله).

If Only...

Sitting inside her balcony, with her short white red-dyed hair ... Ignoring all the noises of the street ..

The thunderous horns of the cars, the resonant shouts of the sellers, the monotonic humming of people talking, the loud cries of that newborn lying in his mother's lap, the goofy laughs of some young men, the common chaos of the modern hasty way of living ...

Detaching herself from everyone and everything that could blur the clarity of this memory's dreamy image ... Thinking back at the days of her youth, the days of her strength and beauty .. The moments of her glory, the middle pages of her story ... That look on her face, and those teary eyes ... Fairness was one day the source of her pride and pleasure, and now fairness still remains, yet with a very different meaning .. A very 'just' meaning .. The mirror was once her all-day resort, but now it is a forbidden place .. Life was never that ruthless ... Feeling totally deserted, totally forgotten, totally nonexistent!

Totally occupied with only one thought: "The world was mine someday. I had it all in the grips of my hands. But like the granules of soft sand, all sneaked down the palms of my hands and I ended up catching emptiness! If only I can live a little while back then ... If only I can have my shiny black hair and my soft light skin .. If only I can see those looks of admiration from all the beholders .. If only my eyes don't keep on failing me .. If only my bones aren't so fragile .. If only those wrinkles aren't that obvious ... If only aging and loneliness and regret are not eating me alive .. If only I made the right choices when I had the chance ... If only......" 

Enigmas

Do you believe in telepathy, to know what the other is thinking about without the least interaction between one another?

Or look-alikes, where someone who looks the same as you exists but in a different place in the world?

What about deja vu, foreseeing something and experiencing it before it even happens?

And the soulmate, a mostly romantic idea of feeling attracted to, or better being created for, a certain person with complete mental and spiritual affinity?

Reaching the concept of infinity, where ends have no ends and limits are actually limitless?

An enigma of the human mind, and a world never void of its mysteries...

Press Your Keyboard's Keys!

Never "Escape" from your problems or worries, but always take "Control" of yourself and your surroundings .. "Delete" the chains that curb your abilities, and "Insert" faith and hope into your heart .. Before you "Shift" from one decision to another, make sure that you have a good "Alt"ernative ... And when you feel that you reached the "End" of the road, "Enter" through the bushes with all your power, for "Home" lies directly behind them.