الرفض_مقال

تأليف: رنا خالد Blog Publisher

كتابة و تحرير: محمد هشام وعمر هشام

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الشعور بالرفض شعور قاتل. فهو كالقنبلة الموقوتة التي كلما تسارعت نبضات قلبك محاولا ابطال مفعولها المدمر، تسارعت نبضات عقاربها نحو نهاية المطاف، فإنما كانت نهاية مدمرة او نهاية بطُل مفعولها في الثواني الأخيرة قبل الانفجار. فان حاولت تفاديها او السيطرة على تناثر اشلائها الغاضبة أصبحت معها في عداد الموتى. وان قررت ان تتركها لتنفجر وتشعل النيران في كل ما هو على مرمى البصر، الى ما بعد البصيرة، ظلت النتيجة تلال من الرماد الهش، الراكد في وضع الاستعداد ليتناثر في ارجاء النفس، محبطا إياها. فهذا الرماد ما هو إلا ذرات اليأس التي تتغذى على كيانك، مهلكة إياه.

كلما نظرت إلى الحياة رأيتها كالرصاصة المشتعلة، المنطلقة من قاذفها بسرعة نفاثة. صوت قذفتها ما هو إلا صرخة الوليد الموجعة بعد أن رأى حياته كأفلام الكارتون المأساوية. ففي بداية طريقها تكون في أقصى سرعة لها، ملتهبة وغاضبة، تكاد تكون كصاعقة برق ألقتها السماء في نوبة من نوبات الجنون. تبدأ بعد ذلك بالتباطؤ التدريجي لما قد تواجهه في طريقها الشاق من عوامل التعرية من اعاصير ترابية ورياح وزوابع التغير القاسية.

تظل الرصاصة على طريقها بهذا الشكل إلى أن ترتطم بأول جسد صلب يُعرقل مسيرتها. هذا الجسد هو الرفض. الرفض هنا من الممكن أن يكون شخص قد رفض حبك له، أو شركة قد رفضت طلب توظيفك، أو أشياء اخرى كثيرة ترفض وجودك أو ترفض ما أنت عليه. هنا يظهر مفترق الطُرق، فالرصاص نوعان: نوع قد ينبعج ويستقر في ذلك الجسد الصلب ويستسلم للهزيمة، ومن ثم اليأس الذي يبدأ في التغذي على رماد الرصاصة المنكوبة. ونوع آخر عنيد، يرفض الاستسلام وينوي العزيمة على اختراق ذلك السد حتى وإن كان سيخسر هيئته المتماسكة، الثاقبة للموانع.

النوع الثاني من الرصاص صعب الحصول عليه ولكنه ثمين وقوي. فهو يُقرر أن لا شيء يستطيع هزيمته، حتى وإن كان سد منيع. هذا النوع يثقب السدود التي تواجهه ويستمر بالتقدم إلى أن تهدأ سرعته بالتدريج. أما النوع الاول فهو النوع الأكثر شيوعا؛ نوع ضعيف لا قيمة له، يتوارى سريعا مع أول مواجهة. فهو النوع الذي يستسلم للأوجاع ويري النهاية قبل أن يُقرر أن يخطو خطوة واحدة في طريق حياته. هذا النوع يتحول إلى اليأس الذي بدوره يتغذى عليه ويُصبح صداه مُعدي ومميت.

بناء على ذلك فحياة الأشخاص كالرصاص ومن ثم فالأشخاص نوعان: نوع يائس، مكتئب، يريدك أن ترتطم أنت أيضا بحاجز الرفض لكي يستولي على حياتك ويتفاقم بداخلها كالخلايا السرطانية، ونوع رافض للواقع والحواجز والعقبات التي تستقر في أنحاء الطريق. الرفض ما هو إلا سد من السدود التي تتباري لتسقطك بعيدا عن هدفك وحياتك المنتظرة. فيجب على الرفض أن يجعلنا النوع الثاني من الرصاص، مُثابرين ومُقبلين على الحياة. فإن وجد منا غير ذلك، أصبحنا فريسة له وليأسه القذر.

كل شخص مولود وقد رُسمت علي وجهه ملامح الحياة المفعمة بشرارة المثابرة. ان تركت اليأس يستولي على تلك الشرارة، تتباري ملامح وجهك نحو الذبول. فتري الملامح المفعمة بنسيم الحياة قد تبارت نحو الانبعاج والتواري إلى أن تموت وتصبح مصدر حياة للزواحف المضنية، الكامنة في طبقات الأرض المتلهفة للاستحواذ على طاقتك المُتبقية. فلا تكن طعامها، كُن السم الذي تآكلها كلما حاولت التغذي عليه. كُن شعلة الحياة الملتهبة ولا تدع عوامل التعرية الحمقاء تحد من سرعتك وقوتك الكامنة في قلبك الذي لا يتوارى عن إشراقة شمس الحياة.

Shadows of Oblivion (Demons of the Night VI)

I’m the ghost running, scared of your night

Scared of disappearance and frightened of your light

I’m the ghost running scared of being seen

Scared of being dead; having your ability to breathe

I’m the ghost of the shadow that creeps in your flesh

I’m the wild thought buried in disguise

I’m the sought freedom but remaining unsaid

I’m the sound screaming in the far away depths

I’m your shadow

I’m the ghost of the shadow that you’re scared to meet

Scared to know it’s you, scared to know it’s breathing

I’m the thought that you bury deep down in disguise

In a level near oblivion, in your unconscious mind

I’m your shadow

I’m the shadow of the ghost of your shadow

Crawling in your alternative skin

Shunned by your reality and shredded by your guilt

I’m the mind you refuse to admit

I’m your freedom

I’m the salvation you yearn for and seek

I’m the unspoken word lurking to speak

I’m the shadow that fought against your oppression 

And fighting still

I’m the “Demon” that will take over your existence

I’m your “untamed head” and “wretched mind”

I’m your “corrupted heart” and “decaying instincts”

I’m purer than you are and the most innocent

I’m the innate nature that you smash against the wall

All grown up and developed and now asking for more

I'm all the strengths that you are unable to contain

I’m the unspoken world now learning to speak

I’m the relentless warrior fighting still

I’m the ghost of your shadow only embracing existence

I AM FREEDOM

Fire and Ice

Based on The CW Network's "The Originals" Season One

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A full moon being born

From the sky’s dark womb

An age of strength it beholds,

An age of terror

A fierce sun is packing warriors

For the war it’s waging

An age of wrath is awaiting,

An age of dismay

It is ice, rising

It is coldness, swarming

It is a storm of warnings,

A storm of decay

It is fire, devouring

It is rage, hovering

It is a crossfire increasing

The heat of the day

The war is at the door

Marching and knocking

It is banging its feet against the floor

Planting seeds of trees of blood

Two sides from which you choose

It is either ice or fire

Choose to combust through the flames

Or to get stoned by a hail of piercing ice

On The Way to Heaven (A Short Story)

It is believed that the gates of Heaven lie at the end of the road above Hell. We have to walk down a dreary road, as thick as a hair can possibly be and paved with claws, in order to reach the gates of Heaven. Some people will be lucky and move fast on this road, they will race each other to the Gates. Some others, like myself, will stumble and fall and maybe even never make it half way and become the wood that feeds the hell mouth open beneath them, or they will stumble and fall but they will still reach the Gates with bleeding hands and worn off feet. That is what we were brought up to believe. I do believe, the problem is not in believing, the problem is losing hope in redemption. 

As we were brought up to believe that it is our sins that will stand as obstacles between us and the Holy Gates, we were also brought up to believe that by repenting to Allah, he will forgive all our sins and help us through to Heaven. As sinful as I might be, as sinful as anybody might reach, there is still hope for everybody to go back to Allah and repent, a pure and honest repentance, if I want Allah to accept me in. I have to believe that Allah will accept my repentance so that he would actually accept it. If I have no belief, then I’m expelled from his redemption. I believe in that as well, but there are those moments of fear; doubt if I may say, that often hit the hearts of those who are lost as I am. What if I’m true in my wishes but still I’m not accepted in his mercy? What would become of me if I sin, repent, then sin again, then repent again and I die on sin before I have the chance to repent the most honest and truthful repentance I ever have to give? Will I feed hell, will I stumble and make it half way to the Gates, or will I just end nowhere but between the two worlds of sin and virtue?

This doubt overwhelmed me so much when I was standing yesterday in the street and it rained. It didn’t rain so heavily, but my mother, standing beside me, was getting wet. She was so excited about the rain. It is believed that if you ask Allah for something when it’s raining, Allah will grant your wishes and bring them to life. She was grateful for the rain but I wasn’t; it didn’t rain on me, I didn’t get wet as she did. I almost didn’t believe her when she told me that it was raining until I saw her sleeves getting darker with the rain droplets and I saw the street getting washed up and cleaned off their killing desolation. This was my moment of doubt, the strongest doubt I ever had about my destiny after life.

I then kept wondering, it didn’t rain on me although it’s raining all around me, am I that lost that I cannot be purged? Water is a symbol of purging and repentance and purity, so am I that sinful that the decay have reached so deep in me that water can’t help and now there is only place for fire to try making its statement? Will I not be redeemed and I’ll be one of those on which Hell mouth will triumph when it’s swallowing my frail body into its wrath? That is when I believed that I’m so lost beyond the hope of help to reach my wretched existence.

As broken as I was in these few seconds of havoc and wretchedness, I looked up at the sky when the first drop of rain hit my face. I looked at the clarity of the clouds and at the baby blue color filling the world around me and endorsing me with hope one more time. Maybe it was all a wakeup call not to lose hope. Maybe it was a call form Allah asking me to repent so that he would welcome me back in his Blessed Kingdom. Maybe my Kingdom of Heaven still awaits my presence and just is urging me to work a little bit harder so that I’d thrive in its goodness, maybe!

It was all a few seconds of belief and disbelief. A few seconds that awakened a giant troll sleeping. A few seconds that provoked a relentless storm of thought that then exploded and left its ruins everywhere in my head. Perhaps this all was just a daydream that didn’t want to end, leaving me with a lost mind and a tortured souls upon the remains of what was once a faithful heart with the solemn wish of finding its way back to God. Perhaps it’s still my call to make, whether to find my way back to heaven or to stay astray from the road of redemption. 

Havoc (Lost in Translation II)

I’m getting lost on who I am 

I’m unable to transcribe the encryptions

Symbols and shapes scattered all around

A chaos, no co-existence!

A havoc state of mind, 

A storm of whirling anger

A peace-less center still

Of fire and swirling winds

A featherless phoenix flying

Losing its way while trying

To get back on course of life

Fighting its deadly fires

Two paths from which it chooses

But at the fork road she stands

Admiring one while expecting the other

As if it’s to give a confession

I can’t read myself anymore

I’m lost at the choice of the roads

I’m the phoenix with burnt feathers

Flying towards its fatal fire

Only this time, it won’t be reborn

I’m the one with a smudged face

A colorless complexion of misfortunes

A wreckage of a ship going out on a sail

In the middle of a prime storm

Doppelganger (Demons of The Night V)

"We stop looking for monsters when we realize they're inside of us"_The Joker

You see me in the mirror

In the reflection you think as yours

In the running water’s river

When you lean to pick a rose

You see me in your actions

Your vigorous, fierce decisions

You see me in your anger

When everything is simple

You know of my existence

You see me everyday

But you choose not to acknowledge me

Not to see that I’m there

You know that I’m watching you

And that I expose myself on occasions

I lurk taking over you

And put that body to action

I see you wasting time

Wasting mine with yours

I whisper to you to rebel

But you just don’t listen

I watch you through this glass

I crawl under your skin

I’m the itch that eats you up

When you’re trying to show restrain

I’m you and you’re me

But I’m the vicious, that’s what you call me

I’m your double, we share everything

I’m the thoughts within your agony

I’m your revenge, I’m your vigorousness

I’m your head when it whispers

I’m the voice that you cast away

I’m the person who you deny his brain

I’m the Rottweiler that haunts you

The burnt female corpse that grabs you

I’m the hand that squeezes your heart

And sets your head on fire 

I’m your double, the other you

The self that you don’t see but she sees you

I’m the you rising in the shadows

That pain sawing through your bones