I never cared about the vastness of the universe or comparing planets to each other. Nor did I consider the human connection to these worlds, from which we draw our strength, as an invisible energy that permeates thoughts and beings. This energy, whether through sensory perception or through vibrations, automatically exerts its influence, often without our bodies being aware of the importance of this interaction. This interaction causes many things to happen, transforming a person into a revolution that rivals the power they believe they possess. This simple possession of power is either inspired by their innate nature or by the influences that surround them. Through these influences, they can be easily contained, or stubbornly defiant, or even cunning.
I did not pay attention to all these relationships related to patterns of thinking. I did not realize that the first dust that solidified through amalgamations is the same origin of the formation of these scenes that amaze us with their enormity, even though they are only simple atoms compared to the distant vision. Studying and exploring the other hidden treasures ultimately forms a scientific integration, where knowledge is shared with others. No one can find all the solutions to understand the workings of the universe, so we must exchange experiences and deny ourselves in conveying everything we have learned to others in humanity, in order to achieve even a small portion of that difficult and impossible integration.
I never cared at all about the cosmic disturbances happening around me, which we imagine as children to be celestial customs celebrated in the upper world, whose echoes reach us through dust storms on a land that is intoxicated by only a single, almost orphaned atom, amidst the multitude of planets and spaces that humans are still unaware of. On Earth, there are rivalries, a rift in nature, and a seizure of dominant sites, yielding to the desire of a being that does not understand the fate of the Earth, nor does it realize its flour that leads everyone to an unknown center of influence called the end. And with this eternal kinetic end in the world of the other beginning, being a serious theory that needs no explanations, and no one has the authority to unveil the mysteries, predictions, and interpretations that surround it, each according to their imagination, ambition, and surrender to their complex repressions in the formation of souls. Some have invoked belief as an alternative self to remove despair and internal chaos, finding in it their refuge and the overflow of their emotions. Others refuse to dance to the tune of the other's gatherings, drawing their imaginations from their own selves, which do not constitute anything compared to the vast space, and thus become like the viper that quarrels with the wooden saw, and then their essence will be nothing but torment with their thoughts that deny them their existence as a result of the act of denial.
I did not care until the beginning of a summer when the heat raged with fiery flames. The place was teeming with huge airplanes, and human bodies worn out from waiting. Everyone intended to leave, each in a different direction, even if the destination was the same. However, thinking varied according to psychological predispositions towards memories that had stopped all life projects in one place, to transform their essence into spaces that they might not know anything about.
On the radio announcing the journeys, a cheerful voice of a hidden face echoed through the corners of the international airport, "Flight 865 to John F. Kennedy Airport will take off in fifteen minutes. Everyone, please be ready to board." We all handed our passports to the international border police. Our luggage was in invisible tunnels. The tunnel leading to seat (A/1) was dark except for dim lights that led to the airplane gate. Female faces in the reception, all in a well-organized manner, as if someone was arranging the human heads according to their intelligent expertise. After that, I felt that there was no escape from entering the gates of heaven, and there was no room for any mistake as we had known in our glorious land. Huge engines roared in preparation for takeoff. I could see from the window of the airport cafe someone contemplating our situation, imagining himself placed inside the tomb. But his cup of coffee kept him grounded from time to time. After a while, I found myself running in place, the plane taking me to another state, not allowing me any apology for leaving the journey. The sky had not closed its doors. I knew that the authority of science existed, captains who knew the tremors of the sky. I understood that I was moving away. My vision through the window made me realize that everything that was happening around me on Earth was just disturbances. I saw from space that I had passed through the clouds. The piles of clouds became like scattered garments in the atmosphere. The Earth disappeared completely. I began to imagine the metaphors of space monsters. Up there in the sky, hatred and pride vanished. Denial stopped for a while. The papers were arranged for a moment. Stubbornness gradually faded away. It was confirmed to all the passengers that there was no alternative but to leave, just as the self that is dying in preparation to meet the beginning in the end. The Earth appeared to everyone as a simple planet, a planet that was no longer useful, and life was no longer worthwhile in all the languages of metaphor. The other worlds seemed freer and more spacious. Children cried, singing earthly hymns. No one heard them except the passengers. The attendance was counted and timed. The hymns floated in the sky, with no place for them there. Only what the captain knew remained. There was nothing but the authority of science. The longer the flight continued, the more everyone felt a sense of loss for the Earth, as it was lost among the planets that had made it lose its credibility. It seemed small, like a fuel can in front of a huge truck. Its celestial view made it a simple atom. On its surface, poets sing, on its towers princes sit, in its streets the homeless and the simple wander, on it circles of death roam, in it the eternal end of all things, and for it humanity holds all the love...
And within hours, the passengers felt a tightness in their breathing. Returning to Earth became a wretched idea. At the airport once again, I heard this time that flight 865 had landed safely. On the balcony of the alleyway leading to the exit, I looked up at the sky, and then I realized that the size of the Earth is hostage to our absurd thoughts. I understood that our default situation requires more than one review…
- Morocco -
