scattered ideas

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 07, 2016

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Submitted: October 07, 2016




This is not a piece of literature. It’s what you will call it after having read it.



It took us an important bunch of years to realize that we have been deluded. At the very outset we came to this world with immaculate hearts and empty brains. Those who have already been duped are so frustrated and disappointed that they are unwilling to talk about it. They feign happiness; hide their torments behind a veil of decorous attitudes. They have no other choice than to submit themselves to the puzzling universe. We, who have just landed, are therefore compelled to follow the same patterns as our predecessors. At the end, everyone seems to resign to their fate.


Yidir is one of them. He is fully aware of the life’s delusion, but he prefers to gloss over and show a deceiver smile that betrays his sub consciousness. Behind his fake display of felicity, lays a psychomachia which had it been revealed, would have made his face gloomy like a cold and misty morning. When he was born, twenty seven years ago, his brain was presumably a white sheet of cells ready to go through his fellow humans experiences. If he knew from that moment that an overwhelming delusional feeling of happiness will turn his life into a Sisyphean hardship, he would have despised life and all its distractions and been reluctant to grow up.

In his infancy, the world around him was a kind of game. Politics, elections, rulers, school were unknown to him. Even what were then basic needs to many people, was not in his menu. He had earth, a free sky full of stars and all the planets, a virgin nature and a modicum of crops to appease his ascetic stomach. Yidir at that time was impervious to the many tribulations which poison the lives of humans. You would find him sitting on a mountain top, swinging his legs in a perfect accord with a still state of mind. He never thought that his condition will become one day the dream of those who will have been overburdened by life’s everlasting duties, by sameness and monotony.

We all envy Yidir’s childhood. We want to get rid of our so-called policed, civilized lives and recover all the dead oblivious moments allowed by such childhood. But, we can’t challenge the inexorable advance towards some kind of delusion of grandeur which very often ends with a headlong plunge into an overwhelming disappointment.

Today is a sunny day of spring season. All beings are in the grip of an ephemeral ecstasy provided by this deceptive moment of the year. Everyone seems to celebrate the moment, to relish the springtime. They conceal the truth about their feelings, they feign cheerfulness. Yidir is thoroughly different. He is rather in a metaphysical mood. What he sees is not springtime, but an omen of disaster. For him, these green fields, these warbling birds, those flowers casting inebriating scents hide unpleasant views, perspectives.

The music of souls is always difficult to apprehend. It is the manifestation of antagonist feelings and sensations, of ambivalent psyche. It is like a vortex which emanate from a dismissal of emotional burden. The hoi polloi is not qualified to comprehend spiritual music. This is why the troubadours of that music are very often ostracized. The “Mob” wants only trivial, petty sounds, words and rhythms. You can see them swinging transported by fit of trance an ecstasy. But it is always this way. Few people are very often the only ones to be eligible for such refined tastes.

Yidir is unquestionably confused when it comes to express out his thoughts. He makes unstraight disquisitions of every thought no matter how is its degree of complexion. So he can’t avoid confusing those listening to his ratiocination. He is often dismissed as being an unintelligible discourser. Yidir struggles to vindicate himself as being too abstract but in vain. To name life, he would make a sinuous show of metaphors. For him,” life is a mountain’s climb. At the beginning, the intention to climb is exciting because you have been told of the various elating sensations of being on the summit of a mountain. Then, you decide to experience the same sensation. You wake up one morning full of energy and determination, you equip yourself with all necessary things and you go out looking forward to reach that peak like a royal eagle. Now, you are walking with an inclinable determination. After a half hour, you have reached the foot of the mountain. The view of that geography’s monster has ebbed your advance. Then you decide to sit down. You already feel a hindering exhaustion but you resist the temptation to make your way back to the village. With a new surge of determination, you stood up and start to climb. Your advance is still dithering but will become certain when, against any expectation, the mountain’s shape offers you some relief. You have just attained a relatively even level. The sensation resembles somehow that felt by a desert’s wanderer who landed in an oasis after hours of despairing walk. Unfortunately, an oasis’s stay is very often short. The berg is again slopping and your calves are almost seized by a fatal numbness. Renouncing the adventure is now surrendering

in a battle where victory is a matter of resisting the last hopeless assaults of a panging foe”. Yidir is at the paroxysm of his usual wisdom. He resumes his Zoroastrian discourse. He gazes to the horizon as if to tell his virtual listeners that his “life disquisitional treatise” is about to end.

“Our life is like a mountain’s climb” he reiterates. The he continues “. You have reached the middle of your daunting route. Would you have assessed how hard what you had experienced so far, you would carry on your climbing with the high zeal of a medieval crusader. But we, human beings, are very often impulsive, oblivious and irrational. A twinge of suffering, of difficulty suffices to make us forget that our yesterday was also full of obstacles and hindering situations. Anew, you became aware of your positioning. Then you “call up” all your remaining energy and start to climb. The summit is now at your sight more than ever. You remember the experiences of many climbers who were very nigh to the mountain’s top but who, taken by a despair fit, gave up the ascension”. Yidir became taciturn for a while as to mourn those “climbers”, those who had once a chance to succeed in their lives because most of the adventure was done but whom outburst of despair, of frustration, of madness previously felt have bent by the very end.

“You are likely to become one of them. Whether you understand that what matters at the present is not what you have suffered, but rather the reward which is awaiting you once you reach the top, or you commit the mistake which ruined many climbers determination. Life is indeed a height’s climb. Every moment is a turning point. It might be spurring or hindering. At the end, few climbers get to the top”.












“In my region, there is no model of success; this is why the failure’s rate is at its pinnacle” thought Yidir. “Whenever our youths look, they can see but misery, corruption and a state of mere despondency. Those colorful dreams woven by primary school and TV’s lies are now no more than nightmarish reflection of delusion. We still remember the fairies and all the characters of the primary school’s curriculum and how wide our eyes were open when listening to those seemingly realistic tales. What about politics, public finances, globalization, neo-imperialism… they belong to the “forbidden city”. You will take notice of them after you have been deluded. Then the world will appear to you as bleak as an ocean’s storm”.

Scattered is the brain of yidir! He always wants to grasp every feature of his life. What he ignores or rather he refuses to admit is that we cannot be as ubiquitous as the matters which swirl around. Soon as he starts thinking about a condition, his restless brain skips it to begin analyzing a new one. He does what French people call “il saute du coq à l’âne”, which literally means that he “jumps from the rooster to the donkey” and figuratively that he changes the point of his thinking or discourse very often. Maybe this is due to his background as a very shy, dithering child or to an inner conflict nourished by the uncertainties he feels in everything within his country. We cannot be a confident person in a country where every feature of life seems to be anarchist and random and we cannot be systematic either. Yidir is profoundly affected by the mazy system of his country.





















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