The sun in Tazrouk insisted on breaking through the thick clouds, willing to put truth on the pedestal, to assist the photosynthesis of every single plant to guarantee a watered shadow and a step cast adrift in the space. Light and heat used to alternate harmoniously, but nowadays they are competing fiercely for the primacy and supremacy as they have been pointing accusing fingers to each other in that they have each robbed something of the other. Similarly, light is the stepping-stone to heat, without which heat would not be brought to life. Heat is at the infancy stage of light, which connotes that heat cannot be fully-fledged if the first stage desists from assimilating all.
The sun didn't lie, because its hydrogen burned fake cells, burned distorted links between man and God between son and mother. It was the on-going burn that reaped to grow, that disobeyed to unite, that challenged to carry on. Now the rest of the mysterious chest was waiting for Afellan to be disinterred since the sun objected to gratuitous moisture and perpendicular tyranny of both Theos and Venus.
Afellan's older brother Ibrahim returned home from Djanet desert, worn-out and less talkative because gold prospecting was unbearably hard, and got fatally futile when Brahim's gold pan half-filled had been robbed of him by one of his insincere colleagues. That's life when nature inflicts the weak and rewards the strong already or newly-made ones.
Although Ibrahim was back home empty-handed, that didn't prevent Fella from welcoming her soft-hearted brother, who had been away for more than two weeks. His mother Fatima seemed lukewarm and dry towards Brahim, perhaps she was overwhelmed by the amorphous herald of the chest, by the uprising of Mercury, by what lay behind the Secret of the Hoggar!
Afellan entered the living room where all the family members were gathering to say out that he was planning to leave for the Hoggar Mountain next week.
Why are you living for the Hoggar?,' asked Ibrahim curiously
In the meantime, the mother Fatima got discreetly astounded at the news Afellan's was saying.
'You are daring and adventurous as usual but don't forget to bring me some ice in a bottle from the Hoggar. It has been said that that ice doesn't melt away in the sun, does it? How awesome!!' exclaimed Fella amicably.
'The stage of adventure and boldness will remain valid as long as we live, dear Fella, but for the ice of the Hoggar, I promise you to bring you some on the condition that you keep on your unruly and disruptive nature. It goes quite well with your grains.'
'Certainly I will. I can't live without ever stirring the purity of the absolute and disrupting the peace of the mind", answered she with noticeable self-confidence.'
'The absolute is a big lie. It is required to blast it off sooner or later.'
'Femininity will be resurrected.'
'I do hope actually…since we badly need resurrection nowadays!'
'Why are you always seeking headaches, brother ? Rest your brain, conform yourself with the system, be with all. Don't single yourself out…there is no need to do so !' reprimanded Ibrahim outspokenly.
'Look brother! your quite manners starkly contrast with mine. Simply because you cling to the simple, I cling to the complicated. You cling to the serene, I cling to the uproarious. You cling to the meek, I cling to the ferocious. You cling to the comfort zone , I cling to the growth zone. You cling to the flat, I cling to the uneven. You cling to the corner, I cling to the space. You cling to the feet, I cling to the peak. You cling to the viscous, I cling to the consistent. You cling to the expected, I cling to the unforeseen. You cling to the maternal, I cling to universal. You cling to the daily, I cling to the eternal. You cling to the systematic, I cling to the rebellious. You cling to the crystal-clear, I cling to the mysterious. You cling to the here and now, I cling to the there and then. You cling to the earthly, I cling to the heavenly.' Afellan's targeted words as they were well-articulated and dense as they silenced conspicuously his brother Ibrahim.
In the right corner of the living room, the father Zayen laid still and static as though to say much but his language of speech sounded broken down. Yet at length he spoke discontinuously but radically true to his modest nature, environment and upbringing.
'Dear son, I know that life is ahead of you, whereas it is behind me. I know that Touareg Azawad doesn't appeal much to you, whereas it attaches to my wrist, I know that Mars and the embalmed child will prepare you suspicious loops, whereas I should keep the timing of my prayers with the aim of raising my hands to God in the highest to ever protect you.'
'I don't need your fake prayers, nor your raised hands because I've lately discovered that parents wishing bounty and good to their children is all a sort of disguised superstition and exorcism. Enough is enough!!'
'Our spontaneity springs from our credible way of feeding an orphan kid, springs from your mother when she covers you on a wintry night. Our spontaneity never mistakes a rotten apple for a ripe one. I devoutly hope that my message gets through.'
After listening to his father's sermon, Afellan rushed out wordlessly; maybe he was touched deep down but couldn't voice his impulses and drives as freely as he interiorized them. The gap between offspring and parents is labyrinthine, the more it is vast and incomprehensible the more it is thirsty for replenishment and emancipation. Contrary to what has been said, generation gap is not that sort of the palisade that needs to be jumped over at one time in spite of the captivating iron railings and the flowery fresh paint. Anyhow, what we tend to overstep it grasps our attention to the pitch of beguilement.
In the wake of the conversation, Fatima followed Afellan then she paused him for something wrong she sensed might happen.
'Hold on Afellan, I'd like to speak to you….!'
'I think everything was said….what more….?'
'Absolutely not, from now on tongues will never and ever fall into silence.'
'Listen to me son, the day on which I divulgated to you the Secret of the Hoggar was the harbinger day of my near demise. As you reach the summit of Atakor Mountain I'll have passed away then.'
'It is far better to die for a cause than for something else.'
'Human loss versus material gain.'
'Let me correct you, it is the restoration of life to the dead.'
'Is it loss restored or Mercury sought for?'
'It is the open combat with the occult instead, though it is devastating and nerve rending.'
'My last word for you, never gets to the chest at twilight. December is the only weakest month for the god Rabinas because Mars gravitation decomposes itself until it disappears. Bear in mind those two precepts before you get embarked on such mortal journey."
"Can you tell me why those constraints?'
'The strongest moment Mars emits Red Mercury rays to the Hoggar Mountain is at twilight. Hence, those chemical rays may bring about deterioration of the nervous tissue.'
'What shall I do in that case?'
'In case you are stricken by the rays, you must take in some of Silybum Marianum because it highly absorbs them.'
'How about Mars gravitation? It is all Greek to me.'
'The god of Mars Rabinas regulates the deficiency of Mars gravitation by that of the earth, particularly in the Hoggar. However in December, its gravitation falters. No one knows why!!'
'I must know why…!'
'All in all, try to assimilate what I've just told you, son, for no one will ever enlighten you with this or that.'
'May light see you off to your last destination, distant mother!'
Then Afellan nodded with his head in agreement or disagreement. He left behind the house and everything in hurry until he vanished into thin air. Everybody is waiting for something, everybody is looking for something, everybody is thinking of something, everybody is craning their head to catch something. Everybody is…Unless you haul yourself over the find you are seeking, normally you will be trailed by the loser who deludes himself into swapping his own address with the address half scribbled on the face of the road. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence is a treacherous saying that dazzles the curious eyes of the itinerary, besides keeping the inquisitive nature of the personality wallowing in the lap of the second opportunity.
Shortly after, lines of Malek Hadded's poem 'The Long March' were heard, were whirling around, voiced, recited by an anonymous, sung discreetly, carried in themselves the acidulous burden of departure, the resolve of the straight long march, the cherish of novelty. Here are the phosphorous lines of Haddad, a reflection of the expatriate soul, the horizonless vista of Afellan….
I am the final point of a novel that begins
Let us not forget everything above level zero
I sustain my romance intact between my eyes
Then, denying nothing, I set out once again
I am the final point of a novel that begins
No need to distinguish the horizon from the dance.
September was on its way to change the sort of air we breathe, the weather got cooler at night and in the early morning, and perhaps the desert got along well with the versatility of seasons or with the changeability of autumn. Volatility is typical of the fluctuating spirits, of the atoms that evaporate grudgingly just to please the tick of the clock.
In Afellan's head, the catalyst of departure towards Atakor was compounded with the acute desire to pursue the unknown, to track the truth. And above all to claim the right of the earth to govern itself independently and surely without any guardianship whatsoever from Mars or from the so-called Rabinas. Back to sovereignty! Back to earth!
It is a three-day duration from Tazrouk to Atakor mountain, whole distance by the camel Amnis whose constitution was beyond compare, kept abreast with all the tribulations of the grains. The grains of the sand that enclosed every single footprint, a credible record of the Touareg nomadic lifestyle. The tribes that struggled to maintain the sap of the tradition high rather than to break away with.
The volcanic rocks of the Hoggar were a celestial proof of the magma; it was the saliva of heavens, the sperm of Rabinas. It was a continuity of the airy with the earthly, a discontinuity of Mars from earth. Throughout history, the magma has been recognized as the token of surfeit and satiation the inner core of earth is experiencing, so to speak, it feels the urgent need to vomit and spew up. Such shallow explanation could not go fortuitous since discharging the repletion has to be suggestive of the feelings of bounty and plenty the earth inhabitants will ensconce themselves in. They have, on the contrary, innocently eluded the axiom that the red of the magma is inextricably intertwined with wrath, madness and angoisse. The beginning was yet to come; Aminkol was yet to be restored. LONG LIVE THE UNKNOWN !
After a short rest, Afellan resumed his journey towards the summit of Atakor where the chest resided, where the mystery of the planets were rummaging through any potential allies from humans or elsewhere. In the wild open, September sun beat down mercilessly upon Afellan head, almost all covered in blue scarf, the scarf that's typical of the Touareg tribes may reach 8 meter long. It was the most effective screen against sandstorm, wind and heat. The eyes revealed historically declined any offered coverage or compelling hide, because they were the bow of the ship, they were the windows that looked onto the soul, onto the world at large. They designed the bridge that related yesterday with tomorrow, that related here with there, that related the above with the below, that related the sacred with the profane, that related the dead with the living, that related the obvious with the occult. It was the bridge that related Afellan with Rabinas.
Algerian desert was nothing but unparalleled history which inscribed itself in the volcanic caves, in the rocks that recounted the go and come accounts of non-static people that chose to be on the move. The constant move of Touareg people embodied the cells that opened themselves from the outside rather than from the inside. The move that instilled in the coming generation the value that life could be measured by the weight of the grain of the sand, could be commercialized only through cave paintings, through animals carved on the stone, whose silhouettes were about to move, to ensure the perpetuation of legacy left agape from semi-united forebears to offspring cast diagonally. LONG LIVE THE MOVE!!
Afellan was one of the offspring set out to challenge the forebears whosoever, to grant an extra but specific meaning to his life that hadn't lived up much to his expectations. It was not easy to opt for the desert, appalling was the desert when the void gave way to the absolute. For Afellan, the great rebel as he always called himself in secret, the arrival was as pleasing as the journey or rather the hardships of travelling turned out to be even more rewarding, entertaining and sublime.
It was indeed all the way round to think that fatigue reflected the call of heavens, made room to introspect the call of god to burn the midnight oil for the sake of assuring one's existence. Fatigue was a pre-ordained message to awake ourselves to the new awareness of toil, the meaning of pursuing something worthwhile. Following the summit through thirst and sweat was a religion proclaimed to fill the gap in an already shaky human.
The sunset in the Sahara was different, was unusual to those who romanticized nature as a seductive female. After an exhaustive whole day on the camel, descended Afellan from above the camel to give himself a rest in a congenial oasis. Fortunately for him, he supplied himself with almost everything: water, bread, tea, gas stove, cereals and other stuff that come to rescue those who look for loss deliberately. Never worry about the thirst and hunger which tickled the camel Aminis, because it treated himself to the bounty along with the bodies of water scattered here and there.
Seemingly, it was not the first night Afellan had ever spent in the open, in the docile wild for every single Touareg was born and reared in the lap of the desert. The desert never betrays, the desert keeps the secret. DOWN WITH HUMANS who…who…!! It was widely known among the new generations that the desert has witnessed a plane crash, fortunately all the passengers on board have come through unscathed except for the pilot who cut a bit of his throat, because he mistrusted the Sahara since he considered it as a brand new leviathan. The Sahara is an unconstructed temple, stamped on when the soul alone deserves a reverence-oriented prayer in front of the Acacia.
Not always did the sun rise enthusiastically, as long as there was a discord between earth and Mars. Each sought some kind of supremacy over the other, regardless of what might happen to humans. Down with humans…It was a conflict gone sour when a queen called Tin Hinan embalmed and buried a piece of an angel…Down with the devil…!! How knotty the web Afellan goes for!!
As all who had ever come across the desert, they shared a unique thing was that rain in Tamanrasset desert was as rare as the palm trees in Saint Petersburg. Torrid was the climate, sweltering was the autumn weather when it laid bare the majesty of decampment. That's the climate whose rigidity teaches that life is a rolling stone that gathers no victims but globetrotters who magnify horizon, dignity, revelation and what lies beyond the message. It was Afellan's message who favored the mysterious, the beyond over imitating and migrating to Algiers, it had been blurred conscience that became sharp and conspicuous.
Sharpness and conspicuousness broaden the mind's sphere when the essence comes to the climb; it is the sacred climb to the first origin of childhood. Aminkol could not wait any more, time is not in our profit. You might tell me that Aminkol was interred and had been waiting for centuries and centuries, embalmed, enclosed, why now?! Why did Afellan get jolted to action to help the semi-dead child, why did he spring to his feet to reclaim the sovereignty and independence of the earth from Mars. Numerous are the questions that doubt the intention, that dampen the spirit and worst of all that deepen our inertia, stagnation and obscurantism. Down with humans who….!!
Words, thoughts, suspicions, impulses, doubts, fluctuations all elbowed their way through the great rebel's brain as he often named himself. Nothing resembled the monologue as the persona stroke the conversation first with Afellan, the main character, the protagonist of what came ahead. The first harbinger of his mother's death, he was not a guilty guy when the matter came to sacrifice somebody, however dear for the general benefit of the Touareg tribes, for the benefit of the earth, for the unquestionable benefit of the ego. LONG LIVE THE EGO…!!
Unlike Santiago in Coelho the Alchemist, Afellan set out for a fate-ordained journey not for the sake of the treasure in the Egyptian desert, nor for the love delayed, nor for an identity of a person holding the earth instead of the sky. Afellan was not a man, he was a serious gemstone dropped from the lap of god. Who sought the world above could not feel the inequity of Rabinas, could not bargain for the truth of humanity on earth with a treasure sold at auction someday. How hard the truth was when related to regaining order to the universe, regaining dignity to the peak, regaining something we could not even name unless we revealed the original secret to ourselves. If not, everything we did in private would turn into an original sin that didn't admit the frontiers of providence, coincidence or superstition.
Don't panic, you can panic, you need to panic since the wormwood across the four corners of the globe monopolizes barrenness, divides the drought into shade and sunlight, into dried tongue and moist lips. That's the magic wand of the drought when it drinks up the infusion of the broom to transgress the sandstorm, to buffet against past criminals and lofty impostors. It has been the will of the camel to feel free, or rather to set many things free, namely, when Man can fall among those things. How great that thing is!!
Afellan had discovered since early childhood that the greatness of the Sahara, not in the sense of the flat extension, but with the ground features, with the elevations of bedrocks, dunes and fantasticality with lizards burrows. As a step forward Afellan took in the history of the desert, he came to the outcome that history hid, and still hides the very intricacy of war between the planets. No one dares to speak about it or may be only the few of the few who have an insight into that, a taboo in the scientific sense of the term. Some people discreetly consider that Tin Hinan had sided with Rabinas, the protector of the Hoggar, or correctly the embezzler of the Hoggar.
For those who suspect that there was a conspiracy weaved against virgin nature, against earth, against childhood, against Fatima, against the chest, against Atakor, against the Touareg, against Afellan, against the writer of these lines. Atakor the volcanic field whose summit reaches about 3000 meter, the elevation that folds more than it unfolds. It is a continuum model of the Hoggar features, that Tamanrasset belongs to, that Tamanrasset strives unconditionally to stand firm against the factitious turmoil.
Two days now passed since Afellan's departure, the camel can turn down everything, he can drop everyone except the rider who swears by the spirit of the message to move symbolically ahead towards Fella, the sister whose faith in the rebellious planet gets more acute particularly when they do their utmost to unlace the knot at the end of belonging. Faith and rebellion hardly coincide, even though they commingle, they are swift to disunity, for the simple reason, faith has historically attached itself to submission, conformism and subordination, to have faith in some thing, meaning that you are dependent on it, spiritually intertwined and mentally subservient to, faith is the unpowered vehicle towed by another.
On the other hand, rebellion is tagged, from the very onset of humanity, to be the paraffin that powers the old vintage paraffin stove. The more we pump paraffin into such stove, it ignites, it burns triumphantly, in case we desist from pumping fires falters and then dies out. In the same manner, rebellion is the paraffin, the blue power that circulates within our body and needs to be pumped from within as well as from without to prevent us from decaying early. Needless to say, faith in rebellion is a compelling strategy, in addition to the rebellion of faith as it involves subversion and transcendence. All in all, the word faith has to be forbidden from the single use, the decontextualized conjecture, faith alone should be banned in public places, if so it has to be associated with such words as leap, thought, future, review, overhaul…so on and so forth. It is not a restriction in the absolute, but it is a way of life…
It is belonging that takes the kernel and throws away the shell. The kernel is the arrival, while the shell is the departure. Everything is prone to questions, everything is open to many interpretations, but bear in mind all of them are channeled into 'the cause of victory' as T.S. Eliot once expressed in his poem "Departure and Arrival". However circuitous the path is, the reach is sure, the crowning of the front will be as inevitable as crisscrossing the lines of threat and confusion.
Occasionally, Afellan heard raucous sounds compounded with some reddish rays coming down from the sky. At first, he belied his own eyes but when they got repeated, he unconsciously entered a myriad of graded speculations. As a man of flesh and blood, Afellan the great rebel shivered due to unknown phobia, he summoned up his courage to decipher that noise, to decode that ray. Was he…!? wondered Afellan. Who could he be? Nobody knows!! could he…!? How awful the question is…!!
The red colour of the rays may evoke something, something similar to…similar to what ?? Gosh..!? Metallic punishment turned to fluid then to mercury-red rays emitted by a body lies above to detect any intruder. Ritually, The red colour, in African tribes, has gained momentum since blood proved to be the salvation of the peoples who have been living on the periphery of entity. For this reason, they sacrifice their most cherished creatures for the sake of securing a seat or a post somewhere in the space or on a certain planet came into being only to revere an underprivileged community.