When the watchman does not see you during your day, it comes to you in a dream
What we write about the suffering that one of us finds in his disturbing relationship with the members of the security services, some readers think it is a fiction, we invoke it in our articles to increase the reader’s excitement and excitement. And if the reader were briefed on what one of us is suffering in his sleep, and what he finds from the horrific dreams, we will be excused. We may forget that suffering in the crowd of life. If we remember us, we will become darker, with the security watchdog remembering and chasing it for us, even when we are in exile we suffer the hardships of immigration with parents and children.
He who ran out of his skin and fled outside his country from the censor sergeant and the cells of the detention centers, is considered that God is pleased with him, and that he was born again. How not, and God has freed him from a scourge that many of God’s creation does not know in countries where the security forces ’clout has diminished or is virtually nonexistent. One of us in the Diaspora no longer woke up before the dawn prayer to the sound of a violent squash on the dormitory of the door of his house of iron, and as soon as the door of his house opened, so that the courtyard of the house would be filled with dozens of heavily armed weapons, as if the house was a medieval castle entered by the conquerors from a gap in its fortified wall .
In most of the sprawling country of God, man hardly finds much importance for this small notebook whose leaves are covered in red, green, or dark colored skin called a passport. As for the man of oppressive states, his feet are bare skin and his skin is tucked by the sun from the frequent stand for hours at the immigration administration, waiting for the hour of relief in front of the porthole of the distribution of passports. But if you are one of those whose wool is red – the wool is light red or dark according to your partisan classification, and it is dark if you are Islamic – do not tire yourself, and accept your humble work in your country, you do not have a passport.
In exile, your return from the consulate of your country is empty-handed, and the problem will not be solved, as it is necessary to have a passport, unless you intend to live in your home hostage of the imprisoned, frightened and without work, which is more difficult than what is experienced by those who have failed within their countries to obtain a passport. Those people do not ask them about a passport in their country. As for the countries of exile, you will enter your house, your face has changed, and your features have changed, so the livelihood of the people of your house will prevail, because the passport is like daily bread indispensable. Your suffering does not end with your passport after knowing the password that opens the way to the office of the security official at the consulate, Abi Hani, Abi Muhannad, or ..
After your long day spent at the consulate panting behind a passport for you or your children, you return to your home to find that your brother has called you and said that the Military Security refused to accept the passport of your eighteen-year-old. Or that the Political Security did not endorse the agency that you sent him to sell your house and send you its price to spend on your children who are pursuing university studies away from you in another country. And in light of these failures, you will only find in front of you your bed shelter, tired, worried, fleeing from a reality burdened with worries, and then you will soon enter into another world.
And because you miss your mother, who was sick by sickness, you will see yourself near her bed accepting her hands and feet. Or you visit your father’s grave, you read Al-Fatihah, and he died on the day you were detained. Or visit your youth friend and your absence has kept you out of the country. Or check the cherry trees and their flowers and the fragrance of air can open their scent. Perhaps you remember while you were immersed in this dream, that you must pass through the General Security Station on the border while you are returning from your visit, as it is necessary unless you wear a “concealment energy” and I do so for you? Fear hurts your heart.
Your story may have heard the sergeant – not the one to come – and surround the house in which you are the breakout group like you came to arrest you on that distant, near day. In this atmosphere filled with various emotions, anxiety and fear of yourself takes every outlet, so that the wall of the house becomes walled to cast yourself from above the wall from the other end of the house. The strange thing is that you do not feel the pain of falling over the streets of the street, perhaps because the pain of fear is greater than the pain of falling, and perhaps because you are in the world of dreams where the standards of reality do not take place on it.
Unfortunately and perhaps for his goodness, you change in a dream from one state to another, and there is no restriction that rules in a dream. Perhaps the scene moved you to a dungeon in a detention center. Your heart is always attached to its door. You expect that a sentry will come to tell you the relief has come, so let it come out from us and do not return to us. If your intuition is true and you reach the door of the detainee, another guard will call you to where? Feel that your heart has been lifted from fear and dread.
At this point the instinct of life of love moves in you, and you find yourself, quickly, with imagination, on the border, looking for someone to guide you on a path that passes through it to the neighboring country, without going through the security station, so you only see the sergeant in front of you, so feel that a mountain has been applied to your chest of despair Then, yelling at the top of your voice: O Lord … open your eyes at the hands of your wife, raised tenderness on your face, and she says in the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful, and promotes you with the two sins. So you seek refuge in God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful, from the accursed Satan and the evil of the watchdog.