Silk fell into enlightenment

there was a strange feeling that held my breath, I could not ignore it, but I think it was the accumulation of years that had been in my mind for more than four decades, then I announced my body’s surrender, as the castle of feeling, dilapidated due to its age, I could never fix its doors to protect it from collapse.

An ancient castle without care is like ruins that pass by, it is remembered and pointed to with the finger and described by an action that was.

I stretched out as usual on the silk carpet mixed with the harmonious colors of life, I began to pass my finger over its engravings and my thoughts in height and descent between contemplation and reflection, and a lot of deliberation, a tear fell, I think it is worthy of contemplation in the kingdom of the Creator and the precision of His wonderful creation, on the threads of silk to change the light blue of the fabric to a dark blue as if I were drowning in the darkness of the sea, had I not remembered the supplication of Dhul-Nun.

The tears were still lingering, then the pang of tears began to fade.

My eyes extended in silent contemplation to that carpet about what was going on in the mind of its weaver! And how were his feelings at that time to make it a beautiful piece that pleases the onlookers, perhaps he too lay down on the mulberry fields to watch the silk larvae in a wide imagination, he had no choice but to place its threads on the dyeing column to mix the colors through the holes of its pump.

My imagination then wandered on a journey through time far back where (the Palace of Eternity)

and the beauty of the silk fluffs woven in its corners, I imagined the sofa of the Caliphate and the hall of the council of Harun al-Rashid..

And how many happy and shocking events were witnessed by the silk threads in complete silence,

and how many concubines and women were adorned with it, and how many stories of treachery that made the ropes of shackles tear the delicacy of their threads.

What about the silk of “Marada” and “Helena” who were lucky, from maidservants to mothers of the sons of a caliph.

And what about (Al-Khayzuran) who whenever a prince stood at her door, she struck his neck, as if the silk of her palace witnessed the passing of her son Al-Hadi’s feet when he dictated to her his words (Your hopes are a spindle that keeps you busy) out of fear of him for the strength of her authority, but I am certain that her silk sheet was an eyewitness to the plot that killed her son.

Only silk was present in a human crime that began with disobedience and ended with bloodshed, what mother would dare to do that?!

My tears refused to fall again, perhaps a tragic story like that made tears an excuse to find a way out to vent, but how could a woman like her respond to history and transform in her hands a living drama that does not die or forget, whose events have remained through the ages between glory and tragedy.

It seems that I have gone too deep to escape my pain and found it to be nothing, but in one word, meditation has a supernatural power that gives you the ability to open the locks to go from narrowness to spaciousness and from limitation to comprehensiveness.

In order not to go deeper and deeper, I will start wiping my hand on the silk carpet for fear of justification.