The Blinding Absence Of Light (11)

 is like the prison it describes,

not a place for the weak of constitution,

it being a narrative about life as prisoner
in a Moroccan prison where the indifference
of the guards is a mercy, the active attention
of the guards is a test of the prisoners will to live.

But every so often an uplifting quote comes up,
where why the prisoners were so stubborn
as to want to live is made clearer...

Chapter 31, page 155

'Death has a smell. A mixture of brackish water, vinegar, and pus. It's sharp, astringent. The screech owl's cry was always accompanied by that particular odour. We did not have to verify it - we knew it instinctively. In the morning when the guards brought coffee, we would tell them, "Could be someone's dead. Better check".'.

That is the end of this series of quotations. More quotes were possible, but in the last 35 pages of the book so much changes after what was a definitive darkness, it seemed to me that it is better read in total.   

The Blinding Absence Of Light (10)

is like the prison it describes,
not a place for the weak of constitution,

it being a narrative about life as prisoner
in a Moroccan prison where the indifference
of the guards is a mercy, the active attention
of the guards is a test of the prisoners will to live.

But every so often an uplifting quote comes up,
where why the prisoners were so stubborn
as to want to live is made clearer...

Chapter 31, page 148

'Having to put up with someone like Achar [a persistently needy and annoying fellow prisoner] was exhausting. His interruption had disturbed my meditation exercise; the angels were not answering my call anymore, I no longer felt their presence. Over time, mental and physical wear and tear had taken their toll: all these trails had seriously impaired my ability to concentrate. I was having more and more trouble reaching my spiritual world. It was not that I lacked the will . . . I was worn out. Even today, I suffer from the after effects of that ordeal. It's hard for me read and write. I cannot concentrate more that a few minutes at a time.'.     

The Blinding Absence Of Light (9)

is like the prison it describes,
not a place for the weak of constitution,

it being a narrative about life as prisoner
in a Moroccan prison where the indifference
of the guards is a mercy, the active attention
of the guards is a test of the prisoners will to live.

But every so often an uplifting quote comes up,
where why the prisoners were so stubborn
as to want to live is made clearer...

Chapter 28, page 124

'Suffering did not choose my path for me - I did, before and beyond all suffering. I had to overcome my doubts, my failures, and most of all, the illusions nourished by every human being. How? By letting them wither away inside me. I no longer trusted those images that falsified reality. It is a weakness to mistake one's feelings for reality, to foster a lie that begins and ends in oneself, and to consider this an accomplishment.

Now, to make headway through this desert, I had to break free of everything. I understood that only a mind that can shake off all bonds can lead us to the subtle peace I will call ecstasy.'.   

The Blinding Absence Of Light (8)

 is like the prison it describes,

not a place for the weak of constitution,

it being a narrative about life as prisoner
in a Moroccan prison where the indifference
of the guards is a mercy, the active attention
of the guards is a test of the prisoners will to live.

But every so often an uplifting quote comes up,
where why the prisoners were so stubborn
as to want to live is made clearer...

Chapter 25 page 125

'Each day that passes is a day that dies without a trace, without a sound, without colour. Every morning I am a new-born baby, I even consider myself to be like Tebebt, who is a sensitive sparrow, quite astute and above suspicion. I understand the language of sparrows better than I do that of humans. Tebebt makes me travel and accompanies me on my flights towards spirituality. His lightness, his fragility, the sweetness of his song, the nuances of his song are a great help to me.'. 

For the ninth in this series of blog entries please left click here

The Blinding Absence Of Light (7)

is like the prison it describes,
not a place for the weak of constitution,

it being a narrative about life as prisoner
in a Moroccan prison where the indifference
of the guards is a mercy, the active attention
of the guards is a test of the prisoners will to live.

But every so often an uplifting quote comes up,
where why the prisoners were so stubborn
as to want to live is made clearer...

Chapter 22, page 114

'I knew that my precious memories had gone travelling, over to the other side of the night; perhaps they would be waiting for me to get out of the hole so they could return to their places. For the moment they were far away, set aside, and viewing them again would not hurt me. I could not overdo this, or expect too much of them in the state I was in. Taking thins small liberty, I allowed myself to play with them, and even to anticipate what turn events would take. my fiancee was not my fiancee any more. I had no right to shut her up inside a house. I had liberated her. How would she discover this? I quickly became convinced that our families and dear ones considered us dead. Only my mother must still be hoping to see me alive once more. A mother is never wrong about the life and death of her child. Later, I would discover that strangers used to come knocking on her door and whisper to her sadly, as if they were sharing a secret, "Your son is dead. He was executed two months ago: tied to a tree, blindfolded, and shot by a firing squad. You know Madame, that we are not allowed to tell you this, but we are all Muslims, and should show compassion. We belong to God and to him we will return.".'.

For the eighth in this series of blog entries please left click here. 

The Blinding Absence Of Light (6)

 is like the prison it describes,
not a place for the weak of constitution,

it being a narrative about life as prisoner
in a Moroccan prison where the indifference
of the guards is a mercy, the active attention
of the guards is a test of the prisoners will to live.

But every so often an uplifting quote comes up,
where why the prisoners were so stubborn
as to want to live is made clearer...

Chapter 21 page 108

'When I was in the hole, entire pages of Pere Goriot would come back to me me in my solitude, often at incongruous moments, for example when I had a toothache and could no longer open my mouth. The words and sentences would steam by, and I would hear myself saying them, as if I were reading to sick child or in classroom giving a dictation exercise. It was like a blessing from God. Through his grace, my memory recovered hundreds of pages read years earlier. I could recall them effortlessly: the scrolled past me all by themselves'.  

'This Blinding Absence Of Light' (5)

 is like the prison it describes,
not a book for the weak of constitution,

it being a narrative about life as prisoner
in a Moroccan prison where the indifference
of the guards is a mercy, the active attention
of the guards is a test of the prisoners will to live.

But every so often an uplifting quote comes up,
where why the prisoners were so stubborn
as to want to live is made clearer...

Chapter 12, page 63...

'To resist, you must think. Without consciousness, without thought, there is not resistance. In the end we no longer felt like laughing at Kmandar's cruelty. Ditto was carried off in a wheelbarrow. We were relieved. His cell had to be cleaned and disinfected. Apparently, they were embarrassed by this delay, because M'Fadel told us, between two groans, K'mandars orders.'.     

'This Blinding Absence Of Light' (4)

is like the prison it describes,
not a place for the weak of constitution,

it being a narrative about life as prisoner
in a Moroccan prison where the indifference
of the guards is a mercy, the active attention
of the guards is a test of the prisoners will to live.

But every so often an uplifting quote comes up,
where why the prisoners were so stubborn
as to want to live is made clearer...

Chapter 9, page 38

'Most of those who died did not die of hunger but of hatred. Feeling hatred diminishes you. It eats away at you from within and attacks the immune system. When you have hatred inside you, it always crushes you in the end. I had go through this ordeal to understand something that simple. I remember an instructor at the school in Ahermemou who was a bad man, spiteful and gloomy. He had yellow eyes. The colour of hate. One day, he did not come to class. We learned that he was in hospital for a long stay. i don't recall what happened to him, but people said that he had been bewitched by a maountain woman whose daughter he raped.'.         

'This Blinding Absence Of Light' (3)

 is much like the prison it describes,
not a place for the weak of constitution,

it being a narrative about life as prisoner
in a Moroccan prison where the indifference
of the guards is a mercy, the active attention
of the guards is a test of the prisoner' will to live.

But every so often an uplifting quote comes up,
where why the prisoners were so stubborn
as to want to live is made clearer...

Chapter 8 Page 35

'So, for eighteen years, more precisely, for 6,663 days, I was nourished only on starchy food and dry bread. Never any meat. Never any fish. Nourished is not the word. Kept alive. It did not take me long to forget cigarettes, I didn't even suffer through the miserable deprivation that drove Larbi-Number 4-off his head. He would scream, rip his only shirt, call the guards, offer them anything for a cigarette.'.

For the fourth in this series of blog entries please left click here.   

   

'This Blinding Absence Of Light' (2)

is like the prison it describes,
not a place for the weak of constitution,
it being a narrative about life as prisoner
in a Moroccan prison where the indifference
of the guards is a mercy, the active attention
of the guards is a test of the prisoners will to live.

But every so often an uplifting quote comes up,
where why the prisoners were so stubborn
as to want to live is made clearer...   

Chapter 7, Page 29....

'As for me I quickly discovered that the instinct of self-preservation wold not help me survive. That instinct we share with animals was now out of order as well. How could one stay alive in that hole? Why bother dragging this body, broken and disfigured, into the light? We had been placed in conditions designed to prevent our instinct from envisaging the future. I realized that time had meaning only in the movement of beings and things, whereas we were reduced to immobility and eternity of the material world. We were in a motionless present. The unfortunate soul who looked back or peered into the future rushed headlong into death. The present left only enough space for it's own unfolding. You had to keep to the immutable instant, and not think about it. A realisation that doubtless save my life.'.

For the third of this series of bog entries please left click here.   

'This Blinding Absence Of Light' (1)

is like the prison it describes,
not a place for the weak of constitution,
it being a narrative about life as prisoner
in a Moroccan prison where the indifference
of the guards is a mercy, the active attention
of the guards is a test of the prisoners will to live.

But every so often an uplifting quote comes up,
where why the prisoners were so stubborn
as to want to live is made clearer...   

Chapter 5, Page 18...

'Now I had to feel unaffected before that fateful day [when I was arrested], Even if words or images broke into my night and prowled around me, I would beat them off, send them packing, because I would be unable to recognise them anymore. I'd tell them "You've got the wrong person. I have nothing to do with these phantoms. I'm no longer of this world. I have ceased to exist. Yes, it is me speaking. That is precisely it: I'm no longer of this world-of yours, at least, yet I have kept the power of speech, and the will to resist, even to forget. The one thing I must not forget is my name. I need it. I'll keep it as a testament, a secret in the gloomy grave where I bear my fateful number: 7." I was seventh in line when we were arrested. It didn't mean much.

  My dreams flourished. They visited me often. They would spend part of the night with me, disappear and leave scraps of my daily life at the bottom of my memory. I did not dream of liberation, or of the years of imprisonment. I dreamed of an ideal time, a time suspended among the branches of a celestial tree. If it is the child within us who awakens when we are afraid here it was the wise man and the lunatic in me who revealed themselves as ardent opponents, each striving to take me the farthest from myself. Smiling placidly I watched the tug of war between these two extremes.'.

For the second blog entry in this series please left click here.