Deep Insight Reveals Greatness In Simplicity

When the eyes look into the distance, the soul tries to find the contours of moments that seem more vivid than the present.

The life of mankind is like the history of a single man. The scribe, forgetting himself and those around him, often looks at the same point, where the sea meets the sky, the place where the first word was supposedly conceived by the divinity. But, before his eyes, half asleep, long-forgotten scenes from his distant youth pass by. Wandering through time, he also has the right to have forgotten much, but not this, not this minor event, unexpectedly appearing before him. Having had so many years and so many stories gathered, his hold often shaken by hard times, he preserves a memory loaded with mysterious meanings.

For most events, his memory has weakened, and in order to be able to use the landmarks that are still at hand, he needs that last glimmer of clarity. He sees everything so clearly that he remains motionless, as if time had stopped. After all, only some episodes still disturb him, incredibly vivid. And then, like a painter who remembers the colors of life, only reality could offer him such clear scenes from the past.

To what extent is your past rewritten through the filters of memory, preserving only those episodes that manage to leave a deep imprint on your visual and emotional perception?

Thus begins the new story of the Scribe who, in the hour of remembrance, finds himself projected onto the hot sand of a beach in the Holy Land, under the intense sun. It was a place he had visited twice before, or perhaps he had never visited it, except in a déjà vu, and his mind mixed dreams with truths. Suddenly, a scene full of color and emotion opened up before him: a 3-4 year old girl, shining in the sunlight, holding a brightly colored parrot in her hand. The joy of childhood radiated from her every gesture, as she brought her mouth close to the parrot, to kiss its beak.

Very close up, the scribe notices all the equipment on the beach: a large reflector, placed to the left of the little girl, focusing the hot light to highlight her face. In front of her, right on the sand, stands the photographer — a curly-haired man with olive skin, dressed in beige pants and a blue T-shirt, seemingly lost in his passion to capture this unique moment with precision. The lens of his camera is aimed at the little girl's smile, the shutter clicking briefly with each second of inspiration.

How can a simple detail restore the clarity of a forgotten moment, transforming your memory into a form of immortality that transcends the moment of dream experience?

For the scribe, however, this “Sirahesch Kuthgriff” moment, the imminence of a revelation producing ultimate meaning, is more than a simple memory. It is a window between two worlds, a kind of sacred portal that every word needs to come to life. Before he knows it, he notices how the little girl’s figure overlaps with the shadow of a distant past. He himself had once been a child, had held in his hands a fragile thing, perhaps not a parrot, but another hope, another joy. As now, there had been someone beside him who smiled at him and encouraged him, someone who offered him support and told him that the world was beautiful and endless.

Now, the beach is no longer just a beach, but is transformed into a mirror of memory, where the past and the present come together. While the photographer adjusts his perfect angle, and the little girl's mother suggests to the little girl to pay attention to the parrot, the scribe sees how his tireless memory plays back to him, fragment by fragment, a film of his own youth. A youth that never passes, being eternally a child, looking at itself as the most beautiful flake of light high in the sky.

Suddenly, he feels overwhelmed by an inexplicable longing, but also by a silence that runs through him, as if the waves washing the shore were erasing the traces of old regrets. And yet, he is only a spectator — in memory and in dream — watching with prying eyes a scene that seems more real than his own being. Indeed, the eyes, in their silence, tell stories that the lips dare not utter.

If every blink is a memory sequence, what stories are hidden in the space between two moments of awareness of the dream from which you always wake up?

For a second, the scribe felt his soul fill with life, as it used to do in the old days, and he wondered, in his inner silence, what other episodes of his own existence he had forgotten. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through his hair, lifting sand into the air and making him blink frequently. He almost expected to return to the dark room where he wrote, while the oil lamp flickered weakly. But no. He remained there, on the sun-drenched beach, witnessing a seemingly small moment, but which hid a priceless beauty. The sea breeze brought a faint scent of cinnamon and incense, as if the city of Baghdad was still stirring somewhere beyond the horizon.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and in that inner darkness the shadows of the past came back to life. He remembered the story of the fisherman who had freed a spirit trapped in a vessel, only to discover that it wanted to reveal to him the secrets of the Thousand and One Nights. It was the same sensation he was experiencing now: his memory was freeing his own spirits, forgotten episodes from a life he had thought was complete. The dream continued with new fragments of memory, but the present reality seemed to gradually fade.

The parrot let out a short colorful chirp, and the little girl burst into laughter. Only, the scribe felt that his memory received a new gift: clarity. In that moment he remembered why he could not forget this minor event: because there are no truly minor events in life. Everything can be light, color and emotion, if you know how to look from the right angle. And the dream is what transforms each moment into an eternal revelation.

Like the photographer who presses the shutter, I have forever immortalized this scene in my soul, knowing that when I need a reference point, I will close my eyes and return here, among the soft sounds of the sea and the sincere smile of childhood. Dreaming is what gives meaning to the forgotten fragments of life

True fulfillment comes not from accumulating the past or anticipating the future, but from how you anchor the present in a deep understanding, transforming every experience into a vivid memory that is never forgotten.

Deep insight reveals greatness in simplicity when the heart knows how to listen to what the eyes can barely glimpse. If you could look into your soul as if into a mirror, what would you see reflected there: the past or just an interpretation of it?

Many years have passed since then. Looking blankly over his manuscripts, the scribe realizes that that day he witnessed a living poem. A poem made up not only of words, but also of childish smiles, colored feathers, golden sand and blue waters. A poem that neither time nor old age has managed to erase from his memory.

Then he looked up from the yellowed parchments and smiled. Many memories may have faded over the years, but this scene remained vivid in his mind, as bright as the spotlight that enveloped a little girl and her parrot on a sunny day on a beach in the Holy Land.