Think Forward.

Ce texte, c’est ce qu’il me reste à lui dire 378

Zinebloukili9, 19 d.
2 min read.
J’avais un ami. Je l’ai connu trop tôt. Ou peut-être juste à temps. J’étais jeune, bien trop jeune. L’âge où l’on croit encore que les gens sont immuables, solides et éternels. L’âge où l’on pense que ceux qu’on aime vont durer toujours. Lui, c’était un électron libre. Un curieux, un matheux, un voyageur. Un peu fou, non, beaucoup fou. Plus fou que moi. Et pourtant, j’étais déjà une tempête à moi toute seule. Il faisait partie de ces êtres rares, brûlants, qu’on ne rencontre qu’une seule fois dans une vie. Pas plus. Et peut-être que cette vie, il ne l’avait pas vraiment choisie. Mais sa folie, oui. Et cette folie là me traverse encore. Ce je-m’en-foutisme tranquille, cette excentricité douce, cette furieuse envie de ne rentrer dans aucune case, de marcher de travers quand tout le monde file droit. Comme une empreinte qu’il aurait laissée dans ma façon d’être, un éclat de lui encore vivant dans mes regards qui en disent long et dans mes sourires un peu tordus. Lui, il était entier. Il était unique. Il était impossible. Il était brut. Il était vrai. Rien ni personne ne pouvait le plier. Il brillait, dans cette lumière étrange, suspendue entre la joie et les ténèbres. En grandissant, il y a eu les nuits. Les longues nuits sans fin. À parler, à délirer, à imaginer des futurs fous. À inventer un monde nouveau, À détruire l’ancien à coups de théories bancales et de rires qui faisaient mal au ventre. On avait notre langage, nos éclats, Notre galaxie rien qu’à nous. Et puis, encore un peu plus tard On s’est lancés dans nos premières expéditions. Les premières colonnes vers la liberté. Les files d’attente devant les bars, où les portiers hésitaient parfois à nous laisser entrer, quand ils voyaient nos visages encore trop innocents, et nos yeux plus innocents encore. Mais souvent, on n’en avait rien à faire. On restait cloîtrés, lui et moi, enfermés dans le chaos de sa chambre À regarder le plafond À parler aux murs À refaire le monde. Un jour, avec cette audace qui le caractérisait, il a dit non. Non à ce que les autres attendaient de lui. Non à l’ingénierie, non à la médecine. Il a choisi d’être artiste. Pas un artiste du dimanche, mais un vrai, qui voulait faire de l’art sa vie. Même s’il créait sans vraiment créer, même s’il doutait à chaque coup de pinceau. Et puis, il m’a tendu un gros pinceau et de la peinture. Moi, je ne connaissais rien à l’art. Il m’a dit : « Peins. » Alors j’ai peint. Sur les murs de sa chambre, En grand, en large, en travers. Ses œuvres, il les appelait “abstraites”. Entre nous, il ne savait juste pas dessiner. Mais il le savait. Et c’est ça qui les rendait belles. Elles étaient vraies, injustifiables, libres. Comme lui. Il était bon photographe. Bon designer. Bon vivant. Il avait tout devant lui. Une autoroute de possibles. Et pourtant… Un jour, il m’a dit : « Je crois que je ne vais pas vivre longtemps. » Et moi, pleine de lumière, pleine d’optimisme naïf, J’ai répondu : « La vie est belle, tu sais. La vie est très belle. » Mais comment j’ai pas vu ? Comment j’ai pas compris son mal ? Son vide. Son désespoir. Quelques temps plus tard, Il est parti. Décidé. Silencieux. J’ai gardé ses messages très longtemps. Et puis j’ai décidé de les supprimer. De supprimer son contact. Mais son numéro, je le connais encore par cœur. Alors, je l’ai appelé. Même après. En espérant, au fond, Qu’un jour, il décrocherait. Qu’il me parlerait encore. Qu’il me donnerait une réponse. Mais ce qui me hante, ce n’est pas seulement son départ. C’est ce qu’il a pensé, juste avant. À qui a-t-il pensé ? À quoi a-t-il pensé ? A-t-il pensé à moi ? En bien, en mal ? Qu’est-ce que j’en sais ? A-t-il aperçu une dernière lueur, Une ultime étincelle dans ce chaos ? A-t-il douté ? Était ce de la joie ou de la haine qui l’a emporté ? J’ai des questions qui resteront éternellement sans réponse. Des questions sur cet amour flou entre nous. Cet amour étrange. Sur ce qui était vrai Et ce qui ne l’était pas. Et des fois, je me demande juste : Pourquoi il ne m’a pas appelé ? J’ai rêvé longtemps du son de sa voix. Je le voyais partout. Avant de lui pardonner. Avant de me pardonner. Avant de comprendre que je n’aurais pas pu le sauver. Que personne n’aurait pu. Qu’il est parti chercher la paix. Et que parfois, la paix est ailleurs. Et puis, même si aujourd’hui je ne crois qu’à moitié en la réincarnation, j’espère qu’un jour, quelque part, dans une autre vie, il croisera ce texte. Qu’il le lira, qu’il s’y reconnaîtra, ou que ce personnage merveilleux lui parlera, le touchera. Parce que j’ai envie de lui dire que, même dans la nuit la plus noire, même quand l’ombre s’installe au creux de l’âme, même quand les ténèbres semblent prendre le dessus, il faut continuer. Il faut se battre. Il faut survivre. Ou vivre. Mais surtout, il ne faut jamais oublier : La nuit a beau être longue… le soleil finit toujours par se lever.
Zinebloukili9

Zinebloukili9

Des mots, des émotions, du partage. J’écris pour le plaisir, tout simplement.


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Between Ideology and Pragmatism: The Spanish Radical Left's Controversial Stance on Moroccan Sahara... 162

Aziz Daouda, 22 h.
I confess here that it was the writings of Si Lahcen Hadad that pushed me to take a closer interest in this Spanish left, which positions itself in opposition to the Sánchez government, which is itself left-wing. Not reading Spanish, I am therefore somewhat less inclined to pay attention to the repeated ignominies of this left, sick from not being able to access power, sick from its aborted history, sick from what it actually is. So, to exist, it invented a cause. Too bad if it understands nothing about it, too bad if it harms Spain’s interests, too bad if it distorts history, ignores geography and demography, too bad if its reasoning, if it is reasoning at all, is far from logical, too bad if it lies outrageously. The important thing is to exist and to appear to the Spanish public as the defender of the causes of the most deprived... No matter if those people harmed the Spanish people; no matter if they have Spanish blood on their hands. Manifest bad faith. In Spain, therefore, a significant part of the radical left, mainly represented by formations such as Unidas Podemos, an alliance between Podemos, Izquierda Unida, and other minority groups, maintains a posture—let’s say critical, if not belligerent—towards the Kingdom of Morocco. This contradictory position is fed by a historical prism marked by colonial memory, “anti-imperialist” struggles, but also by the question of the Sahara, called the "Spanish Sahara" until 1975, as it was a former territory under Spanish domination until the Green March in 1975. This radical left considers Morocco a belligerent and threatening actor. The debate is not limited to territorial disputes: it fits into an ideological vision where the Moroccan state is often presented as an authoritarian and repressive regime, described as a neocolonial power. This is what underpins the repeated support for the artificial Sahrawi cause, presented as an anti-colonial and anti-imperialist fight. Support for the Polisario Front thus seems embedded in the DNA of these “gauchos,” regardless of developments. Historically, several components of the Spanish left have expressed clear support for the Polisario Front, founded in 1973, which was nevertheless supported by Gaddafi, then hosted, supplied, and armed by the Algerian regime with the aim of harming Morocco’s interests. This support manifests itself in various forms: - Filing parliamentary motions in defense of the right to self-determination for this small part of the Sahara alone; - Participation in international pro-Polisario forums and associative networks that blindly support it, regardless of reports on the embezzlement of aid, rapes, and flagrant human rights abuses in Tindouf; - Pressure on the Spanish government and European institutions to recognize the political status of the Sahara, neglecting to mention that it was formerly occupied by their country, as a territory to be decolonized, in opposition to Morocco’s historical sovereignty. Even the autonomy proposal, well known in Spain, does not seem to satisfy them. However, it should be noted that this support comes in a context of strong internal contestation in Spain. Since the socialist government of Pedro Sánchez expressed its support in 2022 for the Moroccan autonomy plan, this radical position has somewhat fractured. This change reflects a pragmatic adaptation by some to the geopolitical, economic, and migratory realities that closely link the two countries. Faced with challenges related to managing migratory flows through the occupied enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla, as well as security and economic cooperation with the Kingdom of Morocco, the Spanish government has refocused its diplomacy. This has led to a gradual distancing of the left—but not the radical left—from the Polisario, thus marginalizing its influence on official policy. In this context, some voices within the radical left still try to persuade European institutions to keep pressure on Morocco, demanding that the so-called Western Sahara remain central to priorities to resolve an “unresolved colonial conflict.” Parliamentary groups and “pro-Sahrawi” NGOs continue to denounce bilateral agreements between Madrid and Rabat, refusing that the issue be sidelined in favor of a more “pragmatic” diplomacy. Spanish and European institutions, the theater of these ideological tensions, thus see the radical left forces seeking to have the question of the so-called Western Sahara recognized as a “state matter.” They denounce Moroccan control over this dossier and strongly contest the diplomatic normalization policies carried out by Madrid. This line reflects a deep political fracture, where post-colonial idealism and outdated self-determination claims clash head-on with political realism marked by the search for regional strategic balances. Support for the so-called Sahrawi cause is not without controversy. Activists, commentators, and victims have recalled that the Polisario Front was, in the past, involved in violent operations in Spanish territorial waters, causing the death of Spanish fishermen. These painful episodes resonate in Spanish public opinion and fuel a virulent critique of radical positions that support a movement with a past combining political struggle and violent actions. This memory weighs heavily in contemporary debate and is exploited by political forces opposed to these radical left positions, notably the Spanish right. The question of the Sahara, a territory that was Spanish for a time, remains an important point in relations between Spain and Morocco. However, current political, economic, and security realities push for pragmatic Spanish diplomacy, favorable to strengthened cooperation with Rabat, thus marginalizing the radical stance on both governmental and international stages. The historical legacy is here perfectly exploited for contemporary necessities in managing Ibero-Moroccan relations. Today, after consulting numerous articles and writings recounting the positions of this left of another era, I understand a little better Si Lahcen Hadad's fight on the subject, and even more so his sharp responses to the remarks of a certain Ignacio Cembrero, whom I now see only as a bland neurotic. Thank you, Si Lahcen. One question remains: why is the Moroccan left not more inclined to take a stand and strongly denounce the alienated stance of their Spanish counterparts?

Theurgy 344

Tupan, 3 d.
Theurgy (Greek: θεουργία, theourgía, “divine work”) is the sacred art of invoking and communing with the divine through ritual acts, moral purification, and contemplative discipline. Emerging from the spiritual philosophy of late Neoplatonism, especially as formulated by Iamblichus (c. 250–325 CE), theurgy is distinguished from other forms of magic by its noble ideal - the soul’s ascension and union (ἕνωσις, henosis) with the divine source. Unlike goetia, which seeks to manipulate material outcomes, theurgy is fundamentally initiatory and redemptive. It engages the practitioner in a disciplined ascent through the metaphysical hierarchy of existence, beginning in the sensory world and leading toward the transcendent unity of the One. This ascent is made possible through divine grace and ritual participation in the cosmic order. The theurgist operates within a universe conceived as a great chain of being (σειρά, seira), extending from the indescribable source through the divine intellect (νοῦς, nous), the soul (ψυχή, psyche), and the celestial intelligences, down to the elements of the material world. Through sacred rites, one may ascend these levels of reality by re-establishing communion between the soul and its divine archetype. At the heart of theurgical practice lies the invocation of spiritual intelligences—gods, archangels, planetary powers, and cosmic intermediaries—through symbolic actions, sacred statements, and hieratical rituals. These acts are not merely symbolic or theatrical, but sacramental: they are performed to align human activity with the divine will and to reflect the eternal order of the cosmos within the temporal world. Iamblichus stressed that such union with the gods could not be attained through philosophical reasoning alone. Rather, one must engage in ritual action using sacred symbols, divine names, and purificatory rites to render the soul receptive to the divine presence. The practice of theurgy was closely tied to philosophical ethics and interior purification. The theurgist was expected to live a disciplined life, cultivating virtue, moderation, and piety. This internal preparation was as crucial as the external rite, for the soul must be made capable of bearing divine illumination. Through repeated engagement with divine acts, the practitioner refines the spiritual vehicle and becomes gradually elevated to recognize the higher realities without distortion. Historically, theurgy developed as a synthesis of Platonic metaphysics, Chaldean oracles, Egyptian temple rituals, and mystery initiations. While rooted in the classical world, its influence extended into the Middle Ages and Renaissance. Figures such as Marsilio Ficino and Giordano Bruno drew heavily on theurgical principles in their Hermetic and Neoplatonic revivals. In modern esotericism, especially within orders such as the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, theurgical ideas persist under the structure of ritual magic, planetary invocations, and Qabalistic ascent. The ultimate goal of the theurgist is apotheosis—not in the sense of personal glorification, but in the restoration of the soul to its divine pattern, beyond all individuation. As Iamblichus declares in his treatise On the Mysteries: “Theurgy unites us to the gods, not through thought, but through divine acts.” In this sense, theurgy is not merely a practice, but a sacred path—a divine remembrance enacted through the body, soul, and spirit, leading the practitioner not toward mastery of the world, but toward reintegration with the divine fullness (πλήρωμα, pleroma) from which all emanates.