elycheikh ahmedtolba
Maybe you happen once to undergo a desire of whispering to yourself about something that you feel excited and confused to sense or express. The self, sometimes, takes the shape of a shadow or silhouette that would embark onto a thorough argument with itself within the boundaries of nowhere and beyond the in-between spaces….
This conjecture is where I always have the sense of hearing an anguishing silent whisper coming from the depth of the night’s silence, springing from the width of selfish intimations that often impact my ambition, vision, and decision. Is this silent whisper a resonance of the denied and gagged self which we do not fancy to encounter in any moment of revelation or epiphany? Do not we usually epitomize a breed of despotism towards ourselves…?
I think that a great degree of our failure in this elaborate life is mainly due to the fact that we don’t aspire to fashion a space of reconciliation or harmony between the self and its silent whispers. Whispering to the self is just like a world without maps where questions and answers overlap to the extent that we cannot distinguish the silent whisper or the question from the answer, following this dilemma the prevailing doubt remains to be continuously stimulating and exciting…
Why we are frustrated and afraid of ourselves in this inner frightening world? Is there any way to overcome the misunderstanding in attempt to create new bonds between voice and whisper…?
This few words are not meant to give an idea about anything or to make something out of nothing. It is rather a retrospective reflection of an abstract feeling which I had last night. I wonder if anybody could be trapped into a moment of bringing together the self and itself…
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