أن تكون حالماً لا يعني بالضرورة أن تكون نائماً، كما أن المنام ليس شرطاً أن يكون كلّه أحلاماً، ويصفُ البعض الأحلام، ويصنّفها بحديث نَفْس، ويراها البعضُ إشارات إلهيّة، ويذهب آخرون إلى أنّ الصندوق الأسود في اللاوعي يستيقظ عندما ينامُ الوعي، ويراها قومٌ أضغاث أوهام، ويؤكد الغزالي أنّ معرفة المنامِ أصدقُ من معرفة اليقظة، وهي عند النفسانيين رغبات مكبوتة، وعند العرفانيين نبوءة.
ولي مع الأحلام قصّة، إذ كنتُ في طفولتي مغرماً بتأليف أحلام تخدم مصالحي الطفوليّة؛ فرويت لأمي (عليها رحمة الله) حلماً مصطنعاً قلتُ فيه أني رأيتُ في المنام أن أبي (رحمه الله) اشترى لي ثوباً ملوّناً؛ وكانت رحمها الله تحذّرني من الكذب في المنام؛ وتقول «ترى اللي يتكذّب في الحِلم تكلّفه الملائكة يوم القيامة بعقد حبتين شعير في بعضهما»، فحلفت لها كذباً؛ أني ما كذبت، وركبت في رأسي، وذات صباح صيفي إجازيٍّ، وأنا مُكّلف بحماية الزروع من الطير؛ قرّرتُ أن أعقد حبتي قمح؛ من باب التدرب على اختبار الملائكة القاسي؛ فأخذت من السنابل الطريّة سنبلة وفرطت حبّها، وبدأت أحاول عقدها لم أنجح ولم أيأس؛ محاولة ثانية وثالثة؛ وانصبّت الطيور على مزرعتنا وتناولت إفطارها في أمن وهناء؛ وجاء أبي، يرحمه الله، وأنا منهمك تحت الحبلة في الّلت والعجن؛ فمدّ يده على شجرة رمان، وافتصخ منها عوداً ناعماً، ومن الشطّة الأولى انعقرت وحسرت عن الفرار، وعدت للبيت وجلدي ملوّن بالأحمر والأسود، وكانت أمي، عليها رحمة الله، تداري ضحكتها كي لا تضاعف ألمي، وتدهن جراحي بزبدة بقر، وتردد «حلومكم علومكم صدّ حلمك بالثوب الملوّن!».
لم أتب من أحلامي الكاذبة، ولم أتراجع عنها؛ فما أن تنمحي آلام الجسد، وتتعافى ندوب الروح، نعود مجدداً للذنوب الأولى، ونكرر أخطاءنا بكبرياء، وكأنّ شيئاً لم يكن، وهكذا كان شأني مع أبي الذي كنتُ أروي له أحلاماً عن الغيوم والأمطار، التي أراها في منامي، ولأنّه عليه رحمة الله يعشق المطر، كان شديد التفاؤل بأمطاري الوهمية، أو المناميّة، وطالما ردّد «تباركوا بالنواصي والأقدام والبعض من الذُّريّة»، فأشعر أنّي من الذريّة المباركة؛ إلى أن رأى أُمي تنشر طراحتي وبطانيتي تحت ضوء الشمس، فقال «لا تنسَ تفضي الخزان قبل ما ترقد!».
أما الأحلام المصطنعة، التي كُنتُ أرويها لزملاء الطفولة، والرعاة والراعيات، فحدّث ولا حرج، ولأنّ إحدى الراعيات من قرية مجاورة كانت تمدّ لي في كل مرة بتمرات، أو حبة فاكهة، عشقتها، وركّبتُ لها حلماً عن خطبتي لها، وزواجي بها، وأني عزمتُ شيخ القبيلة، والعرفاء، والشُّعار، وزفيتها بيدي من السيارة إلى مجلس الحريم، ولأن الأغنام تقيّل تحت سدرة وارفة الظلّ ونحن معها؛ اندمجتُ في دور البطولة، ولم أنتبه أن غنمي تناقزت من فوق حاجز شجري على مزرعة ذرة لأحد المزارعين الناريين؛ فأدركَنا ونحن تحت السدرة نتبادل مقترحات ليلة الدُخلة، فكتَّف قدميّ بشماغي، وقال «خلّك مكانك إلى أن يأتي أهلك يفكونك»، واستاق الغنم إلى منزله، وأنا عاجز عن التخلص، والعروس الصغيرة لحقت غنمها وتركتني أواجه مصير الصباحيّة بمفردي، فقررتُ التوبة عن أحلامي الكاذبة.
علي بن محمد الرباعي
طراطيش كلام.. كذّاب الأحلام
18 يوليو 2025 - 00:17
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آخر تحديث 18 يوليو 2025 - 00:17
تابع قناة عكاظ على الواتساب
To be a dreamer does not necessarily mean to be asleep, just as a dream does not have to be entirely composed of dreams. Some describe dreams and classify them as mere fantasies, while others see them as divine signs. Still, others believe that the black box of the unconscious awakens when consciousness sleeps, and some view them as mere illusions. Al-Ghazali asserts that understanding dreams is more truthful than understanding wakefulness; for psychologists, they represent repressed desires, while for mystics, they are prophecies.
I have a story with dreams, as I was in my childhood fond of fabricating dreams that served my childish interests. I narrated to my mother (may Allah have mercy on her) a fabricated dream in which I claimed that I saw in a dream that my father (may Allah have mercy on him) bought me a colorful dress. She, may Allah have mercy on her, warned me against lying in dreams, saying, "You see, whoever lies in a dream will be tasked by the angels on the Day of Judgment with tying two grains of barley together." So I swore to her falsely that I had not lied, and it got stuck in my head. One summer morning during vacation, while I was tasked with protecting the crops from birds, I decided to tie the grains of wheat as a way to practice for the angels' harsh test. I took a soft ear of wheat, separated its grains, and began trying to tie them. I did not succeed, nor did I despair; I tried a second and a third time. The birds descended upon our farm and had their breakfast in peace and comfort. My father, may Allah have mercy on him, came while I was busy under the burden of kneading and mixing. He reached for a pomegranate tree and broke off a tender branch, and from the first blow, I was struck and fell to the ground. I returned home with my skin colored in red and black, and my mother, may Allah have mercy on her, tried to stifle her laughter so as not to increase my pain, applying cow butter to my wounds and repeating, "Your dreams are your knowledge; your dream of the colorful dress is a false dream!"
I did not repent from my false dreams, nor did I retreat from them; as soon as the pains of the body fade and the scars of the soul heal, we return again to our first sins and repeat our mistakes with pride, as if nothing had happened. Thus was my relationship with my father, to whom I would tell dreams about clouds and rain that I saw in my sleep. Because he, may Allah have mercy on him, loved the rain, he was very optimistic about my imaginary or dreamlike rains, and he often repeated, "Blessed are the forelocks and the feet and some of the offspring." I felt that I was among the blessed offspring until he saw my mother spreading my mat and blanket under the sunlight, and he said, "Don't forget to empty the tank before you sleep!"
As for the fabricated dreams that I used to tell my childhood friends, the shepherds and shepherdesses, the stories are countless. One of the shepherdesses from a neighboring village would give me dates or a piece of fruit every time, which I adored. I crafted a dream about proposing to her and marrying her, claiming that I had invited the tribe's chief, the wise men, and the poets, and that I escorted her by hand from the car to the women's gathering. Because the sheep were grazing under a shady sidra tree while we were with them, I immersed myself in the role of the hero and did not notice that my sheep had jumped over a wooden barrier into the cornfield of one of the fiery farmers. We were caught under the sidra tree exchanging suggestions for the wedding night when he tied my feet with my scarf and said, "Stay where you are until your family comes to untie you." He drove the sheep to his home while I was unable to escape, and the little bride followed her sheep, leaving me to face the consequences of the morning alone. I decided to repent from my false dreams.
I have a story with dreams, as I was in my childhood fond of fabricating dreams that served my childish interests. I narrated to my mother (may Allah have mercy on her) a fabricated dream in which I claimed that I saw in a dream that my father (may Allah have mercy on him) bought me a colorful dress. She, may Allah have mercy on her, warned me against lying in dreams, saying, "You see, whoever lies in a dream will be tasked by the angels on the Day of Judgment with tying two grains of barley together." So I swore to her falsely that I had not lied, and it got stuck in my head. One summer morning during vacation, while I was tasked with protecting the crops from birds, I decided to tie the grains of wheat as a way to practice for the angels' harsh test. I took a soft ear of wheat, separated its grains, and began trying to tie them. I did not succeed, nor did I despair; I tried a second and a third time. The birds descended upon our farm and had their breakfast in peace and comfort. My father, may Allah have mercy on him, came while I was busy under the burden of kneading and mixing. He reached for a pomegranate tree and broke off a tender branch, and from the first blow, I was struck and fell to the ground. I returned home with my skin colored in red and black, and my mother, may Allah have mercy on her, tried to stifle her laughter so as not to increase my pain, applying cow butter to my wounds and repeating, "Your dreams are your knowledge; your dream of the colorful dress is a false dream!"
I did not repent from my false dreams, nor did I retreat from them; as soon as the pains of the body fade and the scars of the soul heal, we return again to our first sins and repeat our mistakes with pride, as if nothing had happened. Thus was my relationship with my father, to whom I would tell dreams about clouds and rain that I saw in my sleep. Because he, may Allah have mercy on him, loved the rain, he was very optimistic about my imaginary or dreamlike rains, and he often repeated, "Blessed are the forelocks and the feet and some of the offspring." I felt that I was among the blessed offspring until he saw my mother spreading my mat and blanket under the sunlight, and he said, "Don't forget to empty the tank before you sleep!"
As for the fabricated dreams that I used to tell my childhood friends, the shepherds and shepherdesses, the stories are countless. One of the shepherdesses from a neighboring village would give me dates or a piece of fruit every time, which I adored. I crafted a dream about proposing to her and marrying her, claiming that I had invited the tribe's chief, the wise men, and the poets, and that I escorted her by hand from the car to the women's gathering. Because the sheep were grazing under a shady sidra tree while we were with them, I immersed myself in the role of the hero and did not notice that my sheep had jumped over a wooden barrier into the cornfield of one of the fiery farmers. We were caught under the sidra tree exchanging suggestions for the wedding night when he tied my feet with my scarf and said, "Stay where you are until your family comes to untie you." He drove the sheep to his home while I was unable to escape, and the little bride followed her sheep, leaving me to face the consequences of the morning alone. I decided to repent from my false dreams.


