Trista Pena. I am hearing now "Trista Pena" by
Gipsy Kings.
And it is Sherko Fattah that I was reading those last days. A
novel about a Kurdish smuggler living on the borders between Iraq and Turkey
and Iran. He is much respected and valued for the risk he is taking on walking
across those borders filled with mines.

But let us go back a little to another border, to another
conflict. The Freud Vs Jung conflict and read from Jung's autobiography one of
his dreams:
"..on one of the mountainous areas at the
Swiss-Austrian borders, and near the evening time, I saw an old man wearing the
uniform of the Austrian customhouse. He walked by my side. He was bent and he
never looked at me. His facial expressions were closer to obstinacy, sadness,
and annoyance. There were other people in the scene. One of them had told me
that the old man is not really here, but it is his spirit, the spirit of the
customhouse man who died since years, (he is one of those who cannot die like
how it should be)… this is the first part of the dream".
Yesterday I was in Al Mutanabbee street and I liked
to walk in the backstreets.
From the book I knew that Cyril Connolly had once wrote a
letter to Edward Glover telling him: "I feel the Jung's reputation has
grown out of proportion. [….]. His work is a distortion of Freud's ideas by the
injection into them of unscientific mystical feelings which make them popular. In
the work of Jung there are elements in which Jung's own desire for a religious,
rather than a scientific, conception exists."
I am still hearing Trista Pena by the Gypsy Kings.
Let us go back to Sheko Fattah novel and read:
"Why I am not allowed to know a thing about my son?
Bino was surprised for a while. Then he shook his head with
a stronger intensity.
-
Because it was a long time since he was lost. You
are digging in the past. Don't you understand that there is no past here, at
least for those people like you. The past and the future do not exist for you. For
you it is only the present that exists and anything else is a taboo. That must
be clear to you anyhow."
p. 212
A wooden box of traditional Kurdish candies had reached me to Baghdad from a friend. I will leave the sad novel unfinished for now but I will keep listening to Trista Pena and think about boundaries and mines.