Rational Thinking Methods and Maghreb Prayer Rug


    “Daddy, tell me a fairy tale,” my little son came up to me.

    “Maybe not right now, son?” I got some kind of rubbery demon, I’m bouncing off the bullets, ”I muttered, swinging the switch,“ I’ll go to the save point and ...

    ”Now,” the son instructed, “I must.”

    “Okay,” I agreed, “just mind you, then don't complain that you didn't like the tale.” Painfully she is terrible.

    “I promise not to complain,” the son happily reported.

    Of course, he did not keep his promise. Because I told the story of the Maghreb Prayer Rug.

    “This is some kind of wrong fairy-tale,” the baby was indignant, “There is neither logic, nor sense, nor morality in it.”

    - Welcome to the real world, son. We have it all here.

    “Mother's tales are better,” Andrei said, “Heroes always win in them.”

    But it was a blow below the belt. Reputation needed to be saved.

    - You rubbed the desired lamp, son. I am a writer. I can correct any story.

    “Will you rewrite the story again?”

    - Cool your children's imagination. I can not rewrite the already told story - it is too deeply embedded in the fabric of life. I can only continue the tale.

    And I continued.

    I quote the text of the original Sufi parable on The Prince of Gosplan, a fantastic tale of Victor Pelevin. And I honestly don’t know whether this is a Sufi parable or was written by Victor O. himself. Yes, it does not matter:

    One of the viziers had a little son named Yusuf. One day he went beyond his father’s estate and went for a walk.

    And so he reached the deserted road, where he loved to walk alone, and walked along it, looking around. And suddenly he saw some old man in Sheik's clothes, with a black hat on his head. The boy politely greeted the old man, and then he stopped and gave him a sweet sugar cock. And when Yusuf ate it, the old man asked:

    - Boy, do you like fairy tales?

    Yusuf was very fond of fairy tales, and so he answered.

    “I know one tale,” said the old man, “this is a tale about the Maghreb prayer rug.” I would tell you about it, but it hurts so much.

    But boy Yusuf, naturally, said that he was not afraid of anything, and prepared to listen.

    But suddenly, somewhere in the side where his father's estate was, the bells rang and some loud cries — it always happened when someone came. The boy instantly forgot about the old man in a black hat and rushed to see who it was. It turned out that it was just some insignificant subordinate of his father, and the boy ran backwards, but the old man was no longer on the road. Then he was very upset and went back to the manor.

    Choosing a minute, he went to his father and asked:

    - Dad! Do you know anything about the Maghreb prayer rug?

    And suddenly his father turned pale, shook his whole body, fell to the floor and died. Then the boy was very scared and ran to his mother.

    - Mama! - He shouted - misfortune!

    Mom came up to him, smiled, put her hand on his head and asked:

    - What is it, son?

    “Mom,” the boy shouted, “I went to my dad and asked him about one thing, and he suddenly fell and died!”

    - About what thing? - frowning asked mom.

    - About the Maghreb prayer rug!

    And suddenly, my mother, too, turned pale and terribly pale, shook her whole body, fell to the floor and died.
    The boy was left all alone, and soon the powerful enemies of his father captured the estate, and he himself was expelled on all four sides. He traveled all over Persia for a long time and finally got into the khanaqu to one very famous Sufi and became his student.

    Several years passed, and Yusuf approached this Sufi, when he was alone, bowed and said:

    - Teacher, I have been learning from you for several years. Can I ask you one question?

    “Ask, my son,” said the Sufi, smiling.

    “Teacher, do you know anything about the Maghreb prayer rug?”

    The Sufi paled, clutched at his heart, and fell dead. Then Yusuf rushed away.

    Since then, he became a wandering dervish, and walked around Persia in search of famous teachers. And everyone whoever asked about the Maghreb rug fell to the ground and died. Gradually, Yusuf grew old and became weak. He began to think that he would soon die and leave no trace on the ground.

    Then one day, when he was sitting in a teahouse and thinking about all this, he suddenly saw that very old man in a black hat. The old man was the same as before - the years had not aged him at all. Yusuf ran up to him, knelt down and prayed:

    - Venerable sheikh! I've been looking for you all my life! Tell me about the Maghreb prayer rug!

    An old man in a black hat said:

    - Well, be it your way.

    Yusuf prepared to listen. Then the old man sat down opposite him, sighed and died. Yusuf spent the whole day and the whole night in silence sitting near his corpse. Then he got up, took off his black hat and put it on his head. He left a few small coins, and before leaving, he bought them a sugar cockerel from the owner of the teahouse.
    Walking along the street, he peered at the faces of the children he met, choosing whom he would reward with a curse. Soon he saw a tomboy walking through the wasteland, like himself, fifty years ago.

    Yusuf approached the child and said:

    - Child, do you want a sugar cock?

    Schaz ,” the child replied, “And then you will take me to the bushes and try to rape you old pervert.” Papa had warned me about such people the other day. Cockerel, however, come on - but without any preconditions, - thinking, added the child, - and here's another, - lick the candy, older. I want to make sure that the cock is not poisoned.

    Yusuf stared at the child in surprise. Then he sighed - that's right, the youth is spoiled from year to year. His heart was jubilant - to tell the truth, at first he was ashamed to break the life of a child, only because some old man once gave him a curse.

    But, a couple of minutes of communication was enough for him to understand that this is the offspring of a fiery hyena, definitely worthy of a curse. And even the sky will agree with that. Even Allah.

    With trembling hands, he pulled the cock to his mouth, but was stopped by an exclamation:

    “Stop, stop, that's enough.” Now I believe that the cockerel is not poisoned - the child demanded a dirty pen.

    “And now I will tell you a story about the Maghreb prayer rug.”

    - A feto of course? - asked the child, enthusiastically absorbing the sweetness.

    - YES! - Yusuf roared, and with horror realized that he does not know what to tell. All that he knew, he had already told.

    But then, to his relief, the bells were ringing and some loud cries. The child turned away, and Yusuf ran away from him, cursing his old knees.

    And Issa, that was the name of the child, instantly forgetting about the old man, rushed to see who it was. Her caution and pragmatism were explained by the fact that she was a girl, who, when she let go for a walk, wore a dress under the boy for security reasons.

    Having learned that it was just some insignificant subordinate of her father, Issa remained in the house, rightly judging that today there is enough adventure. Thoughts to get back on the road and listen to the tale of the Maghreb prayer rug from the anxious old man she met met with Issa did not arise - the name of the fairy tale seemed to her completely uninteresting. Now, if the fairy tale was called “Ali Baba and the Forty Virgins” - she would definitely listen. And the Maghreb rug? Fi

    In the evening, Issa went to her father and told him about what she had seen during the day. That was their tradition. Talking about a strange stranger, Issa mentioned that the old man was still trying to tell a tale about the Maghreb prayer rug.

    At these words, her father turned pale, shook his whole body, fell to the floor and died. Issa was very scared and ran to the head of security, so that he sent people for a doctor. To mother Issa did not run.

    Mama died when Issa was small.

    The house was immediately filled with people - in the East one cannot become strong and respected without the support of the clan, so the death of the father, although it weakened the clan, did not make Issa a streetless orphan. Of course, she didn’t tell anyone about the rug - her father had a heart attack, there’s no time for fairy tales.

    The mat surfaced in the conversation a week later, after the father’s funeral, when the investigator sent by the Sultan dealt with the untimely death of her father — he was completely healthy and his sudden death caused a recess at court.

    Issa told about what preceded the death of her father. About the meeting with the old man, about the sugar cock (based on these words, the investigator perked up noticeably) and about the Maghreb prayer rug. Then the investigator fell to the floor and died.

    And Issa made conclusions.

    So when the powerful enemies of her father tried to seize their estate, Issa invited the heads of their families to negotiate in a remote caravanserai, from which no one got out alive.

    Issa met the delegation, holding the ship's horn for loyalty.

    - Our house is ready to surrender. Without conditions and reservations. Why, you ask? Listen carefully: - and here she told everyone a fairy tale to the Maghreb prayer rug.

    This trick had to be repeated two more times, after which the powerful enemies of her house ran out. They tried to send killers to her, but she managed to tell them a tale, after which her guardian tripled the guard of the girl. Fortunately, they had the money - her house and allied houses, using insider information, took over the palaces and lands of the houses destroyed by Issa.

    In the meantime, Issa grew - in the east they grow up quickly. The growing influence of her house interested the sultan. One day, all the guards attacked the girl and tied her up. Issa shouted indignantly, but could not change anything - the people of the Sultan threatened that the families of the guards would be cut to the seventh generation if they did not deliver the girl to the palace.

    Issa was decided to act according to the established scheme, but quickly changed her mind. What greatly contributed prudently thrust into her mouth gag. Delivered to the palace, Issa was panicked when the old muzzled executioner tore off her clothes, and tied to the table, began to show her nail clippers, red-hot thorns and a spiny vaginal pear.

    But she calmed down as soon as the executioner, in response to her lowing, pulled a gag from her mouth.

    Now the executioner was in her power. However, it was necessary to act carefully - in case of an error, it could simply be stuck with arrows from a distance.

    Therefore, Issa told the executioner that she was ready to tell her secret to the Sultan. And only the sultan. The executioner obeyed her - the girl told him that her secret was so terrible that if the executioner used her tool to extort her, then the sultan would have to kill him. And sons and his family, and his kind. This is the only way to keep the secret. Therefore, she must tell the secret to the Sultan personally. Tet-a-tet. And while being in good health - because she is, in fact, the only guarantor and witness that she did not tell the secret to the executioner.

    Sultan has taken security measures. What could come up with. Issa was searched, wrapped with ropes and put in a jug, so that only his head stuck out - so the sultan could not be afraid that Issa would pounce on him and strangle during the audience.

    Delivered to his chambers and placed in the middle of the room, Issa could not hold back a nervous laugh — it looked so silly. After making sure that they were alone, the girl quickly killed the Sultan’s rug and began to call the guard.

    There was, of course, a rather thin place in her plan. The guardian could without a doubt execute the helpless Issa, but chose to give the right to decide her fate to the sultan's son: Prince Jafar.

    With Issa, everything went smoothly - the prince was happy with the long-awaited death of daddy, so he quickly decided to marry Issa, since he liked her. He said so directly to her - when he broke the pitcher and unwound the ropes. (He thought at the same time that such a powerful sorceress is useful to have as an ally, but not the essence.)

    And they healed often and happily. Of course, their union was not typical for the east, not so out of the ordinary - strong women rulers were in these lands. Jawar peretr * hival harem, Issa gave birth to children. A couple of times their kingdom was strained by the neighbors, but Issa, having traveled to the zone of military actions with her faithful mouthpiece, quickly outraged the problem. So it took ten years.

    And so this story would have ended if, somehow, a tattered dervish hadn’t taken to the palace and started kicking the door, demanding that he be led to the Kadyn-efendi. The guards were about to pour in the insolent curative of podzhopnik, but Issa, learning of this, ordered the old man to be brought to her.

    Of course, it was our old friend Yusuf. Seeing Issa, he fell to his knees with curses. Issa ran up to him, with glasses of water - she absolutely did not hold on to the old man.

    - Well settled, bitch - Yusuf growled, looking at the richly furnished rooms, - I look, my curse turned to you for good.

    “What is, that is, father,” agreed Issa. - I reached what I wanted with your help and Allah.

    - Gadina. Viper. A donkey, this ... Volokolamskaya, - Yusuf continued to rage. - I can not look at you. When I hear about your next success, I’m ready to die from resentment - I could have been in your place if I had guessed that you could use a curse as a weapon.

    - What did you pull then? - Asked angry Issa. Nobody called her a reptile for a long time. - I would have started this long ago.

    - I can not. Damn it does not let go. I tried everything - and opened the veins and jumped from the bridge and bought belyashi at the market. Once he hanged himself in the forest, tied his hands, so he hung for half a year until the rope decayed. I even stopped aging.

    “But from this moment on in more detail,” said Issa, ingratiatingly.

    Scene after captions:
    Вот мы и подошли к финалу нашей истории.

    Исса, узнав у Юсуфа все что требовалась, прекратила его страдания рассказав про коврик. Спустя несколько лет, когда её старший сын достиг пятнадцатилетия, она передала проклятие ему, перестав стареть. Потом, она передала проклятие его сыну, когда её первенец погиб во время охоты на леопарда. И его сыну, и его, и его…

    Потом Иссе пришлось удалиться от публичных дел, так как управлять миром проще, если никто не знает о твоем истинном возрасте. Да, Иссу нельзя убить – но можно сбросить в Марианскую впадину в свинцовом шаре. Сейчас, разменяв двенадцатый век, Исса огладывается на дела своих рук с гордостью – её народ, Саудиты, по уровню жизни занимает первое место среди остальных держав.

    Очень скоро путь Иссы к получению всей власти над миром завершится — фонды, организованные Иссой во всех ведущих странах мира поддерживают феминизм, толерантность, атеизм — и уже сейчас в Европе, главном конкуренте Иссы – рождаемость упала ниже уровня воспроизводства и европейцев вовсю замещают переселенцы из стран Магриба.

    Единственно, что её беспокоит – так это возросшая роль самоуправления народа. Интернет – вещь, которую Исса не может полностью контролировать, становится рупором здравого смысла, мешая манипулировать народами и реализовывать её замыслы. Люди, в своих блогах и сетевом общении смеют открыто высмеивать новый миропорядок, который она установила, подкупив и запугав элиты.

    Поэтому Исса записала эту историю, заменив настоящие слова силы на бессмысленно словосочетание «магрибский молитвенный коврик» — чтоб в мире было знание, о том, какой ужасающей силой владеет её семья. И что в случае бунта, в случае саботажа и неповиновения — она с этим миром сделает – просто произнеся слова силы из всех уличных громкоговорителей, телевизоров, сотовых телефонов, а также спроецировав это слово на всех мировых языках расположенными на орбите лазерами на луну, чтоб и глухие не сильно радовались.

    Ибо нефиг.

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