Dr. Ilir Shyta: Truth hurts

(Based on “Israelites and Philistines” by Fan S. Noli)

It cannot be lived without opponents. One can never live without adversaries. Life’s infinite arena envisages everyone with the good and the evil. However, it shall never be forgotten the mere minority of the good.
Vis-à-vis this artificial dimension you manage to span your vigor and to bitterly masticate your reverse side: the one that abides alongside and incited you like latent wound elapsing towards an uttered havoc.
For life to continue it is necessitated pure antagonism.
Pseudo-idols: this is what you trace in the infinite sanctuary.
There exists an old saying: “God save me from women…I may as well perform a self-defense from men”. Thus, this old maschilist quote withholds an unyielding cogitation form and not only in Samson and Dalila’s depicting destinies.
You can never live without adversaries: may those be meek, tough, small, hyperbolic, conspicuous or imperceptible, visional or veracious, men or women and girls…

No all-around-the-globe gravity will ever exist if somebody does not turn to be an obstacle along your way. Life, though, is gifted with survival merriment by the earlier opponent-like principle.
The will to live is to ascertain the mere beauty in the people who become your barrier. The aesthetic beauty of life fetches the strength in the dia-immolation desire. If life would be bereft of opponents, it would, as well, have an even color: plain, inharmonious and maybe “withered by the self-sacrificing nerve”. Consequently, the “self-” vision would no longer exist. The obsessed-by-ease mind would be the only one to house the “cargo” only as a part of existence. The other part would bask in the lukewarm sunbeams pertaining to the superficial omnipresent-dawning sun, and bearing pure evidence of non-existence and slow-witted slumberous decay.
You can never live without adversaries! It may hereto appear a slightly heavy claptrap but one must, so, trust the truth even when it badly hurts. Even though this part of the parentheses is easily perused in Noli’s framework drama, it does herewith abide an apocalyptical abyss that must be pensively and undoubtedly entrusted. For just once in a lifetime get prepared and mete to collide against the best.
Under this real conjecture inducted by the inexhaustible life source, Penelope has been reweaving her dream of carefully enshrining the clot thread so hopefully preserved in her scrimpy heart. Facing the adversaries means suffering and suffering itself means possessing immortality vesture. It is throughout time that Noli’s personality becomes magnified within this all-around affable image. His memorial is engraved even among those who abominated and execrated him, altogether with his fancies on those black days of the Republican upheaval. Under this illuminative pathway the adversary truth upholds a faithful and sufficient position, just to understand that life, nonetheless, is not an uncracked mirror, not even for them. So, tell me: Are the parties wrong or are they not?
This is a manner of meditating, starting from your position inside the truth: a truth which requires to be confided even when you remain its most first-hand, point-blank scriber.
You can never understand if you did good or evil? However, you can never understand if you are prodigal or vindictive even though the feeling of love on the fatherland’s behalf still remains love above all loves.
Nowadays, it may all sound ridiculous, but, within its feasible mission, the same fatherland may even kill on behalf of a civilization which inhumes latent heroes when the bells of time toll for nothing but oblivion. The quote: “You can never live without adversaries”, thus, becomes an eventual purpose which gives you strength of judgment so that life remains free from feculent vapor frames.
The truth remains “Daedalian”: may it be for the losers and/or winners.
Though, in this cavalry, the humanity marches forwards, after its shadow: with or without trends and rights. Thus, slyness recurs to stand at the mount of the ones who think they bear the truth within. Does it matter if you are a loser or a winner? Oftentimes, at our inglorious and monotonous quotidianity battle, the truth writhes alongside the illuminative and shadowy abysses for a grandeur self-presentation. By violence vs. vigor, it still remains the most pliable word from all the others who make clamor on its behalf.
There can be depicted the humanity “Golgotha”, just over there, to perform the best, among infidelity and virtue. Our archaic and moderate slyness houses the indispensability to perform the disposal of our own self as part of impartiality.
Being a loser, maybe you feel no need for self-idolization, but surely, if you are a glorious winner, you feel the necessity for the success trumpet. The epoch of modesty has surely sunk, at least in those centuries parade. I am the Lord of my grandeur, and I will always be, in this moment, only now, because the future is quite uncertain to predict occurrences. I may, therefore, not own a glory flag. The devious cramp stands cross-legged. Over there, in the human cross-roads still remains the most indubitable menu which announces a quite sound visage. The love on truth’s behalf may have to be outspoken, sometimes by triumph guise, maybe just to innervate to your ancillaries what doesn’t have to come out public, but which basically bears the cynicism of a marred conscience. The enduring man emerges the fraud or artifice, while at the indolent’s mirror, there can never be reflected even the slightest, weakest fiasco spot.
The voice of life hails towards craggy abysses even at times when pride adulation harasses you, rupturing inconclusively the nose of existence.
Vis-à-vis to the world, often more, there manifests itself the truth as a mere hyperbolic lie, a truth which maybe even hurts. Tons of meek despair which wait to be totally and informally awoken one day mitigate this traditional ritual. The glorifying presentation of the victory displays willingly or unwillingly suspicion shades which nimbles the roots of the truth. The allocation “Pirro’s like” wears you out and the path of your judgment undergoes a slightly sensitive mental defeat. An encouraging pathologism wraps the conscience and subconscience, the dream and the nightmare. The loser and winner’s optics induces the desire of victory, often more toward infelicitous and miserable footpaths – without resolutionary vision.
Meanwhile, just for the purpose of emerging from miscellaneous stagnations, many people relegate the self counterpoise and their circle with ascendancy colors towards their own personal interest dimidiating the demotic balance with militants or even purblind neutrals that do not hereto deviate the pre-allocated devoirs placed vis-à-vis in certain moments.
In this confrontation, the artful winners and the lowlife defeated losers demand their fatherland with desperate squawks; a fatherland which has often more been insulated, disdained, cheaply-sold and marketed in diverse historic circumstances. The slyness and the artful non-bigoted people require allocating their survival equipoise by any price which is so demanded by the small-minded interests, only for the fate of the moaning fatherland. Nobody can abnegate and disavow such a truth.
Vis-à-vis such penurious and non-penurious fates the humankind elicits lessons which are so particularly disremembered when the necessity of the individual culpability so pleads. Such refrains dispirit you but they never perish you. Contrariwise, everyone’s heart Golgotha becomes tougher and stronger and durable and even much more firm only for ameliating the appearing eidolon. There are hope elements which hurl fancifully or not and which are then converted to wound embrocation so smoothly burnished by time in its forgetful oblivion. The Daedalian truth pyramids its days so dearly, against this level, on the despondent demo’s ridge bereft of any mental disentanglement. Such ventures, which maybe remain only imitative trends, are being always displayed to the human life ideals. At times, it would have been better if these ideals had never existed.
Narcissism still remains a psychospective key in Noli’s masterpiece “Israelites and Philistines”. There is a visual display of the samsonian image face-to-face the timely mirror of the ’24.
I am strong, even tougher and vigorous. I am in love until death to my fatherland.
For this ideal sake, there abounds the myth of the utilitarian and successful leader. The graceful landscape in the timely mirror is displayed quite significantly. There are drawn, quite at a stroke terrains asperity and grandeur fright across the solar azure. The infrangibility thirst, thus, resounds in this good-morning. The narcissism profile implicates muscles and their strength which do hereto recycle in the ritual dance of the everyday livelihood.
Samson truly believes in the portrait which manifests itself in the mirror. Intrepidity and audacity for him do remain the most sympathetic momentum aureole.
The best subtitle as for the motivation of this in-front-of-mirror presentation would be: “I am tough; in a word, I entrust my strength”.
Meantime, we shall not disremember the historical context of these years. There were times when uneven citizens and pheasants gathered to Noli’s mission in his pathway as a prime minister. They all became so, an Albanian landscape under the valiant figure of the republican militant. The fatherland geographic dimension displays strength and wisdom. The credibility of Nolsamson figure is composed by the idyll between life and death of power and by the immense love for non-fatal triumph. This is testified by the history of the Democratic Revolution dating on June 1924. Underneath the cassock there remains uniquely unique the politician’s face. He was not only an ideal far-sighted prime minister, but also a person who puzzled with self-contained judgment and maturity elements of the opponent side. Noli propels the days and governs the hours in his cabinet by being a truly worshipper of his conformist ego, bereft of demagogy.
One of the most climacteric moments of the nolian vital life’s serial is marked by the mirror-by reflection of his tough headman’s profile. Not in the least power-solicitous but eager towards a just governance and firm ascendancy, thus, Noli commences his miniature-tiny projected pace. Time will cast in his doormat tempests and bleakness pace at once; torrential rains and mortal antediluvians in the governing horizon…but it shall never placate the blaze of love for rearing the cast-iron national defiant image. And, to the other double-faced side, there in the timely mirror and altogether within the narcissist frame, there stands the image of a physically-and-militarily faintly lider. Contemplating that mirror, Nolsamson bemoans the surrounding human landscape: unstrung, dreary, malnutritive faces trembling from the progenitive injected death owing to the total spiritual country’s ravage.
Will this coterie of valorous Herculeans patronize me in times of good and evil to enshrine the monocracy? Did Noli perhaps, perform identical self-interrogative queries …?
Encased in the eremite Samson’s sleeve, the prime minister felt awry or maybe even worse when these hidebound portraits manifested in the mirror of when.

* * *

It was quite long ago absent to this nature the incipience moselle love of the temerarious and valiant sun, which had parted in a voiced-and-apparent pace from political arena. The groaning bewail had macadamized crossed-legged in the human day-night of the 24’.
Whimsical becomes so, June’s color, apart from the beautifully seasonal and yearly changing colors of the capital. What an eerie instance when hearing the quote “The fatherland commences at one’s heart.”
It converts itself to be more dreadful when there manifests the grieved-disconsolated cavalier’s figurine in the timely mirror.
Diametrically dead was Noli’s ego under this frame. His fatherland was lacking puissance and aegis lustiness and was so vacillating in a nowhere-to-be-found crossroad. Within this reflex there drizzled as a pure versemonger rain his statement: “Albania does henceforward have a state; will the Albanians perhaps, become citizens?”
Quite astonishingly, there is nobody on the command of this narcissism mirror. Where is the professionalism? Maybe, for Noli, it stands somewhere, sleeping in any faraway-contemplative ascendancy drawer. Maybe, the year 2024 will so pass away and both Albania and Albanians will still remain in the tribulative-threshold of the historical remembrance.
Haggard, all-acquainted and slightly infirm Noli’s profile stands in front of a prideful and lascivious depicted fatherland in the rocky garden of South-East Europe.
There is no monitoring of hastily feebleness which enlights onwards to a most endurable force. It becomes so, part of the musive plans which remain pending in the spurious amphitheatre of time. Vis-à-vis to this virtual pessimism, Noli secedes the evil and combats on behalf of sweet patriotic savor. Attached to the reverberant glassy pane remains the misfortune. While the citizens pertaining to this period scrutinized theirself, they did understand that this image carved reflections in the mirror of time. The most futile slogan of all is performing an overall contendance bare of clear strategies. The lassitude-like Albanian body felt so smoothly unprepared to recontract that torn-away-and-endurably-extirpated-hand power.
It is a little astonishingly uncommon and strange; but the sole Albanian citizens who muse prosperity in their own country remain outside the lider-like mirage. The interdependence of fates escorts you while reading this drama.
Miscarriage or success?
On both hands, we all manifest our lider-like role. Thus, within this framework, the leader’s existence commands. So, we all are bound to learn that in a reality bare of leader glaze, the leader requires to perform and conduct quite the best possible. And when you both fail and have success in the path toward the accomplishment of your objectives, you are always accompanied by the close-standing-inter-dependence of fates. It is enough that you be in the right time and page of your life’s mission. The just place transforms the dream and attracts the ideal outside the cuirass-armed frame of slavish and hypocrisy. Fate remains part of fate: in good times and bad times, in happiness and quietus. At times, luck strokes you fatally or even mirthfully. Within this vicious circle everyone is embellished by his own role. The inter-dependence of fates wears the colors of 24’-30’. Piercing becomes so the cavalry while observing the submission of the glorifying victory. Fancifully or not, the clock tick follows the best. To the earth light-shadow there are being focused, in most of the cases, vertiginous eclipses with triumphal hope colors. Life remains thus, one of the dearest parts of the individual representative curriculum. By uttering the American slogan: “By not expecting to receive anything, one should perform the best for his fatherland”, the black-hearted verily understands that the future remains nonetheless much precious in the forefathers’ land.
If you truly believe in a dream, then, do not step backwards. There is a beyond-normal surmount of Noli’s personality, yet, within this kind of nostalgia as for conveying the image of hope. There is an initial realization of the apocalyptical avatar that initiates to get fulfilled as with the fate crumble that abandons him in the paths of his democratic revolution.
He is decisive…
Noli is a truth-believer and as such he remains naïve, thus not woeful. He will cover his shoulders when his entire race would betray him, like they did once with Christ…
Under this emergent fatalism, one surely needs catharsis for self-confession.
Glancing through this frame-drama, the dream of becoming a life remnant and acquiring so lullaby colors soars above countries and people who only contemplate hope-in-pace prosperity. Noli withholds his dream even in his far-far-away emigration. Nolsamson is a believer in the strength of hope and gives courage to himself. The time elapse is in requisition of “holocaust” for the mist to disperse and thus, for the bad grace to burst out. There is felt repentance in the successful epoch of nolian governance. The never-ending lesson withdrawn from suffering incurrence is worthwhile. Stepping back and glancing over retro is quite worthless. It only does wan and perturbs the sight. There is no sunshine if you turn back time. All at once, the tick deceases and your body is forbidden to continue its existence. Man fails but sometimes his mission is embellished even by the so-called success. This interdependence, thus, gives wings of motivation to a clannish collaboration for unfurling a motto or mission. Independent of their performing role, everyone is allowed to give the best for their fatherland. Among sufferings, reality sacrifices barred lessons which moreoften dig for propriety. Confronting to the general pain, the individual matter just placates from the patriotic embrocation. The perpetual dilemma: “Albania became a country; will Albanians, so, become citizens?” finds the explanation under the precedent reasoning. The cross-road-remained dilemma has evolved through time in search of more illuminated-aurora accomplishment. The speculation fails in between two visions: 1st – Vital Noli, June ’24; 2nd – Pulpiteer Noli of nowadays. Within those times what did occur to the fatherland was decadence and resurrection; just like the third death-day for exalting immortality. The biblical impenetrable perusal “Israelites and Philistines” brings an optical illumination of the specifically-onerous day-nights of the nowadays national politics. The country is depicted as mutable with inaptitude citizens among apocalyptical dreams. The image adumbrates from year to year, at the time when fatherland was eyed by the dissipated expatriates. Life’s defiance is the ulterior human destiny. Palmistry, tasseography, cartomancy, fortune telling….may as well propel you toward more perilous alleys. The best sanctuary of a “duplicated” human remains so the overflowing-with-hope defiance.
Man acts understandably and at times pretends intangibility. Here within, weaves the thread of mythological Adriane … in yearly perennial Daedalian labyrinths. The prognostication on the destiny course remains part of everybody’s image. To comply or to rummage it is again likewise, because within this visionary image throngs the ulterior human destiny…for the investment of the best. Within the flattering and complimentary power of your country, everybody finds what they deserve.
The fatherland remains a midus among an umpteen love miduses. The matrix of the best irradiates pattern levels within the patriotic straightforwardness geography. Even the most flagitious individual vows on behalf of good luck. The notions fate and defiance sometimes may close the vision window bearing infra multitudes that solicit the leader. However, one may always conform to the survival formulae for encountering other survival paths. They say fate is predestined but it is also claimed that man can lead his fate. The fatherland lives and dies under such tracks for becoming better in the big resurrection…
Truth always suffers.
Within this emotiveness, there does henceforward exist the fear of strength for being submitted to punishment or persuasion. There may be a multiple suffering: superficial or even complete. Does it matter?
It has to be put an emphasis to the existentialist element. Under this point, valors and anti-valors lose their physical portrait and mask it by hundreds and thousands of multitarious shapes. Vis-à-vis Samson – Nol: suffering converts to an oasis of the Albanian desert. The sufferers are thus portrayed and framed as oppressed even by the basic self instincts.
“Israelites and Philistines” – The tragedy has been narrated to the generations throughout time and it still remains to be read in different ways by them. I will thus try to approach to the truths which are underlined while perusing.
There is being depicted the mythical character of Samson. Everything is to be accomplished by means of persuasion and not power. Consequently, his pride is so dead to listen to the ancestors’ voice and the country’s meekness.
Further on, he is both beguiled and seduced by the lascivious and concupiscent Dalila’s flatteries. In the end, after learning the alas-Samson secret, they emasculate his delirium…


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WELLEK, R., WARREN, A. Theory of Literature, New York, 1956, -275ph.
The Kristeva reader. Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, UK, 2002, -327ph.