This book, which borrowed time from me, was written over the course of four years or more, of which the last was the most focused and exhausting. I hated it a lot, hated the decision to write it, and often felt bogged down, as if I was trapped in a quagmire that I had no strength or direction to get out of! In the end, I loved it as I had never loved anything I had ever written, for it is my habit that I do not read anything I have written, nor revise it, nor revise it, I just push it to a friend and implement his suggestions with full openness of mind so as not to go through the experience of reading it again, except in my experience with this book, I may have I read it, revised it, and revised it completely four or five times, and each time it came out as a completely different book than it was before reading! My friend told me that with the process of writing this particular book and apart from its content, I was obsessive, obsessive, hateful, excessively scrutinizing, afflicted with a perfectionist pursuit, so that he hurled at me a phrase that was perhaps one of the most that helped me finish it after a delay of many months when he said: “I am afraid that it will be spoiled and distorted by Where I wanted to fix it" The ghosts of fear and hesitation continued to haunt me, and the idols of ideals gnawing at me for a long time. Posted from it and deferred mummified on the shelves of palms and brakes and envelopes. I well remember a sigh I gave at last; sigh