Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran (61 page)

Suddenly the memories tore away the veil of oblivion and he rose and walked to the temple. At the cavernous entrance he halted as if a magnetic power had gripped his feet. Looking down, he saw a smashed statue on the ground, and the sight freed his soul's tears and they poured like blood from a deep wound. He also felt a stabbing loneliness and remoteness like an abyss between his heart and the heart from whom he had been torn before he entered upon this life.

“Who are you,” Ali cried in anguish, “who stand close to my heart but unseen by my eyes? Are you a phantom from Eternity to show me the vanity of Life and the weakness of mankind? Or the spirit of a genie stolen out of earth's crevices to enslave me and render me an object of mockery? What is your strange power which at one time prostrates and enlivens my heart? Who am I and what is this strange self whom I call “Myself”? Has the Water of Life which I have drunk made me an angel in communion with the universe and its mysteries? Or is it inebriating wine that blinds me to myself?

“Oh, what the soul reveals, and the night conceals…. Oh, beautiful spirit, hovering in the firmament of my dream, disclose yourself to me if you are human or command Slumber to shut my eyes so I can view your divine vastness. If you are human, let me touch you; let me hear your voice. Tear away this veil that conceals you from me. If I am worthy, place your hand upon my heart and possess me.”

Thus an hour passed, with Ali shedding tears and voicing his yearnings.

Then Dawn appeared and the morning breeze stirred. The birds left their nests and sang their morning prayers.

Ali placed his cupped hand over his forehead. Like Adam, when God opened his eyes with his all-creating breath, Ali saw new objects, strange and fantastic. He called to his sheep and they followed him quietly toward the meadow. As he led them, he felt like a philosopher with the power to divine the secrets of the Universe. He reached a brook whose murmuring was soothing to his spirit, and sat under a willow tree whose branches dipped over the water as if drinking from the cool depths.

Here Ali felt the beating of his heart increase and through his soul throbbed a strong and almost visible vibration. He sprang up like a mother suddenly awakened from her slumber by the scream of her child, and his eyes were magnetized by the sight of a beautiful maiden approaching from the opposite side, with a water jar on her shoulder. As she leaned over to fill the jar, her eyes and Ali's met. She cried out, distraught, dropped the jar, and ran off, but glanced back in agonizing disbelief.

Ali, compelled by the mysterious power, leaped across the brook, caught the maiden and embraced her. As if this caress had subdued her will she did not move, yielding to him as the fragrance of jasmine submits to the breeze. Both felt it to be the reunion of souls long separated by earth and now brought together by God.

The enamored pair walked amidst the willow trees, and the unity of the two selves was a speaking tongue for them; an eye to see the glory of Happiness; a silent auditor of the tremendous revelation of Love.

The sheep grazed; the birds of the sky hovered above their heads; the sun spread a golden garment upon the hills; and they sat by the side of a rock where the violets hid. The maiden looked into Ali's black eyes while the breeze caressed her hair, as though the shimmering wisps were fingertips craving kisses. Then she said: “Ishtar, oh my beloved, has restored both our spirits to this life from another, so that we shall not be denied the joy of Love and the glory of Youth.”

Ali closed his eyes, as though her melodious voice had brought to him images of a dream. Invisible wings bore him to a strange chamber where, upon her deathbed, lay the corpse of a maiden whose beauty had been claimed by Death. He uttered a fearful cry, then opened his eyes and found the maiden sitting by his side, a smile upon her lips and her eyes bright with the rays of Life. Then his heart was refreshed, and the phantom of his vision withdrew and the past and its cares vanished. The lovers embraced and drank the wine of sweet kisses. They slumbered, wrapped in each other's arms, until the last remnant of the shadow was dispersed by the Eternal Power which had awakened them.

*
Baalbek, or the City of Baal, the sun god of ancient Syria; in Graeco-Roman times its name was changed to Heliopolis, the Greek term for City of the Sun. It was considered the most beautiful city in the ancient Middle East. The ruins are mainly Roman.

*
Ishtar, great goddess of the Phoenicians, was worshipped in the cities of Tyre, Sidon, Sur, Djabeil and Baalbek, and there called Burner of the Torch of Life, and Guardian of Youth. She was the counterpart of Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of Love and Beauty, and of the Roman goddess, Venus.

**
During the “Era of Ignorance,” (the period before the coming of Mohammed), the Arabs believed that if a female genie loved a human youth, she would prevent him from marrying, and if he did wed, she would bewitch the bride and cause her to die. This superstition persists today in isolated villages in Lebanon.

*
This belief recurs in Asian thought. Mohammed said, “You were dead and He brought you back to life, and He will slay you again and revive you, whereupon you shall return to Him.” Buddha said, “Yesterday we existed, and today, and we will return to this life, again and again, until we become perfect like God.”

*
The Hosseinese are an Arabian tribe, living in tents pitched in the plains surrounding the ruins of Baalbek.

A SELF-PORTRAIT

Gibran wrote this letter to his father in Bsharré to reassure him of the health of his two sisters, Miriana and Sultana. One of their relatives in the United States had written to Gibran's father and told him that both of his daughters were ill and the old man conveyed his worry to his son. Gibran's father had not noticed the date of the letter: April first, or April Fool's Day.

GIBRAN TO HIS FATHER

Beirut,

April, 1904

Dear Father:

I received your letter in which you express to me your anxiety over “sad and unexpected news.” I would have felt the same way had I not known the intention of the writer and the purpose of the letter. They (may God forgive them) tell you in the letter that one of my sisters is critically ill, and again they say that the illness will involve a great deal of expense, which will make it difficult for my sisters to send you money. I have immediately found an explanation in noting that the letter was written on the first day of April. Our aunt has been accustomed to such funny and gentle jokes. Her saying that my sister has been ill for six months is as far from the truth as we are from her. During the last seven months I have received five letters from Mr. Ray who assures me that both of my sisters, Miriana and Sultana, are in excellent health. He extols their fine characters, marking Sultana's refined manners; and speaks of the resemblance between her and me both in physique and in character.

These words came from the most honest man I have ever known; from a man who loathes April Fool jokes and dislikes any fabrication which saddens the heart of another. You may rest assured that all is well and let your mind be at ease.

I am still in Beirut, although I might be away from home for a whole month touring Syria and Palestine or Egypt and Sudan with an American family for whom I have great respect. For this reason I do not know how long my stay will last in Beirut. However, I am here for personal benefit which makes it necessary for me to remain in this country a while in order to please those who care for my future. Do not ever doubt my judgment regarding what is good for me and for the fortification and betterment of my future.

This is all I can tell you—with my affection to all my relatives and loving friends, and my respect to whoever inquires about me. May God prolong your life and protect you—

Your son,

G
IBRAN

Jamil Malouf, a young Lebanese poet-writer, was a great admirer of Gibran. In this letter, Gibran reveals his concern and admiration for the young poet who had left Paris to live in São Paul, Brazil. Gibran pictures his friend Jamil as a torch from heaven illuminating the path of mankind, at the same time expressing his amazement at learning of his friend's move. He presses him for a revelation of the motive that prompted him to go to São Paul and place himself among the “living dead.”

TO JAMIL MALOUF

1908

Dear Brother Jamil:

When I read your letters I feel the existence of an enchanting spirit moving in this room—a beautiful and sorrowful spirit that attracts me by its undulation and makes me see you as two persons: one hovers over humanity with enormous wings similar to the wings of the seraphim whom Saint John saw standing before the Throne by the seven lamps; the other person is chained to a huge rock like Prometheus, who, in giving man the first torch of fire, brought on himself the wrath of the gods. The first person enlivens my heart and soothes my spirit because he sways with the sun rays and the frolicsome breeze of dawn; while the second person makes my heart suffer, for he is a prisoner of the vicissitudes of time….

You have always been and still are capable of causing the torch of fire to come from heaven and light the path of mankind, but tell me what law or force has brought you to São Paul and fettered your body and placed you among those who died on the day of their birth and have not yet been buried? Do the Greek gods still practice their power in these days?

I have heard that you are going to return to Paris to live there. I, too, would like to go there. Is it possible that we both could meet in the City of Arts? Will we meet in the Heart of the World and visit the Opera and the French theatre and talk about the plays of Racine, Corneille, Molière, Hugo, and Sardou? Will we meet there and walk together to where the Bastille was erected and then return to our quarters feeling the gentle spirit of Rousseau and Voltaire and write about Liberty and Tyranny and destroy every Bastille that stands in every city in the Orient? Will we go to the Louvre and stand before the paintings of Raphael, Da Vinci and Corot, and write about Beauty and Love and their influence on man's heart?