Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran (8 page)

He looked back with piercing regret to the images of his early life, woven into pattern by the gods, until he could no longer control his anguish. He said aloud, “Yesterday I was grazing my sheep in the green valley, enjoying my existence, sounding my flute, and holding my head high. Today I am a prisoner of greed. Gold leads into gold, then into restlessness, and finally into crushing misery.

“Yesterday I was like a singing bird, soaring freely here and there in the fields. Today I am a slave to fickle wealth, society's rules, the city's customs, and purchased friends, pleasing the people by conforming to the strange and narrow laws of man. I was born to be free and enjoy the bounty of life, but I find myself like a beast of burden so heavily laden with gold that his back is breaking.

“Where are the spacious plains, the singing brooks, the pure breeze, the closeness of Nature? Where is my deity? I have lost all! Naught remains save loneliness that saddens me, gold that ridicules me, slaves who curse to my back, and a palace that I have erected as a tomb for my happiness, and in whose greatness I have lost my heart.

“Yesterday I roamed the prairies and the hills together with the Bedouin's daughter; Virtue was our companion, Love our delight, and the moon our guardian. Today I am among women with shallow beauty who sell themselves for gold and diamonds.

“Yesterday I was carefree, sharing with the shepherds all the joy of life; eating, playing, working, singing, and dancing together to the music of the heart's truth. Today I find myself among the people like a frightened lamb among the wolves. As I walk in the roads, they gaze at me with hateful eyes and point at me with scorn and jealousy, and as I steal through the park I see frowning faces all about me.

“Yesterday I was rich in happiness and today I am poor in gold.

“Yesterday I was a happy shepherd looking upon my herd as a merciful king looks with pleasure upon his contented subjects. Today I am a slave standing before my wealth, my wealth which robbed me of the beauty of life I once knew.

“Forgive me, my Judge! I did not know that riches would put my life in fragments and lead me into the dungeons of harshness and stupidity. What I thought was glory is naught but an eternal inferno.”

He gathered himself wearily and walked slowly toward the palace, sighing and repeating, “Is this what people call wealth? Is this the god I am serving and worshipping? Is this what I seek of the earth? Why can I not trade it for one particle of contentment? Who would sell me one beautiful thought for a ton of gold? Who would give me one moment of love for a handful of gems? Who would grant me an eye that can see others' hearts, and take all my coffers in barter?”

As he reached the palace gates he turned and looked toward the city as Jeremiah gazed toward Jerusalem. He raised his arms in woeful lament and shouted, “Oh people of the noisome city, who are living in darkness, hastening toward misery, preaching falsehood, and speaking with stupidity … until when shall you remain ignorant? Until when shall you abide in the filth of life and continue to desert its gardens? Why wear you tattered robes of narrowness while the silk raiment of Nature's beauty is fashioned for you? The lamp of wisdom is dimming; it is time to furnish it with oil. The house of true fortune is being destroyed; it is time to rebuild it and guard it. The thieves of ignorance have stolen the treasure of your peace; it is time to retake it!”

At that moment a poor man stood before him and stretched forth his hand for alms. As he looked at the beggar, his lips parted, his eyes brightened with a softness, and his face radiated kindness. It was as if the yesterday he had lamented by the lake had come to greet him. He embraced the pauper with affection and filled his hand with gold, and with a voice sincere with the sweetness of love he said, “Come back tomorrow and bring with you your fellow sufferers. All your possessions will be restored.”

He entered his palace saying, “Everything in life is good; even gold, for it teaches a lesson. Money is like a stringed instrument; he who does not know how to use it properly will hear only discordant music. Money is like love; it kills slowly and painfully the one who withholds it, and it enlivens the other who turns it upon his fellow men.”

BEFORE THE THRONE OF BEAUTY

O
NE HEAVY
day I ran away from the grim face of society and the dizzying clamour of the city and directed my weary steps to the spacious valley. I pursued the beckoning course of the rivulet and the musical sounds of the birds until I reached a lonely spot where the flowing branches of the trees prevented the sun from touching the earth.

I stood there, and it was entertaining to my soul—my thirsty soul who had seen naught but the mirage of life instead of its sweetness.

I was engrossed deeply in thought and my spirits were sailing the firmament when a Houri, wearing a sprig of grapevine that covered part of her naked body, and a wreath of poppies about her golden hair, suddenly appeared to me. As she realized my astonishment, she greeted me saying, “Fear me not; I am the Nymph of the Jungle.”

“How can beauty like yours be committed to live in this place? Please tell me who you are and whence you come?” I asked. She sat gracefully on the green grass and responded, “I am the symbol of Nature! I am the Ever-Virgin your forefathers worshipped, and to my honour they erected shrines and temples at Baalbek and Djabeil.” And I dared say, “But those temples and shrines were laid waste and the bones of my adoring ancestors became a part of the earth; nothing was left to commemorate their goddess save a pitiful few and forgotten pages in the book of history.”

She replied, “Some goddesses live in the lives of their worshippers and die in their death, while some live an eternal and infinite life. My life is sustained by the world of Beauty which you will see wherever you rest your eyes, and this Beauty is Nature itself; it is the beginning of the shepherd's joy among the hills, and a villager's happiness in the fields, and the pleasure of the awe-filled tribes between the mountains and the plains. This Beauty promotes the wise into the throne of Truth.”

Then I said, “Beauty is a terrible power!” And she retorted, “Human beings fear all things, even yourselves. You fear heaven, the source of spiritual peace; you fear Nature, the haven of rest and tranquility; you fear the God of goodness and accuse him of anger, while he is full of love and mercy.”

After a deep silence, mingled with sweet dreams, I asked, “Speak to me of that Beauty which the people interpret and define, each one according to his own conception; I have seen her honoured and worshipped in different ways and manners.”

She answered, “Beauty is that which attracts your soul, and that which loves to give and not to receive. When you meet Beauty, you feel that the hands deep within your inner self are stretched forth to bring her into the domain of your heart. It is a magnificence combined of sorrow and joy; it is the Unseen which you see, and the Vague which you understand, and the Mute which you hear—it is the Holy of Holies that begins in yourself and ends vastly beyond your earthly imagination.”

Then the Nymph of the Jungle approached me and laid her scented hand upon my eyes. And as she withdrew, I found me alone in the valley. When I returned to the city, whose turbulence no longer vexed me, I repeated her words:

“Beauty is that which attracts your soul,
And that which loves to give and not to receive.”

LEAVE ME, MY BLAMER

L
EAVE
me, my blamer,
For the sake of the love
Which unites your soul with
That of your beloved one;
For the sake of that which
Joins spirit with mother's
Affection, and ties your
Heart with filial love. Go,
And leave me to my own
Weeping heart.

Let me sail in the ocean of
My dreams; wait until Tomorrow
Comes, for Tomorrow is free to
Do with me as he wishes. Your
Flaying is naught but shadow
That walks with the spirit to
The tomb of abashment, and shows
Her the cold, solid earth.

I have a little heart within me
And I like to bring him out of
His prison and carry him on the
Palm of my hand to examine him
In depth and extract his secret.
Aim not your arrows at him, lest
He take fright and vanish ere he
Pours the secret's blood as a
Sacrifice at the altar of his
Own faith, given him by Deity
When He fashioned him of Love and Beauty.

The sun is rising and the nightingale
Is singing, and the myrtle is
Breathing its fragrance into space.
I want to free myself from the
Quilted slumber of wrong. Do not
Detain me, my blamer!

Cavil me not by mention of the
Lions of the forest or the
Snakes of the valley, for
My soul knows no fear of earth and
Accepts no warning of evil before
Evil comes.

Advise me not, my blamer, for
Calamities have opened my heart and
Tears have cleansed my eyes, and
Errors have taught me the language
Of the hearts.

Talk not of banishment, for Conscience
Is my judge and he will justify me
And protect me if I am innocent, and
Will deny me of life if I am a criminal.

Love's procession is moving;
Beauty is waving her banner;
Youth is sounding the trumpet of joy;
Disturb not my contrition, my blamer.
Let me walk, for the path is rich
With roses and mint, and the air
Is scented with cleanliness.

Relate not the tales of wealth and
Greatness, for my soul is rich
With bounty and great with God's glory.

Speak not of peoples and laws and
Kingdoms, for the whole earth is
My birthplace and all humans are
My brothers.

Go from me, for you are taking away
Life-giving repentance and bringing
Needless words.

A LOVER'S CALL

W
HERE
are you, my beloved? Are you in that little

Paradise, watering the flowers who look upon you

As infants look upon the breast of their mothers?

Or are you in your chamber where the shrine of

Virtue has been placed in your honour, and upon

Which you offer my heart and soul as sacrifice?

Or amongst the books, seeking human knowledge,

While you are replete with heavenly wisdom?

Oh companion of my soul, where are you? Are you

Praying in the temple? Or calling Nature in the

Field, haven of your dreams?

Are you in the huts of the poor, consoling the

Broken-hearted with the sweetness of your soul, and

Filling their hands with your bounty?

You are God's spirit everywhere;

You are stronger than the ages.

Do you have memory of the day we met, when the halo of

Your spirit surrounded us, and the Angels of Love

Floated about, singing the praise of the soul's deeds?

Do you recollect our sitting in the shade of the

Branches, sheltering ourselves from Humanity, as the ribs

Protect the divine secret of the heart from injury?

Remember you the trails and forest we walked, with hands

Joined, and our heads leaning against each other, as if

We were hiding ourselves within ourselves?

Recall you the hour I bade you farewell,

And the Miriamite kiss you placed on my lips?

That kiss taught me that joining of lips in Love

Reveals heavenly secrets which the tongue cannot utter!

That kiss was introduction to a great sigh,

Like the Almighty's breath that turned earth into man.

That sigh led my way into the spiritual world,

Announcing the glory of my soul; and there

It shall perpetuate until again we meet.

I remember when you kissed me and kissed me,

With tears coursing your cheeks, and you said,

“Earthly bodies must often separate for earthly purpose,

And must live apart impelled by worldly intent.

“But the spirit remains joined safely in the hands of

Love, until death arrives and takes joined souls to God.

“Go, my beloved; Love has chosen you her delegate;

Obey her, for she is Beauty who offers to her follower

The cup of the sweetness of life.

As for my own empty arms, your love shall remain my

Comforting groom; your memory, my Eternal wedding.”

Where are you now, my other self? Are you awake in

The silence of the night? Let the clean breeze convey

To you my heart's every beat and affection.

Are you fondling my face in your memory? That image

Is no longer my own, for Sorrow has dropped his

Shadow on my happy countenance of the past.

Sobs have withered my eyes which reflected your beauty

And dried my lips which you sweetened with kisses.

Where are you, my beloved? Do you hear my weeping

From beyond the ocean? Do you understand my need?

Do you know the greatness of my patience?

Is there any spirit in the air capable of conveying

To you the breath of this dying youth? Is there any

Secret communication between angels that will carry to

You my complaint?

Where are you, my beautiful star? The obscurity of life

Has cast me upon its bosom; sorrow has conquered me.

Sail your smile into the air; it will reach and enliven me!

Breathe your fragrance into the air; it will sustain me!

Where are you, my beloved?

Oh, how great is Love!

And how little am I!

THE BEAUTY OF DEATH

Dedicated to M. E. H.

PART ONE — THE CALLING

L
ET ME
sleep, for my soul is intoxicated with love, and

Let me rest, for my spirit has had its bounty of days and nights;

Light the candles and burn the incense around my bed, and

Scatter leaves of jasmine and roses over my body;

Embalm my hair with frankincense and sprinkle my feet with perfume,