Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran

by Kahlil Gibran

  I fear a tyrant approaching me with a sweet voice so that he may later rule me with the strength of his arms.

  The life of the nations, my love, is like the life of individuals; a life cheered by Hope and married to Fear, beset by desires and frowned upon by Despair.

  And the lovers embraced and kissed and drank from the cups of love the scented wine of the ages; and the host of spirits chanted, “Holy, holy, holy, Love’s glory fills heaven and earth.”

  My Soul Preached to Me

  My soul preached to me and taught me to love that which the people abhor and befriend him whom they revile.

  My soul showed me that Love prides itself not only in the one who loves, but also in the beloved.

  Ere my soul preached to me, Love was in my heart as a tiny thread fastened between two pegs.

  But now Love has become a halo whose beginning is its end, and whose end is its beginning. It surrounds every being and extends slowly to embrace all that shall be.

  My soul advised me and taught me to perceive the hidden beauty of the skin, figure, and hue. She instructed me to meditate upon that which the people call ugly until its true charm and delight appear.

  Ere my soul counselled me, I saw Beauty like a trembling torch between columns of smoke. Now since the smoke has vanished, I see naught save the flame.

  My soul preached to me and taught me to listen to the voices which the tongue and the larynx and the lips do not utter.

  Ere my soul preached to me, I heard naught but clamor and wailing. But now I eagerly attend Silence and hear its choirs singing the hymns of the ages and the songs of the firmament announcing the secrets of the Unseen.

  My soul preached to me and instructed me to drink the wine that cannot be pressed and cannot be poured from cups that hands can lift or lips can touch.

  Ere my soul preached to me, my thirst was like a dim spark hidden under the ashes that can be extinguished by a swallow of water.

  But now my longing has become my cup, my affections my wine, and my loneliness my intoxication; yet, in this unquenchable thirst there is eternal joy.

  My soul preached to me and taught me to touch that which has not become incarnate; my soul revealed to me that whatever we touch is part of our desire.

  But now my fingers have turned into mist penetrating that which is seen in the universe and mingling with the Unseen.

  My soul instructed me to inhale the scent that no myrtle or incense emits. Ere my soul preached to me, I craved the scent of perfume in the gardens or in flasks or in censers.

  But now I can savor the incense that is not burnt for offering or sacrifice. And I fill my heart with a fragrance that has never been wafted by the frolicsome breeze of space.

  My soul preached to me and taught me to say, “I am ready” when the Unknown and Danger call on me.

  Ere my soul preached to me, I answered no voice save the voice of the crier whom I knew, and walked not save upon the easy and smooth path.

  Now the Unknown has become a steed that I can mount in order to reach the Unknown; and the plain has turned into a ladder on whose steps I climb to the summit.

  My soul spoke to me and said, “Do not measure Time by saying, ‘There was yesterday, and there shall be tomorrow.’ ”

  And ere my soul spoke to me, I imagined the Past as an epoch that never returned, and the Future as one that could never be reached.

  Now I realize that the present moment contains all time and within it is all that can be hoped for, done and realized.

  My soul preached to me exhorting me not to limit space by saying, “Here, there, and yonder.”

  Ere my soul preached to me, I felt that wherever I walked was far from any other space.

  Now I realize that wherever I am contains all places; and the distance that I walk embraces all distances.

  My soul instructed me and advised me to stay awake while others sleep. And to surrender to slumber when others are astir.

  Ere my soul preached to me, I saw not their dreams in my sleep, neither did they observe my vision.

  Now I never sail the vessel of my dreams unless they watch me, and they never soar into the sky of their vision unless I rejoice in their freedom.

  My soul preached to me and said, “Do not be delighted because of praise, and do not be distressed because of blame.”

  Ere my soul counselled me, I doubted the worth of my work.

  Now I realize that the trees blossom in Spring and bear fruit in Summer without seeking praise; and they drop their leaves in Autumn and become naked in Winter without fearing blame.

  My soul preached to me and showed me that I am neither more than the pygmy, nor less than the giant.

  Ere my soul preached to me, I looked upon humanity as two men: one weak, whom I pitied, and the other strong, whom I followed or resisted in defiance.

  But now I have learned that I was as both are and made from the same elements. My origin is their origin, my conscience is their conscience, my contention is their contention, and my pilgrimage is their pilgrimage.

  If they sin, I am also a sinner. If they do well, I take pride in their well-doing. If they rise, I rise with them. If they stay inert, I share their slothfulness.

  My soul spoke to me and said, “The lantern which you carry is not yours, and the song that you sing was not composed within your heart, for even if you bear the light, you are not the light, and even if you are a lute fastened with strings, you are not the lute player.”

  My soul preached to me, my brother, and taught me much. And your soul has preached and taught as much to you. For you and I are one, and there is no variance between us save that I urgently declare that which is in my inner self, while you keep as a secret that which is within you. But in your secrecy there is a sort of virtue.

  The Sons of the Goddess

  And the Sons of the Monkeys

  How strange Time is, and how queer we are! Time has really changed, and lo, it has changed us too. It walked one step forward, unveiled its face, alarmed us and then elated us.

  Yesterday we complained about Time and trembled at its terrors. But today we have learned to love it and revere it, for we now understand its intents, its natural disposition, its secrets, and its mysteries.

  Yesterday we crawled in fright like shuddering ghosts between the fears of the night and the menaces of the day. But today we walk joyously towards the mountain peak, the dwelling place of the raging tempest and the birthplace of thunder.

  Yesterday we ate our bread kneaded with blood, and we drank our water mixed with tears. But today we began to receive the manna from the hands of the morning brides and drank the aged wine scented with the sweet breath of Spring.

  Yesterday we were a toy in the hands of Destiny. But today Destiny has awakened from her intoxication to play and laugh and walk with us. We do not follow her but she follows us.

  Yesterday we burned incense before the idols and offered sacrifices to the angry gods. But today we burn incense and offer sacrifices to our own being, for the greatest and most beautiful of all gods has raised his temple in our hearts.

  Yesterday we bowed to the kings and bent our necks to the sultans. But today we do not pay reverence save to Right and we follow no one except Beauty and Love.

  Yesterday we honored false prophets and sorcerers. But today Time has changed, and lo, it has changed us too. We can now stare at the face of the sun and listen to the songs of the sea, and nothing can shake us except a cyclone.

  Yesterday we tore down the temples of our souls and from their debris we built tombs for our forefathers. But today our souls have turned into sacred altars that the ghosts of the Past cannot approach, that the fleshless fingers of the dead cannot touch.

  We were a silent thought hidden in the corners of Oblivion. Today we are a strong voice that can make the firmament reverberate.

  We were a tiny spark buried under the ashes. Today we are a raging fire burning at the head of the valley.

  We spent many a night awake, with the e
arth as our pillow and the snow as our blanket.

  Like sheep without a shepherd we flocked together many nights grazing on our thoughts, and chewing the cud of our emotions; yet we remained hungry and athirst.

  Oftentime we stood between a passing day and a coming night lamenting our withering youth and longing for someone unknown, and gazing at the void and dark sky listening to the moaning of Silence and the shrieking of nothingness.

  Those ages passed like wolves among the graves. But today the skies are clear, and we can rest peacefully upon divine beds and welcome our thoughts and dreams, and embrace our desires. Grasping with untrembling fingers the torches that sway around us, we can talk to the genii with explicit meaning. As the choirs of angels pass us, they become intoxicated with the longing of our hearts and the hymns of our souls.

  Yesterday we were, and today we are! This is the will of the goddess among the sons of the goddess. What is your will, oh sons of the monkeys? Have you walked a single step forward since you came forth from the crevices of the earth? Have you gazed toward heaven since Satan opened your eyes? Have you uttered a word from the book of Right since the lips of vipers kissed your lips? Or have you listened a moment to the song of Life since Death closed your ears?

  Seventy thousand years ago I passed by and saw you moving like insects inside the caves; and seven minutes ago I glanced at you through the crystal glass of my window and saw you walking through the alleys fettered by slavery while the wings of Death hovered over you. You look the same today as you looked yesterday; and tomorrow, and the day after it, you shall look as I saw you in the beginning.

  Yesterday we were, and today we are! This is the will of the goddess among the sons of the goddess; what is your will, oh sons of the monkeys?

  Decayed Teeth

  I had a decayed tooth in my mouth that troubled me. It stayed dormant during the day. But in the tranquility of the night, when the dentists were asleep and drug stores closed, it began to ache.

  One day, as I grew impatient, I went to the dentist and told him to extract that damned tooth that dealt me misery and denied me the joy of slumber by converting the silence of my night into moaning and uproar.

  The dentist shook his head and said, “It is foolish to have your tooth extracted if we can cure it.”

  Then he started to drill its sides and clean its cavities and used every means to restore it and free it from decay. Having finished drilling, he filled it with pure gold and said boastfully, “Your bad tooth now is stronger and more solid than your good ones.” I believed him and paid him and departed from the place.

  But before the week was over, the cursed tooth returned to its diseased condition and the torture it inflicted converted the beautiful songs of my soul into wailing and agony.

  So I went to another dentist and said to him, “Extract this damned tooth without asking me any question, for the person who receives the blows is not like the one who counts them.”

  Obeying my command, he extracted the tooth. Looking at it he said, “You have done well to have this rotten tooth extracted.”

  In the mouth of Society are many diseased teeth, decayed to the bones of the jaws. But Society makes no efforts to have them extracted and be rid of the affliction. It contents itself with gold fillings. Many are the dentists who treat the decayed teeth of Society with glittering gold.

  Numerous are those who yield to the enticements of such reformers, and pain, sickness, and death are their lot.

  In the mouth of the Syrian nation are many rotten, black, and dirty teeth that fester and stink. The doctors have attempted cures with gold fillings instead of extraction. And the disease remains.

  A nation with rotten teeth is doomed to have a sick stomach. Many are the nations afflicted with such indigestion.

  If you wish to take a look at the decayed teeth of Syria, visit its schools where the sons and daughters of today are preparing to become the men and women of tomorrow.

  Visit the courts and witness the acts of the crooked and corrupted purveyors of justice. See how they play with the thoughts and minds of the simple people as a cat plays with a mouse.

  Visit the homes of the rich where conceit, falsehood, and hypocrisy reign.

  But don’t neglect to go through the huts of the poor as well, where dwell fear, ignorance, and cowardice.

  Then visit the nimble-fingered dentists, possessors of delicate instruments, dental plasters and tranquilizers, who spend their days filling the cavities in the rotten teeth of the nation to mask the decay.

  Talk to those reformers who pose as the intelligentsia of the Syrian nation and organize societies, hold conferences, and deliver public speeches. When you talk to them you will hear tunes that perhaps sound more sublime than the grinding of a millstone, and nobler than the croaking of frogs on a June night.

  When you tell them the Syrian nation gnaws its bread with decayed teeth and each morsel it chews is mixed with poisoned saliva that spreads diseases in the nation’s stomach, they answer, “Yes, but we are seeking better tooth fillings and tranquilizers.”

  And if you suggest “extraction” to them, they will laugh at you because you have not yet learned the noble art of dentistry that conceals disease.

  If you were to insist, they would go off and shun you, saying to themselves:

  “Many are the idealists in this world, and weak are their dreams.”

  Mister Gabber

  I am bored with gabbers and their gab; my soul abhors them.

  When I wake up in the morning to peruse the letters and magazines placed by my bedside, I find them full of gab; all I see is loose talk empty of meaning but stuffed with hypocrisy.

  When I sit by the window to lower the veil of slumber from my eyes and sip my Turkish coffee, Mister Gabber appears before me, hopping, crying, and grumbling. He condescends to sip my coffee and smoke my cigarettes.

  When I go to work Mister Gabber follows, whispering in my ears and tickling my sensitive brain. When I try to get rid of him he giggles and is soon midstream again, in his flood of meaningless talk.

  When I go to the market, Mister Gabber stands at the door of every shop passing judgment on people. I see him even upon the faces of the silent for he accompanies them too. They are unaware of his presence, yet he disturbs them.

  If I sit down with a friend Mister Gabber, uninvited, makes a third. If I elude him, he manages to remain so close that the echo of his voice irritates me and upsets my stomach like spoiled meat.

  When I visit the courts and the institutions of learning, I find him and his father and mother dressing Falsehood in silky garments and Hypocrisy in a magnificent cloak and a beautiful turban.

  When I call at factory offices, there too, to my surprise, I find Mister Gabber, in the midst of his mother, aunt, and grandfather chattering and flapping his thick lips. And his kinfolks applaud him and mock me.

  On my visit to the temples and other places of worship, there he is, seated on a throne, his head crowned and a gleaming sceptre in his hand.

  Returning home at eventide, I find him there, too. From the ceiling he hangs like a snake; or crawls like a boa in the four corners of my house.

  In short, Mister Gabber is found everywhere; within and beyond the skies, on land and underground, on the wings of the ether and upon the waves of the sea, in the forests, in the caves, and on the mountaintops.

  Where can a lover of silence and tranquility find rest from him? Will God ever have mercy on my soul and grant me the grace of dumbness so I may reside in the paradise of Silence?

  Is there in this universe a nook where I can go and live happily by myself?

  Is there any place where there is no traffic in empty talk?

  Is there on this earth one who does not worship himself talking?

  Is there any person among all persons whose mouth is not a hiding place for the knavish Mister Gabber?

  If there were but one kind of gabber, I would be resigned. But gabbers are innumerable. They can be divided into clans and
tribes:

  There are those who live in marshes all day long, but when night comes, they move to the banks and raise their heads out of the water and the slime, and fill the silent night with horrible croaking that bursts the eardrums.

  There are those who belong to the family of gnats. It is they who hover around our heads and make tiny devilish noises out of spite and hatred.

  There is the clan whose members swill brandy and beer and stand at the street corners and fill the ether with a bellowing thicker than a buffalo’s wallow.

  We see also a queer tribe of people who pass their time at the tombs of Life converting silence into a sort of wailing more lugubrious than the screeching of the owl.

  Then there is the gang of gabbers who imagine life as a piece of lumber from which they try to shape something for themselves, raising as they do so, a screeching sound uglier than the din of a sawmill.

  Following this gang is a denomination of creatures who pound themselves with mallets to produce hollow tones more awful than the tomtoms of jungle savages.

  Supporting these creatures is a sect whose members have nothing to do save to sit down, whenever a seat is available, and there chew words instead of uttering them.

  Once in a while we find a party of gabbers who weave air from air, but remain without a garment.

  Oftentime we run across a unique order of gabbers whose representatives are like starlings but deem themselves eagles when they soar in the currents of their words.

  And what of those gabbers who are like ringing bells calling the people to worship but who never enter the church.

  There are still more tribes and clans of gabbers, but they are too many to enumerate. Of these the strangest, in my opinion, is a sleeping denomination whose members trouble the universe with their snoring and awaken themselves, from time to time, to say, “How erudite we are!”

  Having expressed my abhorrence of Mister Gabber and his comrades, I find myself like the doctor who cannot heal himself, or like a convict preaching to his cellmates. I have satirized Mister Gabber and his gabbing friends—with my own gabbing. I have fled from gabbers but I am one of them.