Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran

by Kahlil Gibran

  Then in a strangely strong yet hopeless voice she said, “You have come here as a benefactor, and may God reward you; but I beg you to leave, for your presence here will bring disgrace upon you. Avoid being recognized. Your merciful heart does not restore my virtue; it neither effaces my shame nor protects me from the hands of death. My own sin brought this misery upon me; do not let your mercy bring you into shame. I am like a leper who must be avoided. Go, lest you be polluted! Do not mention my name in North Lebanon. The lamb with the mange is destroyed by the shepherd for fear he will infect the other lambs. If you speak of me, say I am dead.”

  Then she embraced her little boy and said: “People will taunt my son, saying he is the fruit of sin; the son of Martha the adulteress; Martha the prostitute. For they are blind and do not see that his mother gave him life through misery. I shall die and leave him as an orphan among other children, and his remembrance of me will bring him shame. But when he becomes a man, he will help heaven to end that which brought sin upon me; and when he dies in the trap of time, he will find me waiting for him in Eternity, where light and peace abide.”

  With a desolate heart I said, “Martha, you are not a leper. You live in a grave yet you are clean. The filth of the body cannot reach a pure soul.”

  Hearing my heartfelt words, Martha’s face brightened. But it was plain that her death was near. Yesterday she had roamed the valleys of Lebanon; today, weak and sorrowful, she awaited release from the shackles of life. Gathering her last fragments of strength she whispered, “I am everything you say, although my own weakness brought my agony … the horseman came … he spoke politely and cleverly … he kissed me … I knew nothing and relied on his words. He took me away and his fine words and smiles masked his ugly desires. After accomplishing my disgrace, he abandoned me. He split my life in two parts—my helpless self, and my baby. We were cold … we suffered…. For the sake of my child I took gold from men who bought my body. Many times I was close to taking my life. Now, at last, the hour has come and beloved death has arrived to enfold me under his sheltering wings.”

  Suddenly in a strong but calm voice she said, “Oh Justice, hidden behind those terrible images, hear the shrieking of my departing soul and the call of my broken heart! Have mercy on me by saving my child and taking me away!”

  Her breathing became weak. She looked sorrowfully and sweetly at her son and then whispered, “Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…. Forgive us our sins as we …”

  Her voice gave out but her lips still moved. Then she breathed her last on earth. Her eyes remained open as if seeing the invisible.

  As dawn came, the body of Martha was carried in a rough casket to a graveyard by two poor men. Far out from the City of Beyrouth they carried her. The priests refused to pray for her, and prohibited her interment in hallowed ground. And no one accompanied Martha to her resting place except her little son Fu’ad and a youth to whom life had taught mercy and kindness.

  Vision

  When Night came and Slumber spread its garment upon the face of the earth, I left my bed and walked toward the sea saying, “The sea never sleeps, and in its vigil there is consolation for a sleepless soul.”

  When I reached the shore, the mist from the mountains had engauzed the region as a veil adorns the face of a young woman. I gazed at the teeming waves and listened to their praise of God and meditated upon the eternal power hidden within them—that power which runs with the tempest and rises with the volcano and smiles through the lips of the roses and sings with the brooks.

  Then I saw three phantoms sitting upon a rock. I stumbled toward them as if some power were pulling me against my will.

  Within a few paces from the phantoms, I halted as though held still by a magic force. At that moment one of the phantoms stood up and in a voice that seemed to rise from the depth of the sea said:

  “Life without Love is like a tree without blossom and fruit. And love without Beauty is like flowers without scent and fruits without seeds…. Life, Love, and Beauty are three persons in one, who cannot be separated or changed.”

  A second phantom spoke with a voice that roared like cascading water and said:

  “Life without Rebellion is like seasons without Spring. And Rebellion without Right is like Spring in an arid desert…. Life, Rebellion, and Right are three-in-one who cannot be changed or separated.”

  Then the third phantom in a voice like a clap of thunder spoke:

  “Life without Freedom is like a body without a soul, and Freedom without Thought is like a confused spirit…. Life, Freedom, and Thought are three-in-one, and are everlasting and never pass away.”

  Then the three phantoms stood up together, and with one tremendous voice said:

  “That which Love begets,

  That which Rebellion creates,

  That which Freedom rears,

  Are three manifestations of God.

  And God is the expression

  Of the intelligent Universe.”

  At that moment Silence mingled with the rustling of invisible wings and trembling of ethereal bodies; and it prevailed.

  I closed my eyes and listened to the echoes of the sayings which I had just heard, and when I opened them I saw nothing but the sea wreathed in mist. I walked toward the rock where the three phantoms were sitting, but I saw naught save a column of incense spiralling toward heaven.

  Communion of Spirits

  Awake, my love, awake! For my spirit hails you from beyond the seas, and offers you her wings above the raging waves.

  Awake, for silence has halted the clamor of the horses’ hoofs and the tramp of the passers-by.

  Slumber has embraced the spirits of men, while I alone remain awake; longing lifts me out of enveloping sleep.

  Love brings me close to you but then, anxiety takes me far away.

  I have left my bed, my love, for fear of the ghost of forgetfulness hiding in the quilts.

  I have thrown my book aside, for my sighs silenced the words and left the pages blank before my eyes!

  Awake, awake, my love, and hear me.

  I hear you, my beloved! I heard your call from beyond the seas and felt the soft touch of your wings; I have left my bed and walked upon the grass and the night dew has wet my feet and the hem of my garment. Here I stand under the blossoms of the almond tree, heeding the call of your spirit.

  Speak to me, my love, and let your breath mount the breeze that comes towards me from the valleys of Lebanon. Speak. No one hears but me. Night has taken all others to their resting places.

  Heaven has woven a veil of moonlight and drawn it over all Lebanon, my beloved.

  Heaven has fashioned from the shadows of night a thick cloak lined with the fumes of workshops and the breath of Death, and laid it over the frame of the city, my love.

  The villagers have surrendered to Slumber in their huts in the midst of the willow and walnut trees. Their spirits have sped towards the land of dreams, my beloved.

  Men are bent under the burden of gold, and the steep road of green weakens their knees. Their eyes are heavy with trouble and weariness, and they drop on their beds as a haven, my love, from the Ghosts of Fear and Despair.

  The ghosts of past ages walk in the valleys, and the spirits of the kings and prophets hover over the knolls and the hills. And my thoughts, fashioned by memory, show me the might of the Chaldeans, the splendor of the Assyrians, and the nobility of the Arabs.

  In the sinister alleys walk the grim spirits of the thieves; the heads of the vipers of lust appear from the crevices of the ramparts; and the ague of sickness, mingled with the agony of Death, shudders through the streets. Memory has removed the veil of forgetfulness from my eyes and shows me the loathsomeness of Sodom and the sins of Gomorrah.

  The branches sway, my beloved, and their rustling joins the murmur of the rivulet in the valley, repeating to our ears the canticles of Solomon, the strains of David’s harp, and the songs of Ishak al
-Mausili.

  The souls of the hungry children in the lodgings tremble; and the sighs of the mothers tossing upon the beds of misery and despair have reached the sky; and anxious dreams afflict the hearts of the infirm. I hear their bitter lamentations.

  The fragrance of flowers has mingled with the pungent breath of the cedars. Brought by the frolicsome breeze over the hills, it fills the soul with affection and inspires longing for flight.

  But the miasmas from the marshes also rise, steaming with disease. Like sharp secret arrows they have penetrated the senses and poisoned the air.

  The morning has come, my beloved, and the soft fingers of wakefulness fondle the eyes of the dreamers. Rays of light force open the shutters and reveal Life’s resolution and glory. The villages, reposing in peace and tranquility upon the shoulders of the valley, rise from their slumber; church bells fill the air with their pleasing summons to morning prayer. And from the caves echo the chimes as if all Nature joins in reverent prayer. The calves have left their stalls, and the sheep and the goats their sheds, to graze upon the glittering, dewy grass. The shepherds walk before them, piping on their reeds; and behind them walk the damsels singing like the birds welcoming the morn.

  And now the heavy hand of the Day lies upon the city. The curtains have been drawn from the windows and the doors are open. The fatigued eyes and drawn faces of toilers appear in the workshops. They feel death encroaching upon their lives, and on their shrivelled countenances appear Fear and Despair. The streets are congested with hurrying greedy souls; and everywhere are heard the clanking of iron, the rattling of wheels, and whistling of steam. The city has turned into a battlefield where the strong wrestle down the weak and the rich exploit and tyrannize over the poor.

  How beautiful is life, my beloved; it is like the poet’s heart, filled with light and tenderness.

  And how cruel is life, my love, it is like a criminal’s heart, throbbing with vice and fear.

  Under the Sun

  I have seen all things that are done under the sun, and behold all is vanity and vexation of spirit.

  ECCLESIASTES

  O spirit of Solomon that hovers in the ethereal realm; you, who cast aside the tattered garment of matter, have left behind you these words, born of weakness and misery, which deject those still imprisoned in bodies.

  You know there is a meaning in this life which Death does not conceal. But how could humanity attain a knowledge which comes only when the soul is freed from earthly ties?

  You realize now that life is not a vexation of spirit; that things done under the sun are not all vanity; that somehow everything has ever marched and shall ever march toward Truth. We miserable creatures have adhered to your earthly sayings as words of great wisdom. But they are shutters that darken the mind and obliterate hope.

  You now understand that ignorance, evil, and despotism have their causes; and that Beauty is the revelation of wisdom, the product of virtue and the fruit of justice.

  You now know that sorrow and poverty purify man’s heart; though our weak minds see nothing worthy in the universe save ease and happiness.

  You can see now that the spirit advances toward the light in spite of worldly hardships. Yet we repeat your words which teach that a man is but a toy in the hands of the unknown.

  You have regretted your planting in our hearts a faintness toward life in the world and apprehension toward life in the hereafter. Yet we persist in heeding your earthly words.

  O spirit of Solomon who now dwells in Eternity, reveal yourself to the lovers of wisdom and teach them not to walk the path of heresy and misery. Perchance this shall be an atonement for an unintended error.

  A Glance at the Future

  From behind the wall of the Present I heard the hymns of humanity. I heard the sounds of the bells announcing the beginning of the prayer in the temple of Beauty. Bells moulded in the metal of emotion and poised above the holy altar—the human heart.

  From behind the Future I saw multitudes worshipping on the bosom of Nature, their faces turned toward the East and awaiting the inundation of the morning light—the morning of Truth.

  I saw the city in ruins and nothing remaining to tell man of the defeat of Ignorance and the triumph of Light.

  I saw the elders seated under the shade of cypress and willow trees, surrounded by youths listening to their tales of former times.

  I saw the youths strumming their guitars and piping on their reeds and the loose-tressed damsels dancing under the jasmine trees.

  I saw the husbandmen harvesting the wheat, and the wives gathering the sheaves and singing mirthful songs.

  I saw woman adorning herself with a crown of lilies and a girdle of green leaves.

  I saw Friendship strengthened between man and all creatures, and clans of birds and butterflies, confident and secure, winging toward the brooks.

  I saw no poverty; neither did I encounter excess. I saw fraternity and equality prevailing among man.

  I saw not one physician, for everyone had the means and knowledge to heal himself.

  I found no priest, for conscience had become the High Priest. Neither did I see a lawyer, for Nature has taken the place of the courts, and treaties of amity and companionship were in force.

  I saw that man knew that he is the cornerstone of creation, and that he has raised himself above littleness and baseness and cast off the veil of confusion from the eyes of the soul; this soul now reads what the clouds write on the face of heaven and what the breeze draws on the surface of the water; now understands the meaning of the flower’s breath and the cadences of the nightingale.

  From behind the wall of the Present, upon the stage of coming ages, I saw Beauty as a groom and Spirit as a bride, and Life as the ceremonial Night of the Kedre.*

  * A night during the Moslem Lent when God is said to grant the wishes of the devout.

  The Goddess of Fantasy

  And after a wearying journey I reached the ruins of Palmyra. There I dropped, exhausted, upon the grass that grew among columns shattered and leveled by the ages. They looked like the debris left by invading armies.

  At nightfall, as the black mantle of silence enfolded all creatures, I savored a strange scent in the air. It was as fragrant as incense and as inebriating as wine. My spirit opened her mouth to sip the ethereal nectar. Then a hidden hand seemed to press upon my senses and my eyelids grew heavy, while my spirit felt freed of its shackles.

  Then the earth swayed under me and the sky trembled over me; whereupon I leaped up as though raised by a magic power. And I found myself in a meadow the like of which no human being has ever fancied. I found myself in the midst of a host of virgins who wore no other raiment than the beauty God gave them. They walked around me, but their feet touched not the grass. They chanted hymns expressing dreams of love. Each maiden played on a lute framed with ivory and strung with gold.

  I came upon a vast clearing in the center of which stood a throne inlaid with precious stones and illuminated with the rays of the rainbow. The virgins stood at both sides, raised their voices and faced the direction whence came the scent of myrrh and frankincense. The trees were in bloom and from between the branches, laden with blossoms, a queen walked majestically to the throne. As she seated herself, a flock of doves, white as snow, descended and settled around her feet and formed a crescent, while the maidens chanted hymns of glory. I stood there watching what no man’s eyes had seen, and hearing what no man’s ears had heard.

  Then the Queen motioned, and silence fell. And in a voice that caused my spirit to quiver like the strings of the lute under a player’s fingers, she said, “I have called you, man, for I am the Goddess of Fantasy. I have bestowed upon you the honor of standing before me, the Queen of the prairies of dreams. Listen to my commandments, for I appoint you to preach them to the whole human race: explain to man that the city of dreams is a wedding feast at whose door a mighty giant stands on guard. No one may enter unless he wears a wedding garment. Let it be known that this city is a paradise wh
ose sentinel is the angel of Love, and no human may glance at it save he on whose forehead the sign of Love is inscribed. Picture to them these beautiful fields whose streams flow with nectar and wine, whose birds sail in the skies and sing with the angels. Describe the aromatic scent of its flowers and let it be known that only the Son of Dream may tread its soft grass.

  “Say that I gave man a cupful of joy; but he, in his ignorance, poured it out. Then the angels of Darkness filled the cup with the brew of Sorrow which he drank and became inebriated.

  “Say that none can play the lyre of Life unless his fingers have been blessed by my touch and his eyes sanctified by the sight of my throne.

  “Isaiah composed words of wisdom as a necklace of precious stones mounted on the golden chain of my love. Saint John recounted his vision in my behalf. And Dante could not explore the haven of souls save by my guidance. I am metaphor embracing reality, and reality revealing the singleness of the spirit; and a witness confirming the deeds of the gods.

  “Truly I say to you that thoughts have a higher dwelling place than the visible world, and its skies are not clouded by sensuality. Imagination finds a road to the realm of the gods, and there man can glimpse that which is to be after the soul’s liberation from the world of substance.”

  And the Goddess of Fantasy drew me toward her with her magic glance and imprinted a kiss upon my burning lips and said, “Tell them that he who passes not his days in the realm of dreams is the slave of the days.”

  Thereupon the voices of the virgins rose again and the column of incense ascended. Then the earth began to sway again and the sky to tremble; and suddenly I found myself again among Palmyra’s sorrowful ruins.

  The smiling Dawn had already made its appearance, and between my tongue and my lips were these words: “He who passes not his days in the realm of dreams is the slave of the days.”