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The Little Book of Life's Wisdom

Page 5

by Kahlil Gibran


  But the restless say, “We have heard her

  shouting among the mountains. And with her

  cries came the sound of hoofs and the beating

  of wings and the roaring of lions.”

  B E AU T Y A N D T H E S O N G O F L I F E

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  At night the watchers of the city say, “Beauty

  shall rise with the dawn from the east.”

  And at noontide the toilers and the wayfar-

  ers say, “We have seen her leaning over the earth

  from the windows of the sunset.”

  In winter say the snowbound, “She shall

  come with the spring, leaping upon the hills.”

  And in the summer heat the reapers say, “We

  have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves,

  and we saw a drift of snow in her hair.”

  All these things have you said of beauty,

  yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs

  unsatisfied.

  And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.

  It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand

  stretched forth,

  but rather a heart inflamed and a soul

  enchanted.

  It is not the image you would see nor the song

  you would hear,

  but rather an image you see though you close

  your eyes

  and a song you hear though you shut your ears.

  K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E

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  It is not the sap within the furrowed bark,

  nor a wing attached to a claw,

  but rather a garden forever in bloom

  and a flock of angels forever in flight.

  People of Orphalese,

  beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.

  But you are life and you are the veil.

  Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.

  But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

  B E AU T Y A N D T H E S O N G O F L I F E

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  SOUL OF THE DANCER

  Once there came to the court of the prince of

  Bkerkasha a dancer with her musicians. She was

  admitted to the court, and she danced before the

  prince to the music of the lute and the flute and

  the zither.

  She danced the dance of flames and the

  dance of swords and spears. She danced the

  dance of stars and the dance of space. And then

  she danced the dance of flowers in the wind.

  After this, she stood before the throne of the

  prince and bowed her body before him.

  And the prince bade her to come nearer, and

  he said unto her, “Beautiful woman, daughter of

  grace and delight, whence comes your art? And

  how is it that you command all the elements in

  your rhythms and your rhymes?”

  K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E

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  And the dancer bowed again before the

  prince and she answered, “Mighty and gracious

  Majesty, I know not the answer to your question-

  ings. Only this I know: The philosopher’s soul

  dwells in the head, the poet’s soul is in the heart,

  the singer’s soul lingers about the throat, but the

  soul of the dancer abides in all of her body.”

  B E AU T Y A N D T H E S O N G O F L I F E

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  AN HOUR DEVOTED TO

  BEAUTY AND LOVE

  One hour devoted to the pursuit of beauty and

  love is worth a full century of glory given by the

  frightened weak to the strong.

  From that hour comes humanity’s truth. And

  during that century truth sleeps between the

  restless arms of disturbing dreams.

  In that hour the soul sees for herself the

  natural law, and for that century she imprisons

  herself behind the laws of humanity, and she is

  shackled with irons of oppression.

  That hour was the inspiration for the Songs

  of Solomon, and that century was the blind

  power that destroyed the temple of Baalbek.

  That hour was the birth of the Sermon on the

  Mount, and that century wrecked the castles of

  Palmyra and the Tower of Babylon.

  That hour was the Hejira of Muhammad, and

  that century forgot Allah, Golgotha, and Sinai.

  One hour devoted to mourning and lament-

  ing the stolen equality of the weak is nobler than

  a century filled with greed and usurpation.

  K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E

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  It is at that hour that the heart is purified

  by flaming sorrow and illuminated by the torch

  of love.

  And in that century that desires for truth are

  buried in the bosom of the earth.

  That hour is the root that must flourish.

  That hour is the hour of contemplation,

  the hour of prayer, and the hour of a new era

  of good.

  And that century is a life of Nero spent on

  self-investment taken solely from earthly sub-

  stance.

  This is life—portrayed on the stage for ages,

  recorded on earth for centuries, lived in strange-

  ness for years, sung as a hymn for days, exalted

  for but an hour—but the hour is treasured by

  eternity as a jewel.

  B E AU T Y A N D T H E S O N G O F L I F E

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  3

  Life’s Human

  Journey

  Daily life provides the opportunity to

  learn about the many ways that the

  Greater Life expresses itself through us.

  The journey of human life presents its

  own unique twists and turns.

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  YOUR DAILY LIFE IS YOUR TEMPLE

  Your daily life is your temple and your religion.

  Whenever you enter into it, take with you

  your all.

  Take the plough and the forge and the mallet

  and the lute—

  the things you have fashioned in necessity or

  for delight.

  For in reverie you cannot rise above your

  achievements

  nor fall lower than your failures.

  And take with you all people:

  for in adoration you cannot fly higher than

  their hopes

  nor humble yourself lower than their despair.

  And if you would know God,

  be not therefore a solver of riddles.

  Rather look about you and you shall see God

  playing with your children.

  K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E

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  And look into space—

  you shall see God walking in the cloud,

&nb
sp; arms outstretched in the lightning,

  then descending in the rain.

  You shall see God smiling in the flowers,

  then rising and waving hands in the trees.

  L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y

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  BURYING DEAD SELVES

  Once, as I was burying one of my dead selves,

  the grave digger came by and said to me, “Of all

  those who come here to bury, you alone I like.”

  Said I, “You please me exceedingly, but why

  do you like me?”

  “Because,” said he, “The others come weep-

  ing and go weeping—you only come laughing

  and go laughing.”

  K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E

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  GIVING UP A KINGDOM

  They told me that in a forest among the moun-

  tains lived a young man in solitude who once

  was a king of a vast country beyond the Two

  Rivers3. And they also said that he, of his own

  will, had left his throne and the land of his glory

  and come to dwell in the wilderness.

  And I said, “I would seek that man, and learn

  the secret of his heart. For he who renounces a

  kingdom must needs be greater than a kingdom.”

  On that very day, I went to the forest where

  he dwelt. And I found him sitting under a white

  cypress, and in his hand he held a reed as if

  it were a scepter. And I greeted him even as I

  would greet a king. And he turned to me and

  said gently, “What would you in this forest of

  serenity? Seek you a lost self in the green shad-

  ows, or is it a homecoming in your twilight?”

  And I answered, “I seek only you—for I fain

  would know what made you leave a kingdom

  for a forest.”

  3. Tigris and Euphrates.

  L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y

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  And he said, “Brief is my story, for sudden

  was the bursting of the bubble. It happened

  thus: One day as I sat at a window in my palace,

  my chamberlain and an envoy from a foreign

  land were walking in my garden. And as they

  approached my window, the lord chamberlain

  was speaking of himself and saying, ‘I am like

  the king. I have a thirst for strong wine and a

  hunger for all games of chance. And like my lord

  the king, I have storms of temper.’ And the lord

  chamberlain and the envoy disappeared among

  the trees. But in a few minutes they returned,

  and this time the lord chamberlain was speaking

  of me, and he was saying, ‘My lord the king is

  like myself—a good marksman—and like me he

  loves music and bathes thrice a day.’”

  After a moment he added, “On the eve of that

  day, I left my palace with but my garment, for I

  would no longer be ruler over those who assume

  my vices and attribute to me their virtues.”

  And I said, “This is indeed a wonder, and

  passing strange.”

  And he said, “Nay, my friend, you knocked at

  the gate of my silences and received but a trifle.

  K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E

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  For who would not leave a kingdom for a forest,

  where the seasons sing and dance ceaselessly?

  Many are those who have given their kingdom

  for less than solitude and the sweet fellowship of

  aloneness. Countless are the eagles who descend

  from the upper air to live with moles that they

  may know the secrets of the earth.

  “There are those who renounce the kingdom

  of dreams that they may not seem distant from

  the dreamless. And those who renounce the

  kingdom of nakedness and cover their souls that

  others may not be ashamed in beholding truth

  uncovered and beauty unveiled.

  “And greater yet than all of these are those

  who renounce the kingdom of sorrow that they

  may not seem proud and vainglorious.”

  Then rising, he leaned upon his reed and

  said, “Go now to the great city and sit at its gate

  and watch all those who enter into it and those

  who go out. And see that you find him who,

  though born a king, is without kingdom. And

  him who, though ruled in flesh, rules in spirit—

  though neither he nor his subjects know this.

  L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y

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  And him also who but seems to rule yet is in

  truth slave of his own slaves.”

  After he had said these things, he smiled on

  me, and there were a thousand dawns upon his

  lips. Then he turned and walked away into the

  heart of the forest.

  And I returned to the city, and I sat at its gate

  to watch the passersby, even as he had told me.

  And from that day to this, numberless are

  the kings whose shadows have passed over me,

  and few are the subjects over whom my shadow

  passed.

  K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E

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  POSSESSIONS

  What are your possessions

  but things you keep and guard

  for fear you may need them tomorrow?

  And tomorrow, what shall tomorrow bring

  to the over-prudent dog

  burying bones in the trackless sand

  as it follows the pilgrims to the holy city?

  And what is fear of need but need itself?

  Is not dread of thirst when your well is full,

  a thirst that is unquenchable?

  L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y

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  TREASURE

  Dig anywhere in the earth

  and you will find a treasure,

  only you must dig

  with the faith of a peasant.

  K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E

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  THE VALUE OF TIME

  They deem me mad because

  I will not sell my days for gold.

  And I deem them mad because

  they think my days have a price.

  They spread before us their riches

  of gold and silver, of ivory and ebony,

  and we spread before them

  our hearts and our spirits.

  And yet they deem

  themselves the hosts

  and us the guests.

  L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y

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  WITH SENSES CONTINUALLY

  MADE NEW

  A philosopher describes Jesus:

  When he was with us, he gazed at us and at

  our world with eyes of wonder, for his eyes
were

  not veiled with the veil of years, and all that he

  saw was clear in the light of his youth.

  Though he knew the depth of beauty, he was

  forever surprised by its peace and its majesty.

  And he stood before the earth as the first man

  had stood before the first day.

  We whose senses have been dulled, we gaze

  in full daylight and yet we do not see. We would

  cup our ears, but we do not hear, and stretch

  forth our hands, but we do not touch. And

  though all the incense of Arabia is burned, we

  go our way and do not smell.

  We see not the ploughman returning from his

  field at eventide, nor hear the shepherd’s flute

  when he leads his flock to the fold. Nor do we

  stretch our arms to touch the sunset, and our

  nostrils hunger no longer for the roses of Sharon.

  K A H L I L G I B R A N ’ S L I T T L E B O O K O F L I F E

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  Nay, we honor no kings without kingdoms,

  nor hear the sound of harps save when the

  strings are plucked by hands. Nor do we see a

  child playing in our olive grove as if he were a

  young olive tree. And all words must needs rise

  from lips of flesh, or else we deem each other

  dumb and deaf.

  In truth we gaze but do not see, and hear-

  ken but do not hear. We eat and drink but do

  not taste.

  And there lies the difference between Jesus

  of Nazareth and ourselves.

  His senses were all continually made new,

  and the world to him was always a new world.

  To him the lisping of a babe was not less

  than the cry of all humanity, while to us it is

  only lisping.

  To him the root of a buttercup was a longing

  towards God, while to us it is naught but a root.

  L I F E ’ S H U M A N J O U R N E Y

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  WORK IS LOVE

  You work that you may keep pace with the earth

  and the soul of the earth.

  For to be idle is to become a stranger unto

  the seasons and to step out of life’s procession,

  which marches in majesty and proud submission

  towards the infinite.

  When you work, you are a flute through

  whose heart the whispering of the hours turns

  to music.

  When you work, you fulfill a part of earth’s

 

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