The Little Book of Life's Wisdom

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The Little Book of Life's Wisdom Page 9

by Kahlil Gibran


  in my stillness I have heard your song and the

  murmur of your name.

  “Your name has a goodly sound. Well shall it

  rise with the sap to the branches, and well shall

  it run with the hoofs among the hills.

  “And it is not strange to me, though my

  father called me not by that name. It was your

  flute that brought it back to my memory.

  “And now let us play our reeds together.”

  And they played together.

  And their music smote heaven and earth, and

  a terror struck all living things.

  I heard the bellow of beasts and the hunger

  of the forest.

  And I heard the cry of lonely men, and the

  plaint of those who long for what they know not.

  PA R A D OX I C A L L I F E

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  I heard the sighing of the maiden for her

  lover, and the panting of the luckless hunter for

  his prey.

  And then there came peace into their music,

  and the heavens and the earth sang together.

  All this I saw in my dream, and all this I

  heard.

  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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  6

  The Life

  of the Soul

  Awake or asleep, dreaming or in

  everyday life, the Greater Self is always

  living through us, leading us further in

  Love’s procession.

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  RESURRECTION OF LIFE

  The voice of Nicodemus the Poet:

  I know these moles that dig paths to

  nowhere.

  Are they not the ones who accuse Jesus of

  glorifying himself in that he said to the mul-

  titude, “I am the path and the gate to salva-

  tion,” and even called himself the life and the

  resurrection.

  But Jesus was not claiming more than the

  month of May claims in her high tide.

  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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  A FRAGMENT

  It was but yesterday I thought myself a fragment

  quivering without rhythm in the sphere of life.

  Now I know that I am the sphere, and all life

  in rhythmic fragments moves within me.

  They say to me in their awakening,

  “You and the world you live in are but a

  grain of sand upon the infinite shore of an infi-

  nite sea.”

  And in my dream I say to them,

  “I am the infinite sea, and all worlds are but

  grains of sand upon my shore.

  T H E L I F E O F T H E S O U L

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  THE GREATER SEA

  My soul and I went down to the great sea to

  bathe. And when we reached the shore, we went

  about looking for a hidden and lonely place.

  But as we walked, we saw a man sitting on a

  grey rock taking pinches of salt from a bag and

  throwing them into the sea.

  “This is the pessimist,” said my soul. “Let us

  leave this place. We cannot bathe here.”

  We walked on until we reached an inlet.

  There we saw standing on a white rock a man

  holding a bejewelled box, from which he took

  sugar and threw it into the sea.

  “And this is the optimist,” said my soul. “And

  he too must not see our naked bodies.”

  Further on we walked. And on a beach we

  saw a man picking up dead fish and tenderly

  putting them back into the water.

  “And we cannot bathe before him,” said my

  soul. “He is the humane philanthropist.”

  And we passed on.

  Then we came where we saw a man trac-

  ing his shadow on the sand. Great waves came

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  and erased it. But he went on tracing it again

  and again.

  “He is the mystic,” said my soul. “Let us leave

  him.”

  And we walked on, till in a quiet cove we

  saw a man scooping up the foam and putting it

  into an alabaster bowl.

  “He is the idealist,” said my soul. “Surely he

  must not see our nudity.”

  And on we walked.

  Suddenly we heard a voice crying, “This is

  the sea. This is the deep sea. This is the vast and

  mighty sea.” And when we reached the voice,

  it was a man whose back was turned to the

  sea, and at his ear he held a shell, listening to

  its murmur.

  And my soul said, “Let us pass on. He is the

  realist, who turns his back on the whole he can-

  not grasp, and busies himself with a fragment.”

  So we passed on.

  And in a weedy place among the rocks was

  a man with his head buried in the sand. And I

  said to my soul, “We can bathe here, for he can-

  not see us.”

  T H E L I F E O F T H E S O U L

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  “Nay,” said my soul, “for he is the most

  deadly of them all. He is the puritan.”

  Then a great sadness came over the face of

  my soul and into her voice.

  “Let us go hence,” she said, “for there is

  no lonely, hidden place where we can bathe. I

  would not have this wind lift my golden hair, or

  bare my white bosom in this air, or let the light

  disclose my sacred nakedness.”

  Then we left that sea to seek the Greater Sea.

  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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  TRUTH IS LIKE THE STARS

  The true light is that which emanates from

  within a person.

  It reveals the secrets of the heart to the soul,

  making it happy and contented with life.

  Truth is like the stars. It does not appear

  except from behind obscurity of the night.

  Truth is like all beautiful things in the world.

  It does not disclose its desirability except to

  those who first feel the influence of falsehood.

  Truth is a deep kindness that teaches us to

  be content in our everyday life and share with

  people the same happiness.

  T H E L I F E O F T H E S O U L

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  HAVE MERCY ON ME, MY SOUL

  Why are you weeping, my Soul?

  Knowest thou my weakness?

  Thy tears strike sharp and injure,

  for I know not my wrong.

  Until when shalt thou cry?

  I have naught but human words

  to interpret your dreams,

  your desires, and your instructions.

  Look upon me, my Soul.

  I have consum
ed my full life

  heeding your teachings.

  Think of how I suffer!

  I have exhausted my life following you.

  My heart was glorying upon the throne,

  but is now yoked in slavery.

  My patience was a companion,

  but now contends against me.

  My youth was my hope,

  but now reprimands my neglect.

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  Why, my Soul, are you all-demanding?

  I have denied myself pleasure

  and deserted the joy of life

  following the course that

  you impelled me to pursue.

  Be just to me,

  or call Death to unshackle me,

  for justice is your glory.

  Have mercy on me, my Soul.

  You have laden me with Love

  until I cannot carry my burden.

  You and Love are inseparable might.

  Substance and I are inseparable weakness.

  Will e’er the struggle cease

  between the strong and the weak?

  Have mercy on me, my Soul.

  You have shown me Fortune beyond my grasp.

  You and Fortune abide on the mountaintop.

  Misery and I are abandoned together

  in the pit of the valley.

  Will e’er the mountain and the valley unite?

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  Have mercy on me, my Soul.

  You have shown me Beauty

  but then concealed her.

  You and Beauty live in the light.

  Ignorance and I are bound together in the dark.

  Will e’er the light invade darkness?

  Your delight comes with the Ending,

  and you revel now in anticipation.

  But this body suffers with life

  while in life.

  This, my Soul, is perplexing.

  You are hastening toward eternity,

  but this body goes slowly toward perishment.

  You do not wait for him,

  and he cannot go quickly.

  This, my Soul, is sadness.

  You ascend high through heaven’s attraction,

  but this body falls by earth’s gravity.

  You do not console him,

  and he does not appreciate you.

  This, my Soul, is misery.

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  You are rich in wisdom,

  but this body is poor in understanding.

  You do not compromise,

  and he does not obey.

  This, my Soul, is extreme suffering.

  In the silence of the night, you visit the Beloved

  and enjoy the sweetness of his presence.

  This body ever remains

  the bitter victim of hope and separation.

  This, my Soul, is agonizing torture.

  Have mercy on me, my Soul!

  T H E L I F E O F T H E S O U L

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  TRUST THE DREAMS

  In the depth of your hopes and desires

  lies your silent knowledge of the beyond.

  And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow

  your heart dreams of spring.

  Trust the dreams,

  for in them is hidden

  the gate to eternity.

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  THE GREATER SELF

  This came to pass.

  After the coronation of Nufsibaal, King of

  Byblos, he retired to his bedchamber—the very

  room that the three hermit- magicians of the

  mountains had built for him.

  He took off his crown and his royal raiment,

  and stood in the center of the room thinking of

  himself, now the all-powerful ruler of Byblos.

  Suddenly he turned, and he saw stepping out

  of the silver mirror that his mother had given

  him a naked man.

  The king was startled, and he cried out to the

  man, “What would you?”

  And the naked man answered, “Naught but

  this: Why have they crowned you king?”

  And the king answered, “Because I am the

  noblest man in the land.”

  Then the naked man said, “If you were still

  more noble, you would not be king.”

  And the king said, “Because I am the mighti-

  est man in the land they crowned me.”

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  And the naked man said, “If you were might-

  ier yet, you would not be king.”

  Then the king said, “Because I am the wisest

  man they crowned me king.”

  And the naked man said, “If you were still

  wiser you would not choose to be king.”

  Then the king fell to the floor and wept bit-

  terly.

  The naked man looked down upon him.

  Then he took up the crown and with tenderness

  replaced it upon the king’s bent head.

  And the naked man, gazing lovingly upon

  the king, entered into the mirror.

  And the king roused, and straightway he

  looked into the mirror. And he saw there but

  himself crowned.

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  RISING

  When you long for blessings

  that you may not name,

  and when you grieve

  knowing not the cause,

  then indeed you are growing

  with all things that grow,

  and rising toward your Greater Self.

  T H E L I F E O F T H E S O U L

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  CHILDREN OF SPACE

  Verily, the lust for comfort murders the pas-

  sion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the

  funeral.

  But you, children of space, you restless in

  rest, you shall not be trapped nor tamed.

  Your house shall be not an anchor but

  a mast.

  It shall not be a glistening film that covers a

  wound, but an eyelid that guards the eye.

  You shall not fold your wings that you may

  pass through doors, nor bend your heads that

  they strike not against a ceiling, nor fear to

  breathe lest walls should crack and fall down.

  You shall not dwell in tombs made by the

  dead for the living.

  And though of magnificence and splendor,

  your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter

  your longing.

  For that which is boundless in you abides in

  the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morn-

  ing mist, and whose windows are the songs and

  the silences of night.

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  LEAVE
ME, MY BLAMER

  Leave me, my Blamer,

  for the sake of the love that 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 it 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 it out of its prison

  and carry it on the palm of my hand

  to examine it in depth and extract its secret.

  Aim not your arrows at it,

  lest it takes fright and vanish ’ere

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  it pours the secret’s blood

  as a sacrifice on the altar of its own faith,

  given it by Deity when he

  fashioned it 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,

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  and errors have taught me

  the language of the hearts.

  Talk not of banishment

  for conscience is my judge,

  and it 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.

 

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