Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran

by Kahlil Gibran

  and from them you rear cypress

  and willow trees.

  We empty our wastes in your bosom, and you fill

  our threshing-floors with wheat sheaves, and

  our winepresses with grapes.

  We extract your elements to make cannons and

  bombs, but out of our elements you create

  lilies and roses.

  How patient you are, Earth, and how merciful!

  Are you an atom of dust raised by

  the feet of God when He journeyed from the east

  to the west of the Universe?

  Or a spark projected from the furnace

  of Eternity?

  Are you a seed dropped in the field of the

  firmament to become God’s tree reaching above

  the heavens with its celestial branches?

  Or are you a drop of blood in the veins of the

  giant of giants, or a bead of sweat upon his

  brow?

  Are you a fruit ripened by the sun?

  Do you grow from the tree of Absolute

  Knowledge, whose roots extend through

  Eternity, and whose branches soar through

  the Infinite?

  Are you a jewel placed by the God of Time in the

  palm of the God of Space?

  Who are you, Earth, and what are you?

  You are “I,” Earth!

  You are my sight and my discernment.

  You are my knowledge and my

  dream.

  You are my hunger and my thirst.

  You are my sorrow and my joy.

  You are my inadvertence and my wakefulness.

  You are the beauty that lives in my eyes,

  the longing in my heart, the everlasting life

  in my soul.

  You are “I,” Earth.

  Had it not been for my being,

  You would not have been.

  Perfection

  You ask me, my brother, when will man reach

  perfection. Hear my answer:

  Man approaches perfection when he

  feels that he is an infinite space and a sea

  without a shore,

  An everlasting fire, an unquenchable

  light,

  A calm wind or a raging tempest, a thundering

  sky or a rainy heaven,

  A singing brook or a wailing rivulet, a tree abloom

  in Spring, or a naked sapling

  in Autumn,

  A rising mountain or a descending valley,

  A fertile plain or a desert.

  When man feels all these, he has already

  reached halfway to perfection. To attain his goal

  he must then perceive

  that he is a child dependent upon his mother,

  a father responsible for his family,

  A youth lost in love,

  An ancient wrestling against his past,

  A worshipper in his temple, a criminal in

  his prison,

  A scholar amidst his parchments,

  An ignorant soul stumbling between the darkness of his.

  night and the obscurity of his day,

  A nun suffering between the flowers of her faith and

  the thistles of her loneliness,

  A prostitute caught between the fangs of her

  weakness and the claws of her needs,

  A poor man trapped between his bitterness and his

  submission,

  A rich man between his greed and his conscience,

  A poet between the mist of his twilight and the

  rays of his dawn.

  Who can experience, see, and understand

  these things can reach perfection and

  become a shadow of God’s Shadow.

  Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

  I said to my friend,

  “See her leaning over his arm?

  Yesterday she leaned over my arm.”

  And he said:

  “Tomorrow she will lean over mine.”

  And I said,

  “See her sitting at his side;

  And yesterday she sat at my side.”

  And he said:

  “Tomorrow she will sit at mine.”

  And I said,

  “Don’t you see her drinking from his

  Cup?

  And yesterday she sipped from mine.”

  And he said:

  “Tomorrow she will drink from mine.”

  And I said,

  “Look how she glances at him with eyes

  full of love!

  And with just such love, yesterday

  she glanced at me.”

  And he said:

  “Tomorrow she will glance at me

  likewise.”

  And I said,

  “Listen to her whispering songs of

  love in his ears.

  And yesterday she whispered the same songs

  in mine.”

  And he said:

  “Tomorrow she will whisper them

  in mine.”

  And I said,

  “Look at her embracing him; and yesterday

  she embraced me.”

  And he said:

  “Tomorrow she will lie in my arms.”

  And I said,

  “What a strange woman she is!!”

  And he said:

  “She is Life.”

  A Story of a Friend

  1

  I knew him as a youth lost on the paths of life, goaded by wild impulse and following death in pursuit of his desires. I knew him as a tender flower borne by the winds of rashness into the sea of lust.

  I knew him in that village as an ill-natured boy tearing with cruel hands at the birds’ nests and slaying the nestlings and trampling with his feet the beautiful crowns of the sweet flowers.

  I knew him at school as an adolescent averse to learning, arrogant, and an enemy of peace.

  I knew him in the city as a young man trading his father’s honor in sinister markets, spending his father’s money in houses of ill-fame, and surrendering his mind to the fruit of the vine.

  However, I loved him. And my love for him was a mingling of sorrow and sympathy. I loved him because his sins were not born of a small spirit, but rather the deeds of a lost and desperate soul.

  The spirit, my dear people, strays from the path of wisdom unwillingly, but returns to it willingly. When the whirlwinds of youth blow dust and sand, the eyes are blind for a time.

  I loved that youth because I saw the dove of his conscience struggling with the hawk of his evils. And I saw that the dove was subdued not by its own cowardice but by the strength of its enemy.

  Conscience is a just but a weak judge. Weakness leaves it powerless to execute its judgment.

  I said I loved him. And love comes in different shapes. Sometimes it comes in wisdom; at other times in justice; and oftentimes in hope. My love for him sustained my hope of seeing the light in him triumph over the darkness. But I knew not when and where would his defilement turn into purity, his brutality into meekness, his recklessness into wisdom. Man does not know in what manner the soul frees itself from the slavery of matter until after it is freed. Neither does man know how the flowers smile save after the coming of the morn.

  2

  The days passed, following the nights, and I remembered the youth with painful sighs; I repeated his name with affection that made the heart bleed. Then yesterday a letter came from him saying:

  “Come to me, my friend, for I wish to unite you with a young man whom your heart will rejoice to meet, and your soul will be refreshed to know.”

  I said, “Woe is me! Does he intend to mingle his sad friendship with another one similar to it? Is he not alone a sufficient example to the world of error and sin? Does he now wish to re-enforce his misdeeds with those of his companion so that I may see them in double darkness?”

  Then I said to myself, “I must go; perhaps the wise soul shall reap figs from the bramb
les, and the loving heart shall extract light from the darkness.”

  When night came I found him alone in his room reading a book of verses. “Where is the new friend?” I said, and he answered, “I am he, my friend.” And he displayed a calmness I had never seen in him before. In his eyes I could now see a strange light that penetrated the heart. Those eyes in which I had seen cruelty before, were radiant with the light of kindness. Then with a voice that I thought came from another, he said. “The youth whom you knew during childhood and with whom you walked to school, is dead. With his death I was born. I am your new friend; take my hand.”

  As I shook his hand I felt the existence of a gentle spirit circulating with the blood. His iron hand had become soft and kind. His fingers which yesterday tore like a tiger’s claws, today caress the heart.

  Then I spoke again. “Who are you, and what has happened? How have you become this kind of person? Has the Holy Spirit entered your heart and sanctified your soul? Or are you playing a part, the invention of a poet?”

  And he said, “Ay, my friend, the spirit descended upon me and blessed me. A great love has made my heart a pure altar. It is woman, my friend—woman that I thought yesterday a toy in the hands of man—who has delivered me from the darkness of hell and opened before me the gates of Paradise where I have entered. A true woman has taken me into the Jordan River of her love and baptized me. The woman whose sister I disrespected through my ignorance has exalted me to the throne of glory. The woman whose companion I have defiled with my wickedness has purified my heart with her affections. The woman whose kind I have enslaved with my father’s gold has freed me with her beauty. The woman who had Adam driven from Paradise by the strength of her will has restored me to Paradise by her tenderness and my obedience.”

  Ashes of the Ages and Eternal Fire

  I

  SPRING OF THE YEAR 116 B. C.

  Night and silence had fallen over the slumbering City of the Sun.* The lamps were extinguished in the dwellings among the majestic temples standing amid olive and laurel groves. The moon’s silver light laved the marble columns that stood like giant sentinels before the houses of the gods.

  At that hour, while souls succumbed to slumber, Nathan, son of the High Priest, entered Ishtar’s temple, bearing a torch in quaking hands. He lit the lamps and censors and soon the fragrance of myrrh and frankincense rose to the uppermost corners. Then he knelt before the altar, inlaid with ivory and gold, raised his hands toward Ishtar,* and with a choking voice cried out, “Have mercy upon me, O great Ishtar, goddess of Love and Beauty. Be merciful and hold back the hands of Death from my beloved, whom my soul has chosen by thy will. The potions of the physicians and spells of the wizards are of no avail. Naught is left save thy holy will. Thou art my guide and my aid. Gaze upon my crushed heart and aching soul with pity and grant my prayer. Spare my beloved’s life so that together we may worship thee with the rites of love and devote to you our youth and beauty.

  “Your servant Nathan, son of your High Priest Hiram, loves a maiden without peer and has made her his companion. But some female djin envied her loveliness and my passion for her and breathed into her a deadly plague, and now the messenger of Death stands at her bedside, spreading his black-ribbed wings over her, and unsheathing his sharp claws. Have mercy upon us, I beseech thee. Spare that flower which has not yet rejoiced in its summer.**

  “Save her from the grasp of Death so that we may sing hymns of praise to thee and burn incense in thine honor and offer sacrifices at thine altar and fill thy vases with per fumed oil and spread roses and violets upon the portico of thy temple. Let Love overcome Death in this struggle of Joy against Sorrow.”

  And Nathan, exhausted, could say no more.

  At that moment his slave entered the temple, hastened to him, and whispered, “Master, she calls for you.”

  Nathan ran to his palace and entered the chamber of his beloved. He leaned over her bed, held her frail hand, and kissed her lips as if striving to breathe life into her body from his. Slowly she opened her eyes, and upon her lips appeared a faint smile, herald of a last heartbeat. With a feeble voice she said, “The goddess calls me, Oh Life of my Soul. Her servant, Death has come. The will of the goddess is sacred, and the errand of Death is just. I depart now, and I hear the rustle of the whiteness descending. But the cups of Love and Youth remain in our hands, and flowery paths of beautiful Life extend before us. I embark, my Beloved, upon an ark of the spirit, but I shall return to you; for great Ishtar will restore those souls of lovers who have not enjoyed their share of sweet Love and happy Youth.”*

  Weeping, Nathan bent down to kiss her and found her lips already cold. He cried out and began tearing his raiment, and his lamentations awoke the sleeping. At dawn many came to Nathan’s palace to offer their sympathy. But Nathan had disappeared. After a fortnight, the chief of a newly arrived caravan related that he had seen Nathan in the distant wilderness, wandering among a flock of gazelles.

  The ages passed. In place of Ishtar, goddess of Love and Beauty, a destroying goddess reigned. She pulled down the magnificent temples of the City of the Sun; she demolished its beautiful palaces. She laid waste the orchards and fields. The land was scarred with ruins.

  II

  SPRING OF THE YEAR 1890 A. D.

  The sun withdrew, its golden rays from the plain of Baalbek. Ali El Hosseini* brought his sheep back to the sheds in the ruins of the temples. He sat among the ancient columns and piped to his flock.

  Midnight came and heaven sowed the seeds of the following day in the deep furrows of the darkness. Ali’s eyes became heavy and sleep captured his senses. He encountered his invisible self, who dwelt in a higher realm and the range of his vision broadened, bringing Life’s hidden secrets to his view. His soul stood aside from Time rushing toward nothingness; it stood amid symmetrical thoughts and crystal ideas. For the first time in his life, Ali became aware of the causes of the spiritual hunger of his youth, the longing which neither the glory of the world nor passing time can still. Ali felt the ache of a centuries-old Memory, kindling like incense placed upon white-hot firebrands. A magic love touched his heart as a musician’s delicate fingers touch quivering strings.

  Ali looked at the ruins and then, like a blind man whose sight is suddenly restored, he recalled the lamps and the silver censers before the shrine of a goddess…. He recalled sacrifices at an altar of gold and ivory…. He saw again dancing maidens, tambourine players, singers who chanted hymns to the goddess of Love … and Beauty…. But how could such memories live in the heart of a simple shepherd youth born in a nomad’s tent?

  Suddenly the memories tore away the veil of oblivion and he rose and walked to the temple. At the cavernous entrance he halted as if a magnetic power had gripped his feet. Looking down, he saw a smashed statue on the ground, and the sight freed his soul’s tears and they poured like blood from a deep wound. He also felt a stabbing loneliness and remoteness like an abyss between his heart and the heart from whom he had been torn before he entered upon this life.

  “Who are you,” Ali cried in anguish, “who stand close to my heart but unseen by my eyes? Are you a phantom from Eternity to show me the vanity of Life and the weakness of mankind? Or the spirit of a genie stolen out of earth’s crevices to enslave me and render me an object of mockery? What is your strange power which at one time prostrates and enlivens my heart? Who am I and what is this strange self whom I call “Myself”? Has the Water of Life which I have drunk made me an angel in communion with the universe and its mysteries? Or is it inebriating wine that blinds me to myself?

  “Oh, what the soul reveals, and the night conceals…. Oh, beautiful spirit, hovering in the firmament of my dream, disclose yourself to me if you are human or command Slumber to shut my eyes so I can view your divine vastness. If you are human, let me touch you; let me hear your voice. Tear away this veil that conceals you from me. If I am worthy, place your hand upon my heart and possess me.”

  Thus an hour passed, with Ali shedding te
ars and voicing his yearnings.

  Then Dawn appeared and the morning breeze stirred. The birds left their nests and sang their morning prayers.

  Ali placed his cupped hand over his forehead. Like Adam, when God opened his eyes with his all-creating breath, Ali saw new objects, strange and fantastic. He called to his sheep and they followed him quietly toward the meadow. As he led them, he felt like a philosopher with the power to divine the secrets of the Universe. He reached a brook whose murmuring was soothing to his spirit, and sat under a willow tree whose branches dipped over the water as if drinking from the cool depths.

  Here Ali felt the beating of his heart increase and through his soul throbbed a strong and almost visible vibration. He sprang up like a mother suddenly awakened from her slumber by the scream of her child, and his eyes were magnetized by the sight of a beautiful maiden approaching from the opposite side, with a water jar on her shoulder. As she leaned over to fill the jar, her eyes and Ali’s met. She cried out, distraught, dropped the jar, and ran off, but glanced back in agonizing disbelief.

  Ali, compelled by the mysterious power, leaped across the brook, caught the maiden and embraced her. As if this caress had subdued her will she did not move, yielding to him as the fragrance of jasmine submits to the breeze. Both felt it to be the reunion of souls long separated by earth and now brought together by God.

  The enamored pair walked amidst the willow trees, and the unity of the two selves was a speaking tongue for them; an eye to see the glory of Happiness; a silent auditor of the tremendous revelation of Love.

  The sheep grazed; the birds of the sky hovered above their heads; the sun spread a golden garment upon the hills; and they sat by the side of a rock where the violets hid. The maiden looked into Ali’s black eyes while the breeze caressed her hair, as though the shimmering wisps were fingertips craving kisses. Then she said: “Ishtar, oh my beloved, has restored both our spirits to this life from another, so that we shall not be denied the joy of Love and the glory of Youth.”

  Ali closed his eyes, as though her melodious voice had brought to him images of a dream. Invisible wings bore him to a strange chamber where, upon her deathbed, lay the corpse of a maiden whose beauty had been claimed by Death. He uttered a fearful cry, then opened his eyes and found the maiden sitting by his side, a smile upon her lips and her eyes bright with the rays of Life. Then his heart was refreshed, and the phantom of his vision withdrew and the past and its cares vanished. The lovers embraced and drank the wine of sweet kisses. They slumbered, wrapped in each other’s arms, until the last remnant of the shadow was dispersed by the Eternal Power which had awakened them.