identity and safety

You ask me how I became a madman.  It happened thus:  One day, long before many gods were born,  I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen, - the seven masks I have fashioned and worn in seven lives, - I ran mask-less through the crowded streets shouting, "Thieves, thieves, and cursed thieves."

Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me.

And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, "He is a madman."  I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time.  For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more.  And as if in a trance I cried, "Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks."

Thus I became a madman.

And I have found both freedom and safety in my madness;  the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.

But let me not be too proud of my safety.  Even a Thief in jail is safe from another thief.

~ Kahlil Gibran

from The Madman his Parables and Poems
art by Leonardo da Vinci

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all paths

And he who defines his conduct by ethics

imprisons his song-bird in a cage.

The freest song comes not through bars

and wires.

And he to whom worshiping is a window,

to open but also to shut,

has not yet visited the house of his soul

whose windows are from dawn to dawn.

...

And if you would know God be not

therefore a solver of riddles.

Rather look about you and you shall see

Him playing with your children.

And look into space; you shall see Him 

walking in the cloud, outstretching His arms

in the lightning and descending in rain.

You shall see Him smiling in flowers,

then rising and waving His hands in trees.

~ Kahlil Gibran

from The Prophet

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the stone of the fruit must break

And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain. 

And he said: Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, 

that its heart may stand in the sun, 

so must you know pain. 

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, 

your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy; 

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, 

even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. 

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief. 

Much of your pain is self-chosen. 

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. 

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility: 

For his hand, though heavy and hard,is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen, 

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay 

which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

~ Kahlil Gibran

from The Prophet

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witness

You often say, "I would give, but only to the deserving."

The trees in your orchard say not so, nor the flocks in your pasture.

They give that they may live, for to withhold is to perish.

Surely he who is worthy to receive his days and his nights, is worthy of all else from you.

And he who has deserved to drink from the ocean of life deserves to fill his cup from your little stream.

And what desert greater shall there be, than that which lies in the courage and the confidence, nay the charity, of receiving?

And who are you that men should rend their bosom and unveil their pride, that you may see their wealth naked and their pride unabashed?

See first that you yourself deserve to be a giver, and and instrument of giving.

For in truth it is life that gives unto life -- while you, who deem yourself a giver, are but a witness.

~ Kahlil Gibran

from The Prophet

with thanks to poetry chaikhana

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song of the rain

I am dotted silver threads dropped from heaven 

By the gods. Nature then takes me, to adorn 

Her fields and valleys. 

I am beautiful pearls, plucked from the 

Crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn 

To embellish the gardens. 

When I cry the hills laugh; 

When I humble myself the flowers rejoice; 

When I bow, all things are elated. 

The field and the cloud are lovers 

And between them I am a messenger of mercy. 

I quench the thirst of one; 

I cure the ailment of the other. 

The voice of thunder declares my arrival; 

The rainbow announces my departure. 

I am like earthly life, which begins at 

The feet of the mad elements and ends 

Under the upraised wings of death. 

I emerge from the heard of the sea 

Soar with the breeze. When I see a field in 

Need, I descend and embrace the flowers and 

The trees in a million little ways. 

I touch gently at the windows with my 

Soft fingers, and my announcement is a 

Welcome song. All can hear, but only 

The sensitive can understand. 

The heat in the air gives birth to me, 

But in turn I kill it, 

As woman overcomes man with 

The strength she takes from him. 

I am the sigh of the sea; 

The laughter of the field; 

The tears of heaven. 

So with love - 

Sighs from the deep sea of affection; 

Laughter from the colorful field of the spirit; 

Tears from the endless heaven of memories.

~ Kahlil Gibran

from Tears and Laughter

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the last watch

At the high-tide of night, when the first breath of dawn came upon the wind, the Forerunner, he who calls himself echo to a voice yet unheard, left his bed-chamber and ascended to the roof of his house.  Long he stood and looked down upon the slumbering city.  Then he raised his head, and even as if the sleepless spirits of all those asleep had gathered around him, he opened his lips and spoke, and he said:

“My friends and my neighbors and you who daily pass my gate, I would speak to you in your sleep, and in the valley of your dreams I would walk naked and unrestrained;  far heedless are your waking hours and deaf are your sound-burdened ears.

“Long did I love you and overmuch.

“I love the one among you as though he were all, and all as if you were one.  And in the spring of my heart I sang in your gardens, and in the summer of my heart I watched at your threshing-floors.

“Yea, I loved you all, the giant and the pigmy, the leper and the anointed, and him who gropes in the dark even as him who dances his days upon the mountains.

“You, the strong, have I loved, though the marks of your iron hoofs are yet upon my flesh; and you the weak, though you have drained my faith and wasted my patience.

“You, the rich have I loved, while bitter was your honey to my mouth; and you the poor, though you knew my empty-handed shame.

“You the poet with the borrowed lute and blind fingers, you have I loved in self indulgence; and you the scholar, ever gathering rotted shrouds in potters’ fields.

“You the priest I have loved, who sit in the silences of yesterday questioning the fate of my tomorrow; and you the worshippers of gods the images of your own desires.

“You the thirsting woman whose cup is ever full, I have loved you in understanding; and you the woman of restless nights, you too I have loved in pity.

“You the talkative have I loved, saying, ‘Life hath much to say’; and you the dumb have I loved, whispering to myself, ‘Says he not in silence that which I fain would hear in words?’

“And you the judge and the critic, I have loved also; yet when you have seen me crucified, you said, ‘He bleeds rhythmically, and the pattern his blood makes upon his white skin is beautiful to behold.’

“Yea, I have loved you all, the young and the old, the trembling reed and the oak.

“But alas! It was the over-abundance of my heart that turned you from me.  You would drink love from a cup, but not from a surging river.  You would hear love’s faint murmur, but when love shouts you would muffle your ears.

“And because I have loved you all you have said, ‘Too soft and yielding is his heart, and too undiscerning is his path.  It is the love of a needy one, who picks crumbs even as he sits at kingly feasts.  And it is the love of a weakling, for the strong loves only the strong.’

“And because I have loved you overmuch you have said, ‘It is but the love of a blind man who knows not the beauty of one nor the ugliness of another.  And it is the love of the tasteless who drinks vinegar even as wine. And it is the love of the impertinent and the overweening, for what stranger could be our mother and father and sister and brother?

“This you have said, and more.  For often in the marketplace you pointed your fingers at me and said mockingly, ‘There goes the ageless one, the man without season, who at the moon hour plays games with our children and at eventide sits with our elders and assumes wisdom and understanding.’

“And I said ‘I will love them more.  Aye, even more.  I will hide my love with seeming to hate, and disguise my tenderness as bitterness. I will wear an iron mask, and only when armed and mailed shall I seek them.’

“Then I laid a heavy hand upon your bruises, and like a tempest in the night I thundered in your ears.

“From the housetop I proclaimed you hypocrites, Pharisees, tricksters, false and empty earth-bubbles.

“The short-sighted among you I cursed for blind bats, and those too near the earth I likened to soulless moles.

“The eloquent I pronounced fork-tongued, the silent, stone-lipped, and the simple and artless I called the dead never weary of death.

“The seekers after world knowledge I condemned as offenders of the holy spirit and those who would naught but the spirit I branded as hunters of shadows who cast their nets in flat waters and catch but their own images.

“Thus with my lips have I denounced you, while my heart, bleeding within me, called you tender names.

“It was love lashed by its own self that spoke.  It was pride half slain that fluttered in the dust.  It was my hunger for your love that raged from the housetop, while my own love, kneeling in silence, prayed your forgiveness.

“But behold a miracle!

“It was my disguise that opened your eyes, and my seeming to hate that woke your hearts.

“And now you love me.

“You love the swords that stride you and the arrows that crave your breast.  For it comforts you to be wounded and only when you drink of your own blood can you be intoxicated.

“Like moths that seek destruction in the flame you gather daily in my garden: and with faces uplifted and eyes enchanted you watch me tear the fabric of your days.  And in whispers you say the one to the other, ‘He sees with the light of God.  He speaks like the prophets of old.  He unveils our souls and unlocks our hearts, and like the eagle that knows the way of foxes he knows our ways.’

“Aye, in truth, I know your ways, but only as an eagle knows the ways of his fledglings.  And I fain would disclose my secret.  Yet in my need for your nearness I feign remoteness, and in fear of the ebb-tide of your love I guard the floodgates of my love.”

After saying these things the Forerunner covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly.  For he know in his heart that love humiliated in its nakedness is greater that love that seeks triumph in disguise; and he was ashamed.

But suddenly he raised his head, and like one waking from sleep he outstretched his arms and said, “Night is over, and we children of the night must die when dawn comes leaping upon the hills; and out of our ashes a mightier love shall rise.  And it shall laugh in the sun, and it shall be deathless.”

~ Kahlil Gibran

from Poems, Parables and Drawings

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song of the soul

In the depth of my Soul there is-

A wordless song-a song that lives

In the seed of my heart.

It refuses to melt with ink

On parchment; it engulfs my affection

In a transparent cloak and flows,

But not upon my lips.

How can I sigh it? I fear it may

Mingle with earthly ether;

To whom shall I sing it? It dwells

In the house of my soul, in fear of harsh ears.

When I look into my inner eyes

I see the shadow of its shadow;

When I touch my fingertips

I feel its vibrations.

The deeds of my hands heed its

Presence as a lake must reflect

The glittering stars; my tears

Reveal it, as bright drops of dew

reveal the secret of a withering rose.

It is a song composed by contemplation,

And published by silence,

And shunned by clamor,

And folded by truth,

And repeated by dreams,

And understood by love,

And hidden by awakening

And sung by the soul.

It is the song of love;

What Cain or Esau could sing it?

It is more fragrant than jasmine;

What voice could enslave it?

It is heart-bound, as a virgin’s secret;

What string could quiver it?

Who dares unite the roar of the sea

And the singing of the nightingale?

Who dares compare the shrieking tempest

To the sigh of an infant?

Who dares speak aloud the words

Intended for the heart to speak?

What human dares sing in voice

The song of God?

~ Kahlill Gibran

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no distance between

All things in this creation exist within you, 

and all things in you exist in creation; 

there is no border between you and the closest things, 

and there is no distance between you and the farthest things, and all things, 

from the lowest to the loftiest, 

from the smallest to the greatest, 

are within you as equal things. 

In one atom are found all the elements of the earth; 

in one motion of the mind are found the motions of all the laws of existence; 

in one drop of water are found the secrets of all the endless oceans; 

in one aspect of you are found all the aspects of existence.

 ~ Kahlil Gibran

art by the author

All that spirits desire, spirits attain. 

~ Kahlil Gibran

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knowledge and half-knowledge

Four frogs sat upon a log that lay floating on the edge of a river.  Suddenly the log was caught by the current and swept slowly down the stream.  The frogs were delighted and absorbed, for never before had they sailed.

At length the first frog spoke, and said, "This is indeed a most marvelous log.  It moves as if alive.  No such log was ever known before."

Then the second frog spoke, and said, "Nay, my friend, the log is like other logs, and does not move.  It is the river, that is walking to the sea, and carries us and the log with it."

And the third frog spoke, and said, " It is neither the log nor the river that moves.  The moving is in our thinking.  For without thought nothing moves."

And the three frogs began to wrangle about what was really moving.  The quarrel grew hotter and louder, but they could not agree.

Then they turned to the fourth frog, who up to this time had been listening attentively but holding his peace, and they asked his opinion.

And the fourth frog said, "Each of you is right, and none of you is wrong.  The moving is in the log and the water and our thinking also."

And the three frogs became very angry, for none of them was willing to admit that his was not the whole truth, and that the other two were not wholly wrong.

Then the strange thing happened.  The three frogs got together and pushed the fourth frog off the log into the river.

~ Kahlil Gibran

from Poems, Parables and Drawings

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beyond my solitude

Beyond my solitude is another solitude, 
and to him who dwells therein, 
my aloneness is a crowded market-place and my silence a confusion of sounds.

Too young am I and too restless to seek that above-solitude.  
The voices of yonder valley still hold my ears, 
and its shadows bar my way and I cannot go.

Beyond these hills is a grove of enchantment and to him who dwells therein, 
my peace is but a whirlwind and my enchantment an illusion.

To young am I and too riotous to seek that sacred grove.  
The taste of blood is clinging in my mouth, 
and the bow and the arrows of my fathers yet linger in my hand and I cannot go.

Beyond this burdened self lives my freer self; and to him, 
my dreams are a battle fought in twilight and my desires, the rattling of bones.

Too young am I and too outraged to be my freer self.

And how shall I become my freer self unless I slay my burdened selves, 
or unless all men become free?

How shall my leaves fly singing upon the wind unless my roots shall wither in the dark?

How shall the eagle in me soar against the sun until my fledglings leave the nest 
which I with my own beak have built for them?

~ Kahlil Gibran

from Poems, Parables and Drawings

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the weather-cock

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Said the weather-cock to the wind, "How tedious and monotonous you are!

Can you not blow any other way but in my face?

You disturb my God-given stability."

And the wind did not answer.  

It only laughed in space.

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~ Kahlil Gibran

from Poems, Parables and Drawings

art by Barry Squire

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ambition

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Three men met at a tavern table.  One was a weaver, another a carpenter and the third a ploughman. 

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Said the weaver, " I sold a fine linen shroud today for two pieces of gold.  Let us have all the wine we want."

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"And I," said the carpenter, "I sold my best coffin.  We will have a great roast with the wine."

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"I only dug a grave," said the ploughman, "but my patron paid me double.   Let us have honey cakes too."

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And all that evening the tavern was busy,  for they called often for wine and meat and cakes.  And they were merry.

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And the host rubbed his hands and smiled at his wife; for his guests were spending freely.

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When they left the moon was high, and they walked along the road singing and shouting together.

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The host and his wife stood in the tavern door and looked after them.

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"Ah!" said the wife, "these gentlemen!  So freehanded and so gay!  If only they could bring us such luck every day!  Then our son need not be a tavern-keeper and work so hard.  We could educate him, and he could become a priest."

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~ Kahlil Gibran

from Poems, Parables, and Drawings

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the seven selves

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In the stillest hour of the night, as I lay half asleep, my seven selves sat together and thus conversed in whispers:

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First Self:

Here, in this madman,  I have dwelt all these years, with naught to do but renew his pain by day and recreate his sorrow by night.  I can bear my fate no longer, and now I rebel. 

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Second Self:

Yours is a better lot than mine, brother, for it is given me to be this madman's joyous self.   I laugh his laughter and sing his happy hours, and with thrice winged feet I dance his brighter thoughts.  It is I that would rebel against my weary existence.  

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Third Self:

And what of me, the love-ridden self, the flaming brand of wild passion and fantastic desires?  It is I the love-sick who would rebel against this madman.

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Fourth Self:

I ,  among you all, am the most miserable, for naught was given me but odious hatred and destructive loathing.  It is I, the tempest-like self, the one born in the black caves of Hell, who would protest against serving this madman.

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Fifth Self:

Nay, it is I, the thinking self, the fanciful self, the self of hunger and thirst, the one doomed to wander without rest in searching of unknown things and things not yet created; it is I, not you, who would rebel.

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Sixth Self:

And I, the working self, the pitiful labourer, who, with patient hands, and longing eyes, fashion the days into images and give the formless elements new and eternal forms - it is I, the solitary one, who would rebel against this restless madman.

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Seventh Self:

How strange that you all would rebel against this man, because each and every one of you has a preordained fate to fulfill.  Ah! Could I but be like one of you, a self with a determined lot!  But I have none, I am the do-nothing self, the one who sits in the dumb, empty nowhere and nowhen, while you are busy re-creating life.  Is it you or I, neighbours, who should rebel?

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When the seventh self thus spake the other six selves looked with pity upon him but said nothing more;  and as the night grew deeper one after the other went to sleep enfolded with a new and happy submission.

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But the seventh self remained watching and gazing at nothingness, which is behind all things.

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~ Kahlil Gibran

from Poems, Parables, and Drawings

art by Pema Rinzin

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in their mist-veiled garden

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In the town where I was born lived a woman and her daughter, who walked in their sleep.

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One night, while silence enfolded the world, the woman and her daughter, walking, yet asleep, met in their mist-veiled garden.

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And the mother spoke, and she said: "At last, at last, my enemy!  You by whom my youth was destroyed - who have built up your life upon the ruins of mine!  Would I could kill you!"

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And the daughter spoke, and she said: "O hateful woman, selfish and old!  Who stand between my freer self and me!  Who would have my life an echo of your own faded life!  Would you were dead!"

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At that moment a cock crew, and both women awoke.  The mother said gently, "Is that you, darling?"  And the daughter answered gently, "Yes, dear."

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~ Kahlil Gibran

from Poems, Parables and Drawings
art by gail kirtz

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God

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In the ancient days, when the first quiver of speech came to my lips, I ascended the holy mountain and spoke unto God, saying, "Master, I am thy slave,  Thy hidden will is my law and I shall obey thee for ever more."  

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But God made no answer, and like a mighty tempest passed away.

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And after a thousand years I ascended the holy mountain and again spoke unto God,

saying, "Creator, I am thy creation.  Out of clay hast thou fashioned me and to thee I owe mine all."

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And God made no answer, but like a thousand swift wings passed away.

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And after a thousand years I climbed the holy mountain and spoke unto God again, saying, "Father, I am thy son.  In pity and love thou hast given me birth, and through love and worship I shall inherit thy kingdom."

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And God made no answer, and like the mist that veils the distant hills he passed away.

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And after a thousand years I climbed the sacred mountain and again spoke to God, saying, " my God, my aim and my fulfillment; I am thy yesterday and thou art my tomorrow,  I am thy root in the earth and thou art my flower in the sky, and together we grow before the face of the sun."

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Then God leaned over me, and in my ears whispered words of sweetness, and even as the sea that enfoldeth a brook that runneth down to her, he enfolded me.

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And when I descended to the valleys and the plains God was there also.

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~ Kahlil Gibran

from Poems, Parables and Drawings

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the madman

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You ask me how I became a madman.  It happened thus:  One day, long before many gods were born,  I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen, - the seven masks I have fashioned and worn in seven lives, - I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, "Thieves, thieves, and cursed thieves."

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Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me.

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And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, "He is a madman."  I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time.  For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more.  And as if in a trance I cried, "Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks."

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Thus I became a madman.

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And I have found both freedom and safety in my madness;  the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.

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But let me not be too proud of my safety.  Even a Thief in jail is safe from another thief.

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~ Kahlil Gibran

from The Madman his Parables and Poems

art by the author

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the great longing

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Here I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea.

We three are one in loneliness, and the love that binds us together is deep and strong and strange.  Nay, it is deeper than my sister's depth and stronger than my brother's strength, and stranger than the strangeness of my madness.

Aeons upon aeons have passed since the first grey dawn made us visible to one another; and though we have seen the birth and the fullness and the death of many world, we are still eager and young.

We are  young and eager and yet we are mateless and unvisited, and though we lie in unbroken half embrace, we are uncomforted.  And what comfort is there for controlled desire and unspent passion?  Whence shall come the flaming god to warm my sister's bed?  And what she-torrent shall quench my brother's fire? And who is the woman that shall command my heart?

In the stillness of the night my sister murmurs in her sleep the fire-god's unknown name, and my brother call afar upon the cool and distant goddess.  But upon whom I call in my sleep I know not

Here I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea.  We three are one in loneliness, and the love that binds us together is deep and strong and strange.

~ Kahlil Gibran

from Poems, Parables and Drawings

drawing by the author

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of Beauty

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And a poet said, Speak to us of Beauty.

And he answered:

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Where shall you seek beauty, and how 

shall you find her unless she herself be your

way and your guide?

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And how shall you speak of her except 

she be the weaver of your speech?

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The aggrieved and injured say, 

"Beauty is kind and gentle."

...

The tired and weary say,

"Beauty is of soft whisperings

She speaks in our spirit."

...

In winter say the snow-bound,

"She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills."

...

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 enflamed and a soul enchanted.

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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.

...

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.

~ Kahlil Gibran

from The Prophet

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longing for your giant self

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In your longing for your giant self lies your goodness: 

and that longing is in all of you.

But in some of you that longing is a torrent rushing with might to the sea, 

carrying the secrets of the hillsides and the songs of the forest.

And in others it is a flat stream that loses itself in angles and bends 

and lingers before it reaches the shore.

But let not him who longs much say to him who longs little, 

"Wherefore are you slow and halting?"

For the truly good ask not the naked, 

"Where is your garment?" 

nor the houseless, 

"What has befallen your house?" 

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~ Kahlil Gibran

from "The Prophet"

art: "Shantyboats at Sunrise"

by Harlan Hubbard

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On Good and Evil

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And one of the elders of the city said, Speak to us of Good and Evil.

And he answered:

...

You are good when you are one with yourself.

Yet when you are not one with yourself you are not evil.

For a divided house is not a den of thieves; it is only a divided house

And a ship without rudder may wander aimlessly among perilous

isles yet sink not to the bottom.

...

In your longing for your giant self lies your goodness: and that longing is in all of you.
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But in some of you that longing is a torrent rushing with might to the sea, carrying the secrets of the hillsides and the songs of the forest

And in others it is a flat stream that loses itself in angles and bends and lingers before it reaches the shore.

But let not him who longs much say to him who longs little,

"Wherefore are you slow and halting?"

For the truly good ask not the naked, "Where is your garment?"

nor the houseless, "What has befallen your house?"

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~ Kahlil Gibran

(excerpt from: On Good and Evil)

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