The Prophet (Kahlil Gibran)
The Coming of the Ship
The Chosen and Beloved El-Mustafa, the Dawn of our time, had waited for twelve years in the city of Ophthalmos for his ship to come and welcome him back to the island of his birth.
In the twelfth year of his life, on the seventh day of the month of Yilu, he climbed the hillock, which was not separated by walls, and looked out over the sea; he saw his ship coming through the mist.
His heart opened, and his joy flowed far beyond the sea. He closed his eyes lightly and prayed in the silence of his soul.
As he stepped down from the hillock, but a wave of sadness came over him. He thought to himself,
How can I say goodbye without sorrow and in peace? No, I cannot leave this city without any mental trauma.
How many long days of agony have I passed and how many long nights of solitude have I endured within the walls of this city; and who can leave his agony and solitude without attachment?
I have scattered so many fragments of my heart in these streets and lanes, and I have had so many sons of hope walking naked through these hills and mountains, that I could not abandon them without load and without pain.
Today, instead of removing a smock, I tear a layer of skin with my own hands.
I leave behind me not a thought. Rather, it is a heart sweetened by hunger.
But I couldn't linger any longer.
The sea that calls to all beckons me, and I must board the boat.
For though time burns in the night, to stay means to freeze, to be forbidden smoke in the cast.
How I wish to bring everything here with me, but how can I?
The sound cannot take away the lips that gave it wings, and it is left to seek the sky alone.
The eagle does not carry the nest and the harvest, so that he can fly alone over the sun.
He traveled to the foot of the mountain, and facing the sea once more, he saw his sailing ship approaching the harbor, with sailors from his homeland at its prow.
So his soul called out to them, and said:
Sons of my ancient mother, you sturdy men of the tide,
How many times have you floated in my dreams. Now you sail into my wakefulness, which is my deeper dream.
I am ready to sail, and my hope waits with the hoisted sail for the wind to rise.
I just want to take another breath of this serenity and look back to cast a deeper glance.
Then I will join you as a sailor among sailors.
And you, vast sea, sleepless mother,
river and stream push one's peace and freedom,
when this stream rounds another bend, and the forest clearing whispers a warm, partial whisper,
I will join you in your loving embrace, as drops of infinite water merge into the infinite sea.
As he walked, he saw from afar men and women leaving their farms and orchards and flocking to the city gates.
He heard them calling his name and running through the fields to tell of the arrival of the sailing ship.
He asked himself:
Is it possible that the moment of separation is also the hour of reunion?
Is my night actually my dawn?
What can I give to those who put down their plows and stop their brewing wheels?
Is it to use my heart as a tree and pick the fruit to share with them?
Or should I turn my longing into a spring and fill their cups?
Is it a harp that the strongest hand can pluck, or is it a flute that their breath can pass
through my body?
I am a seeker of loneliness, and what treasure have I found in my loneliness that I may confidently give?
If this is the day of harvest, in what forgotten season and in what land did I sow my seed?
If this moment is indeed the time for me to raise a bright light, it is not the fireworks I have lit that burn in that light.
The lamp I lift is empty and obscure,
and the Keeper of the Night will add oil to it and light the fire.
He poured this out in words, but there were many more unspoken words hidden in his heart. For he himself could not express his deeper secrets.
He returned to the city and the people greeted him. They called out to him in unison.
The old men of the city came forward and said:
Please do not leave us like this.
You have been our noon in the dusk, and your youth has guided our dreams into dreams.
You are not a stranger in our midst or a passerby, you are our son, the one we sincerely love.
Let not our eyes be soured by the longing to see your face.
The priests, male and female, said to him:
Please do not now let the waves part us, and make the years you have spent among us a memory.
You seem like an essence walking among us, and your figure is a light reflected in our faces.
We have loved you so. But our love was once whispered and hidden by a veil.
Now she calls out to you, and faces you openly and unadorned.
Love does not know its depth until the moment of separation.
The others came forward to detain him. But he made no reply. He bowed his head in silence, and those around him saw tears fall to his chest.
He walked with everyone to the square in front of the sanctuary.
A woman named Elmetra welcomed him out of the sanctuary. She was a prophetess.
He looked at her with immense tenderness, for it was she who had followed him and believed in him from the first day he arrived in the city.
She congratulated him and said:
Prophet of God, in search of the Ultimate, you have long been calculating the course of your ship,
and now that the ship has arrived, you must depart.
You yearn so y for the land of your memories and the place of your greater hopes; our love will not hold you, nor can our needs detain you.
But speak to us before you go, and speak truth for us.
We will pass it on to our children and grandchildren, who will pass it on to their descendants, so that it will never be annihilated.
You have scrutinized our days in solitude, and listened in wakefulness to the weeping and laughter of our dreams.
So now disclose ourselves to us, and tell us all that thou knowest between life and death.
He answered:
O people of the city of Ophalis, what can I say but what is stirring in your souls at this moment!
Love
So Elmetra said, speak to us of love.
He looked up at the crowd, which was silent. In a loud voice he said:
When Love waves his hand and calls you, follow him,
though his path is hard and treacherous.
When he spreads his wings and embraces you, follow him,
though the sharp edges of his wings may hurt you.
Trust him when he speaks to you,
though his voice will shatter your dreams like the wind that sweeps the flowers from the garden.
Though love may crown you, it can also crucify you. Though he help you to grow, he will cut you down and mow you down.
He will climb to your heights and caress your tenderest branches that tremble in the sunlight,
and he will descend to your roots and shake your clinging to the earth.
Love gathers you together like bundles of wheat.
He threshes you and makes you naked.
He sifts you and frees you from the bran.
He grinds you until you are clean.
He kneads you until you are meek.
Afterward, he gives you up to the sacred fire, so that you may become the holy bread of God's holy feast.
All this is done for you by Love, so that perhaps you may realize the secrets of your heart and thus become a small part of the Heart of Life.
But if out of fear you seek only the peace and beauty of love and the joy of love,
then you had better cover your nakedness, and leave the threshing floor of love,
and step into the world without seasons, where you will rejoice, but not in laughter, and where you will weep, but not in the shedding of tears.
Love has nothing to give but itself, nothing to take but itself.
Love does not possess, nor is it possessed;
for love is enough for itself.
When you love, you should not tax 'God in me', but say 'I am in God'.
Don't think you can direct love, because love, if he thinks you are worthy, will direct you.
Love seeks nothing else but fulfillment.
But if you love, and must desire, then let these be your desires:
Melt into a rushing stream, and sing your own clear song in the night.
Experience the pain of too much tenderness.
Hurt by my own experience of love.
Bleeding willingly.
Early in the morning, wake up with a winged heart, thankful for another love-filled day;
Lunch break, contemplate the intoxication of love;
Dusk, return home with gratitude;
Before you go to bed, say a prayer for the Beloved of your heart, and recite a hymn between your lips.
Marriage
Elmetra spoke again and asked, And what is marriage like, Master?
He replied:
You are born together, and you will be together forever.
And you shall be together when the white plume of death dispels your days.
Truly, you are always together, even in the memory of God.
But in gathering and keeping you shall keep space,
and let the winds of the air fly between you.
Love one another, but let not love be a bondage;
Let love be the sea that runs between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cups, but do not take drink from only one cup.
Give each other bread, but do not take from only one loaf.
Sing and dance together, but keep each separate.
The strings of the lute are also separate from one another, even though they vibrate to the same music.
Dedicate your hearts, but do not let each other keep them.
For only the hand of life can receive your hearts.
Stand together, but do not come too close;
For the pillars of the temple are always separate from each other,
Nor do the oak and the pine grow in each other's shadow.
Children
A woman with a baby in her arms said, Tell us about the children.
He said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of life's thirst for itself.
They come through you, but not because of you.
Though they are with you, they are not of you.
You may give them your love, but not your thoughts,
for they have thoughts of their own.
You may build houses to shelter their bodies, but not their minds,
for their minds dwell in the House of Tomorrow, which you have no business visiting even in dreams.
You may endeavor to imitate them, but do not attempt to make them like you.
For life does not travel backwards, nor does it linger in the past.
You are the bow, and your children are the arrows of life that are shot.
That shooter takes aim at the target on the infinite journey, and bends you with force to make his arrow fly swiftly and far.
Let thee bend gladly in the shooter's hand;
For he loves both the swift arrow and the steady bow.
Giving
A rich man next said, Speak for us of giving.
He answered:
When you give out your possessions, your giving is insignificant.
When you give of yourselves, that is true giving.
For are not your possessions things that you possess and protect for fear that you may need them tomorrow?
And what will tomorrow, what will tomorrow bring to the dog who is careful to follow the pilgrims and who buries his bones in the desert sand?
What do you need but need itself?
When the well is full, is not your fear of thirst an unquenchable thirst?
Some give only a little some of their possessions,---- they give for recognition, and their hidden desires keep their gifts from becoming beautiful.
There are others who have little and give all.
They believe in life and its gifts, and their lockers are never empty.
There are those who give happily, and that happiness is their reward.
Some give with pain, and that pain is their baptism.
There are others who give without pain, and not in search of pleasure, or of charity;
They give as the myrtle on the other side of the valley gives its fragrance.
God teaches through the hands of these men, and smiles upon the earth through their eyes.
It is good to give when you are prayed for, but the higher state is to give through discernment, before someone asks.
For the generous person, it is a deeper joy to find someone who will gladly accept a gift than it is to give.
What can you not give up?
One day all that you have will be left with others;
so give now, and keep the time of giving for yourself, not for your heirs.
You have often said, "I will relieve myself, but only for the worthy."
The trees in your orchards do not say this, nor do the sheep in your meadows.
Because of giving, they survive, and refusal brings only perdition.
One who is worthy of his own day and night is undoubtedly worthy of everything else from you.
And he who is worthy to take a drink from the sea of life is worthy to draw a cup full of water from your streams.
What virtue can outweigh accepted courage, trust, or even compassion?
Who are you that people deserve to have their chests ripped open and their veils of pride removed, so that you can see their naked worth and their blameless dignity?
Examine yourself first if you are worthy of being a giver, an instrument of giving.
For all is a gift of life to life ---- and you, who see yourself as a giver, are but a witness.
As for you who are the beneficiaries ---- you are indeed all beneficiaries one need not carry the burden of gratitude lest you put chains on yourself and even on the giver.
It is better to fly with the giver by virtue of the gift as with a pair of wings,
for to be burdened with indebtedness is to doubt the generosity of the giver, who is the mother of the good earth, and the father of the good God.
Diet
Then an old man, the innkeeper, said, Talk to us about diet.
And he said,
While I wish you to live by the fragrance of the earth, as the plants of the air live by the sun.
But since you are obliged to kill for food, and snatch from the mouths of newborn lambs and calves the milk of their mothers in order to quench their thirst, let this be a form of worship.
Establish an altar on your counters, and let the innocence of the forests and plains be sacrificed on this altar for the greater innocence of mankind.
When you slaughter a beast, you shall say to it in your hearts,
"The same power that slaughters you now will slaughter me, and I likewise will be devoured.
"For the same law that delivered you into my hands will deliver me into the hands of the stronger.
"Your blood and mine are but sap to nourish the tree of heaven."
When you chew an apple with your teeth, you shall say to it in your heart,
"Your seed shall live within me,
"Your buds of tomorrow shall open in my heart,
"Your fragrance blends into my breath,
"And you and I shall live each season with joy ****."
In the fall, as you gather the grapes of the garden to make mellow wine, say in your hearts,
"I too am a vineyard, and my fruit will be picked and made,
"and I too will be like a new wine, pouring into an eternal vessel."
Winter, as you pour the wine, sing a song in your heart for each cup;
Let the song recall the fall, the vineyard, and the making of the wine.
Labor
A farmer said, speak for us of labor.
He replied,
You labor, so that you may be in tune with the earth and its spirit.
You are languid, and you become a stranger to the seasons, and lag behind the ranks of life, which are marching on to eternity with solemn grandeur and proud obedience.
When you labor you are a flute, and the whispers of time are made music through your heart.
Which of you would like to be a reed, silent when all things sing in chorus?
It has always been said to you that work is a curse, that labor is a misfortune.
But I say to you: when you work, you realize a part of the earth's longest dream, which was assigned to you at the very beginning of the dream's formation.
When you work hard, you truly love life, and when you love life in your work, you know the deepest secrets of life.
However, if in your pain you call birth a torment, and the maintenance of physical existence a curse written on your foreheads, then I answer that only the sweat of your foreheads can wash away those words.
Also there are always those who say to you that life is dark, and when you are weary you repeat the words of the weary
And I say that life is indeed dark unless there is longing,
All longing is blind unless there is knowledge,
All knowledge is in vain unless there is work,
All work is empty unless there is love
When you work with love, you will be one with yourselves, with others, and with God.
What is working with love?
It is to weave and sew with the threads of your heart, as if your Beloved would wear the garment.
It is to build a house with passion, as if your beloved will live in it.
It is to sow with affection and reap with joy, as if your beloved will taste the fruits.
It is to infuse all your productions with the breath of your soul.
It is realizing that all the blessed departed are watching you from the side.
I have often heard you say in your dreams, eating your words, "He who carves marble and finds the image of his soul in the stone is nobler than the farmer who plows his field.
"He who captures a rainbow and paints the image of a man on a side of fabric with its haze is nobler than the shoemaker."
But I will say, ---- not in sleep, but in extra wakefulness at noon, that the wind is no sweeter when it speaks to a tall oak than when it speaks to a slender blade of grass,
A man is great who can turn the wind's voice into a song, and who can make it even sweeter with his love.
Labor is love that is tangible and visible.
If you are unable to labor with love and are only tired of it, then you might as well give up your labor and sit at the door of the temple and wait for alms to be given to you by those who take pleasure in their labor.
If you bake bread without enthusiasm, the bread you bake will be bitter and only half full.
If you press the grapes with reluctance, then your wrath drips poison into the wine. If you sing as angels, but do not love to sing, then you are clogging the ears of men who hear the voice of day and night.
Joy and Sorrow
A woman said, "Tell us about joy and sorrow.
He replied:
Unmasked, your joys are your sorrows.
From the same well that your tears fill, your joy springs.
Can it not be so?
The deeper the scars that sorrow carves into you, the more joy you can hold.
Is it not that the cups once tempered in the potter's fire are now filled with your grape
wine?
Aren't the trees, once hollowed out by the sharp edge, now the lute
soothing your hearts?
When you rejoice, look deep into your hearts, and you will find that what brings you joy now is the same thing that brought you sorrow then.
When you are sad, look into your hearts again, and you will find that what brings you sadness now is the same thing that brought you joy then.
When you are sad, look into your hearts again, and you will find that what brings you sadness now is the same thing that brought you joy then.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow." And others say, "No, sorrow
is greater than joy."
But I say to you that they are inseparable.
They come together, and when the one is alone with you, remember that the other is resting in
your bed.
And indeed, you are like ~ scales swinging between sorrow and joy.
Only when you are completely empty are you still and balanced.
When the Keeper of the Treasure weighs his gold and silver with you, it will necessarily require your joys and sorrows to rise and fall.
The Apartment
A mason came up to him and said, Talk to us about the Apartment.
He replied:
Build a pavilion in the wilderness with your imagination before you build a house within the walls.
Just as you have a home when the twilight falls, so shall the distant and lonely wanderer in you be.
Your house is your greater shell.
It grows in the sunlight and sleeps in the silence of the night, and that sleep is not a heavenly dream. Are not your dwellings dreamless? Do they not also want to get away from the city and travel to the forest or the mountains?
I would gather your houses into my hands, and scatter them as seed into the forests and meadows.
I would have the valleys to be your streets, and the green paths your alleys, so that you might visit one another through the vineyards, and your garments would smell of the earth.
And yet this is difficult to realize for the time being.
Out of fear, your fathers brought you too close together. This fear will continue for some time, and your walls will continue to separate your families from your land for some time.
Tell me, people of the city of Ophalis, what is in your houses? What do you guard with your closed doors?
Do you have peace, that calm impulse that shows your strength?
Do you have memories, that vaguely glimmering bridge that connects the peaks of the mind?
Do you have beauty, that guide which leads the mind from the place of wood and stone to the holy mountain?
Tell me, may you have this in your abode?
Is it not possible that there is in it only ease and the desire for ease ---- that this sneaky thing enters the house as a guest, but becomes the host, and then the head of the house?
Lamentable, that it should again be transformed into a tamer, and with bait and lash turn your greater desires into dolls.
Though its hands are like silk, its heart is like iron.
It lures you to sleep only to stand by your couch and mock the dignity of your flesh.
It laughs at your sound consciousnesses, and lays them down like fragile vessels under the thistle.
It is true that the desire for comfort kills the emotions of the soul, and it laughs at funerals.
But you, sons of the universe, the movement in the stillness, you shall not be trapped, you shall not be tamed.
Your abode should not be an anchor, but a mast.
It shall not be a shining film to cover a wound, but an eyelid to protect the eye.
You should not tuck in your wings to pass through the door of your room, or stoop low to prevent hitting the ceiling, or hold your breath for fear of the walls cracking and collapsing.
You should not dwell in tombs built by the dead for the living.
Even if your mansions are gilded, they cannot hide your secrets and conceal your desires.
For your inner infinity dwells in the palace of heaven, which has the morning mist as its door and the song and silence of the night as its window.
The Clothes
A weaver said, Tell us about the clothes.
He replied:
Your clothes cover many of your beauties, but they do not cover ugliness.
Although you seek the freedom of privacy by means of your clothes, what you find are ties and bonds
.
May you welcome the sun and the breeze with your skin and not with your clothes,
for in the sun there is the breath of life, and in the wind there are the hands of life.
Some of you say, "It is the north wind that weaves the clothes we wear."
I say, "Yes, indeed, it is the north wind,
but it uses shyness as its loom, and frail tendons as its yarn.
Once it has done its work, it laughs in the forest.
Don't forget that shyness was originally a shield against unclean eyes.
If there were no evil apathy, what could shyness be but a spiritual bondage and dirt?
Don't forget, too, that the earth delights in the bare feet of the senses, and the wind longs to play with your hair.
Buying and Selling
A merchant said, Tell us about buying and selling.
He replied,
The earth is fruitful for you; if you do not understand it, do not hold your hands full.
You should experience wealth and contentment in the exchange of the earth's gifts.
But such an exchange, if it is not made in the kindness and fairness of love, will lead to insatiable greed for some and hunger for others.
In the marketplace, you who toil in the sea, in the field, and in the orchard meet with the weaver, the potter, and the gatherer of spices ......
Then ask the Sovereign Spirit of the earth to come to you, and to sanctify to you the weights and measures and the laws of valuation.
Do not allow those who come empty-handed to join you in your dealings; they will exchange your labor for empty words.
Say to these men,
"Come with us to the plow, or with our brothers to the sea to cast nets;
for the land and the sea are as generous to you as they are to us."
If singers, dancers and pipers also come to the marketplace, ---- please buy their gifts likewise.
For they also gather fruit and frankincense, and what they bring, though woven of dreams, is food and clothing for your souls.
When you leave the marketplace, scrutinize whether anyone has returned empty-handed.
For the Sovereign Spirit of the Earth will not rest in the winds until the needs of even the lowliest among you are met.