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.
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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.
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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.
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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.”
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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.