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06 - The Prophet - Kahlil Gibran · Wisdom of the Ages Library

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  Chapter twenty four, on pleasure. Then a hermit who visited the city once
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  a year came forth and said, speak to us of pleasure. And he
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  answered, saying, pleasure is a freedom song, but it is not freedom.
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  It is the blossoming of your desires, but it is not their fruit.
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  It is a depth calling unto a height, but it is not the
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  deep nor the high. It is the caged taking wing, but it is
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  not space encompassed. I, in very truth, pleasure is a freedom song,
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  and I fain would have you sing it with fullness of heart. Yet
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  I would not have you lose your hearts in the singing. Some of your
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  youth seek pleasure as if it were all, and they are judged and rebuked.
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  I would not judge nor rebuke them. I would have them, for
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  they shall find pleasure, but not her alone. Seven are her sisters,
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  and the least of them is more beautiful than pleasure. Have you not heard
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  of the man who was digging in the earth for roots and found a treasure?
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  And some of your elders remember pleasures with regret, like wrongs committed in
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  drunkenness. But regret is they be clouding of the mind, and not as
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  chastisement. They should remember their pleasures with gratitude, as they would the harvest
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  of a summer. Yet if it comforts them to regret, let them be
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  comforted. And there are among you those who are neither young to seek nor
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  old to remember, And in their fear of seeking and remembering, they shun
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  all pleasures, lest they neglect the spirit or offend against it. But even
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  in their foregoing is their pleasure. And thus they too find a treasure,
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  though they dig for roots with quivering hands. But tell me who is he
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  that can offend the spirit? Shall the nightingale offend the stillness of the night,
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  or the firefly the stars? And shall your flame or your smoke burden
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  the wind? Think you, the spirit is the still pool, which you
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  can trouble with a staff. Oftentimes, in denying your self pleasure, you
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  do but store the desire in the recesses of your being. Who knows,
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  but that which seems omitted today waits for tomorrow. Even your body knows its
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  heritage and its rightful need, and will not be deceived. And your body
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  is the harp of your soul, and it is yours to bring forth sweet
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  music from it. Or confused sounds. And now you ask in your heart,
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  how shall we distinguish that which is good in pleasure from that which is
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  not good. Go to your fields and your gardens, and you shall learn
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  that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower.
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  But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the
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  bee. For to the bee, a flower is a fountain of life,
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  and to the flower, a bee is a messenger of love. And to
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  both be and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is in need
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  and an ecstasy. People of Orpheles, be in your pleasures like the flowers
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  and the bees. Chapter twenty five on beauty, And a poet said,
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  speak to us of beauty. And he answered, where shall you seek beauty?
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  And how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your
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  guide? And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of
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  your speech. The aggrieved and the injured say, beauty is kind and gentle,
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  like a young mother, half shy of her own glory, she walks
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  among us. And the passionate say, nay, beauty is a thing of
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  might and dread, like the tempest. She shakes the earth beneath us and
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  the sky above us. The tired and the weary say, Beauty is of
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  soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit. Her voice shields to our silences,
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  like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow. But the
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  restless say, we have heard her shouting among the mountains, and with her
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  cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings, and the
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  roaring of lions. At night, the watchmen of the city say, Beauty
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  shall rise with a dawn from the east. And at noontide, the toilers
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  and the wayfarer say, we have seen her leaning over the earth from the
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  windows of the sunset. In winter, say the snow bound, she shall
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  come with the spring leaping upon the hills, and in the summer heat.
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  The reapers say, we have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and
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  we saw a drift of snow in her hair. All these things have you
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  said of beauty. Yet in truth you spoke not of her, but of
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  needs unsatisfied. And beauty is not in need but an ecstasy. It is
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  not a mouth thirsting, nor an empty hand stretched forth, but rather a
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  heart inflamed, and a soul enchanted. It is not the image you would
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  see, nor the song you would hear, but rather an image you see
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  though you close your eyes, and a song you hear though you shut your
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  ears. It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing
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  attached to a claw, but rather a garden forever in bloom, and a
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  flock of angels forever in flight, People of orphiles. Beauty is life when
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  life unveils her holy face. But you are life, and you are the
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  veil. Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. But you are
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  eternity, and you are the mirror. Chapter twenty six on religion. And
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  an old priest said, speak to us of religion. And he said,
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  have I spoken this day of aught? Else is not religion and all deeds
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  and all reflection, and that which is neither deed nor reflection, but a
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  wonder and a surprise ever springing in the soul, even while the hands hew
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  the stone or tend the loom. Who can separate his faith from his actions,
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  or his belief from his occupations, Who can spread his hours before him?
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  Saying this for God, and this for myself, this for my soul,
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  and this other for my body. All your hours are wings that be
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  through space from self to self. He who wears his morality, but as
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  his best garment were better naked, the wind and the sun will tear no
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  holes in his skin. And he who defines his conduct by ethics imprisons his
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  song bird in a cage. The freest song comes not through bars and wires.
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  And he to whom worshiping is a window to open but also to shut,
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  has not yet visited the house of his soul, whose windows are from
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  dawn to dawn. Your daily life is your temple and your religion. Whenever
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  you enter into it, take with you your all. Take the plow and
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  the forge, and the mallet and the lute, the things you have fashion
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  and necessity, or for delight. For in reverie you cannot rise above your
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  achievements, nor fall lower than your failures. And take with you all men,
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  for in adoration you cannot fly higher than their hopes, nor humble yourself
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  lower than their despair. And if you would know God be not therefore a
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  solver of riddles. Rather look about you, and you will see him playing
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  with your children. And look into space. You shall see him walking in
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  the cloud, outstretching his arms in the lightning, and descending in rain.
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  You shall see him smiling in flowers, then rising and waving his hands in
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  trees. Chapter twenty seven on death. And then Almitra spoke, saying,
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  we would ask now of death. And he said, you would know the
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  secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in
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  the heart of life. The owl, whose night bound eyes are blind unto
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  the day, cannot unveil the mystery of light. If you would indeed behold
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  the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
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  For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are
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  one. In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of
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  the beyond, And like sea dreaming beneath the snow, your heart dreams of
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  spring. Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
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  Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands
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  before the King, whose hand is to be laid upon him in honor?
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  Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark
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  of the king. Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling? For
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  what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt
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  into the sun. And what is it to seize breathing but to free the
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  breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God
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  unencumbered. Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
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  And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to
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  climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly
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  dance. And now it was evening, and Almitra the cirrus, said,
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  bless it be this day and this place and your spirit that is spoken.
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  And he answered, was it I who spoke? Was I not also a
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  listener? End of section