Latest / Wisdom of the Ages Library / 05 - The Prophet - Kahlil Gibran
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- Chapter nineteen, on friendship. At a youth said, speak to us of friendship, And he answered, saying, your friend is your needs answered. He is your field, which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. And he is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace. When your friend speaks his mind, you fear not the neigh in your own mind, nor do you withhold the eye. And when he is silent, your heart ceases not to listen to his heart. For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared with joy that is unacclaimed. When you part from your friend, you grieve not for that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain. And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit. For love that seeks aught, but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love, but a net casts forth, and only the unprofitable is caught. And let your best be for your friend. If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood. Also, for what is your friend, that you should seek him with ours to kill, seek him always with ours to live, For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness. And in the sweetness of friendship, let there be lefter and sharing of pleasures. For in the do of little things the heart finds its mourning and is refreshed. Chapter twenty on talking. And then a scholar said, speak of talking, And he answered, saying, you talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts, and when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart. You live in your lips. And sound is a diversion and a pastime. And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered. For thought is a bird of space, that, in a cage of words, may indeed unfold its wings, but cannot fly. There are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone. The silence of a loneness reveals to their eyes their naked selves, and they would escape. And there are those who talk, and, without knowledge or forethought, reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand. And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words. In the bosom of such as these, the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence. When you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market place, Let the spirit in you move your lips and direct your tongue. Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear, for his soul will keep the truth of your heart, as the taste of the wine is remembered, when the color is forgotten and the vessel is no more. Chapter twenty one, on time. And an astronomer said, Master, what of time? And he answered, you would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable. You would adjust your conduct, and even direct the course of your spirit according to hours and seasons of time. You would make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing. Yet the timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness, and knows that yesterday is but to day's memory, and tomorrow is to day's dream. And that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space. Who among you does not feel that his power to love is boundless? And yet who does not feel that very love, though boundless encompassed within the center of his being, and moving not from love thought to love thought, nor from love deeds to other love deeds. And is not time, even as love is undivided and paceless. But if in your thought you must measure time into seasons, let each season encircle all the other seasons. And let today embrace the past with remembrance, and the future with longing. Chapter twenty two on good and Evil. And one of the elders of the city said, speak to us of good and evil? And he answered, of the good in you, I can speak, but not of the evil. For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst. Verily, when good is hungry, it seeks food even in dark caves, And when it thirsts, it drinks even of dead waters. 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. You are good when you strive to give of yourself. Yet you are not evil when you seek gain for you, for when you strive for gain, you are but a root that clings to the earth and sucks at her breast. Surely the fruit cannot say to the root, be like me, ripe and full in ever giving of your abundance. For to the fruit, giving is a need, as receiving is a need to the root. You are good when you are fully awake in your speech. Yet you are not evil when you sleep while your tongue staggers without purpose, and even stumbling speech may strengthen a weak tongue. You are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps. Yet you are not evil when you go thither limping. Even those who limp go not backward. But you, who are strong and swift, see that you do not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness. You are good in countless ways, and you are not evil. When you are not good, you are only loitering and sluggard. Pity that the stags cannot teach swiftness to the turtles 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 is befallen your house? Chapter twenty three, on prayer. Then the priestess said, speak to us of prayer. And he answered, saying, you pray in your distress and in your need. Would that you might pray also in the fullness of your joy and in your days of abundance. For what is prayer but the expansion of yourself into the living ether. And if it is for your comfort to pour your darkness into space, it is also for your delight to pour forth the dawning of your heart. And if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping, until you shall come laughing. When you pray, you rise to meet in the air, those who are praying at that very hour, and whom save in prayer you may not meet. Therefore, let your visit to that Temple invisible be for naught but ecstasy and sweet communion. For if you should enter the temple for no other purpose than asking, you shall not receive. And if you should enter into it to humble yourself, you shall not be lifted. Or even if you should enter into it to beg for the good of others, you shall not be heard. It is enough that you enter the temple invisible. I cannot teach you how to pray in words. God listens not to your words, save when He himself utters them through your lips. And I cannot teach you the prayer of the seas and the forests and the mountains. But you, who are born of the mountains and the forests and the seas, can find their prayer in your heart. And if you but listen in the stillness of the night, you shall hear them saying, in silence, our God, who art our wing itself, it is Thy will in us that willeth, It is Thy desire in us that desireth. It is Thy urge in us that would turn our knights which are Thine, into days which are thine. Also we cannot ask THEE for aught, For thou knowest our needs before they are born. In us, Thou art our need, and in giving us more of thyself, thou givest us all. End of section