The Prophet - Kahlil Gibran

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The coming of the ship. Al Mustapha, the Chosen and
the Beloved, who was a dawn unto his own day,
had waited twelve years in the city of Orpheles for
his ship that was to return and bear him back
to the isle of his birth. And in the twelfth year,
on the seventh day of Eolul, the month of reaping,

(00:22):
he climbed the hill without the city walls, and looked seaward,
and he beheld his ship coming with the mist. Then
the gates of his heart were flung open, and his
joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his
eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul. But
as he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him,

(00:44):
and he thought in his heart, how shall I go
in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound
in the spirit? Shall I leave this city? Long were
the days of pain I have spent within its walls,
and long were the nights of a lonness. And who
can depart from his pain and his loneness without regret?

(01:05):
Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in
these streets, And too many are the children of my
longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot
withdraw from them without a burden and an ache. It
is not a garment I cast off this day, but
a skin that I tear with my own hands. Nor

(01:25):
is it a thought I leave behind me, but a
heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst. Yet I
cannot tarry longer. The sea that calls all things unto
her calls me, and I must embark. For to stay
though the hours burn in the night is to freeze
and crystallize, and be bound in a mold. Fain would

(01:48):
I take with me all that is here? But how
shall I A voice cannot carry the tongue and the
lips that gave it wings? Alone? Must it seek the ether?
And alone, and without his nest shall the eagle fly
across the sun? Now, when he reached the foot of
the hill, he turned again towards the sea, and he

(02:10):
saw his ship approaching the harbor, and upon her prow
the mariners, the men of his own land, and his
soul cried out to them, and he said, sons of
my ancient mother, you riders of the tides, how often
have you sailed in my dreams? And now you come
in my awakening, which is my deeper dream. Ready am

(02:31):
I to go? And my eagerness, with sails full set,
awaits the wind. Only another breath while I breathe in
this still air, Only another loving look cast backward. And
then I shall stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers,
and you, vast sea, sleepless mother, who alone are peace
and freedom. To the river and the stream. Only another winding.

(02:55):
Will this stream make only another murmur in this glade.
And then and I shall come to you, a boundless
drop to a boundless ocean. And as he walked, he
saw from afar men and women leaving their fields and
their vineyards, and hastening towards the city gates. And he
heard their voices calling his name, and shouting from field

(03:17):
to field, telling one another of the coming of his ship.
And he said to himself, shall the day of parting
be the day of gathering? And shall it be said
that my eve was in truth my dawn. And what
shall I give unto him who has left his plow
in mid furrow, or to him who has stopped the
wheel of his wine press. Shall my heart become a tree,

(03:41):
heavy laden with fruit, that I may gather and give
unto them, And shall my desires flow like a fountain
that I may fill their cups? Am I? A harp
that the hand of the Mighty may touch me, or
a flute that his breath may pass through me. A
seeker of silences? Am I? And what treasure have I
found in silences? That I may dispense with confidence? If

(04:05):
this is my day of harvest, in what fields have
I sowed the seed? And in what unremembered seasons? If
this indeed be the hour in which I lift up
my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn
therein empty and dark. Shall I raise my lantern, and
the guardian of the night shall fill it with oil,

(04:26):
and he shall light it. Also these things he said
in words, but much in his heart remained unset, for
he himself could not speak his deeper secret. And when
he entered into the city, all the people came to
meet him, and they were crying out to him as
with one voice. And the elders of the city stood

(04:47):
forth and said, go not yet away from us. A
noontide have you bid in our twilight? And your youth
has given us dreams to dream. No stranger are you
among us, nor a guest but our son and our
dearly beloved, suffer not yet our eyes to hunger for
your face. And the priests and the priestesses said unto him,

(05:14):
let not the waves of the sea separate us now,
and the years you have spent in our midst become
a memory. You have walked among us a spirit, and
your shadow has been a light upon our faces. Much
have we loved you, But speechless was our love, And
with veils has it been veiled? Yet? Now what a

(05:35):
cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you?
And ever has it been? That love knows not its
own depth until the hour of separation. And others came
also and entreated him, But he answered them not. He
only bent his head, and those who stood near saw
his tears falling upon his breast. And he and the

(05:58):
people proceeded to towards the great square before the temple,
and there came out of the sanctuary a woman whose
name was Almetra, and she was a cirus. And he
looked upon her with exceeding tenderness, for it was she
who had first sought and believed in him, when he
had been but a day in their city. And she

(06:20):
hailed him, saying, Prophet of God, in quest of the
uttermost long have you searched the distances for your ship,
And now your ship has come, and you must needs go.
Deep is your longing for the land of your memories
and the dwelling place of your greater desires. And our

(06:41):
love could not bind you, nor our needs hold you.
Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you
speak to us and give us of your truth, and
we will give it unto our children, and they unto
their children, and it shall not perish in your alone.
You have watched with our days, and in your wakefulness

(07:04):
you have listened to the weeping and the laughter of
our sleep. Now, therefore, disclose us to ourselves, and tell
us all that has been shown you, of that which
is between birth and death. And he answered, people of orphiles,
of what can I speak save of that which is

(07:24):
even now moving within your souls. End of chapter one,
Chapter two on love. Then said Almetra, speak to us
of love. And he raised his head and looked upon
the people, and there fell a stillness upon them, And

(07:47):
with a great voice, he said, when love beckons to you,
follow him, though his ways are hard and steep, and
when his wings enfold you. Yield to him, though the
sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when
he speaks to you, believe in him, though his voice
may shatter your dreams. As the north wind lays waste

(08:09):
the garden. For even as love crowns you, so shall
he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth,
So is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends
to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver
in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots
and shake them and their clinging to the earth like

(08:31):
sheaves of corn. He gathers you unto himself. He threshes
you to make you naked. He sifts you to free
you from your husks. He grinds you to whiteness. He
needs you until you are pliant, And then he assigns
you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred
bread for God's sacred feast. All these things shall Love

(08:54):
do unto you, that you may know the secrets of
your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of
life's heart. But if in your fear you would seek
only love's peace and love's pleasure, then it is better
for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out
of love's threshing floor into the seasonless world, where you

(09:14):
shall laugh but not all of your laughter, and weep
but not all of your tears. Love gives naught but itself,
and takes naught but from itself. Love possesses not, nor
would it be possessed. For love is sufficient unto love.
And when you love, you should not say God is

(09:36):
in my heart, but rather I am in the heart
of God, and think not. You can direct the course
of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs
your course. Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs, have desires, let

(09:57):
these be your desires. To melt and be like a
running brook that sings its melody to the night, To
know the pain of too much tenderness, to be wounded
by your own understanding of love, and to bleed willingly
and joyfully. To wake at dawn with a winged heart
and give thanks for another day of loving. To rest

(10:20):
at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy, To return
home at eventide with gratitude, and then to sleep with
a prayer for the beloved. In your heart, and a
song of praise upon your lips. End of chapter chapter
three on marriage. Then Almetri spoke again and said, and

(10:46):
what of marriage? Master? And he answered, saying, you were
born together, and together you shall be forevermore. You shall
be together when the white wings of death scatter your days. Aye,
you shall be together, even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let

(11:08):
the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another,
but make not a bond of love. Let it rather
be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup, but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread, but eat not from
the same loaf. Sing and dance together, and be joyous.

(11:31):
But let each one of you be alone, even as
the strings of a lute are alone, though they quiver
with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into
each other's keeping, for only the hand of life can
contain your hearts. And stand together, yet not too near together,
for the pillars of the temple stand apart, and the

(11:55):
oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
Four on Children and a woman who held a babe
against your bosom, said, speak to us of children, And
he said, your children are not your children. They are
the sons and daughters of life's longing for itself. They

(12:18):
come through you, but not from you. And though they
are with you, yet they belong not to you. You
may give them your love, but not your thoughts, for
they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies,
but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the
house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in

(12:41):
your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but
seek not to make them like you, For life goes
not backward, nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows
from which your children, as living arrows, are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and he bends you with his might, that his arrows

(13:04):
may go swift and far. Let your bending in the
archer's hand be for gladness, for even as he loves
the arrow that flies, so he loves also the bow
that is stable. Chapter five. On giving, then said a
rich man, speak to us of giving. And he answered,

(13:29):
you give but little when you give of your possessions.
It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.
For what are your possessions but things you keep and
guard for fear you may need them tomorrow and tomorrow.
What shall tomorrow bring to the overprudent dog burying bones
in the trackless sand as he follows the pilgrims to

(13:51):
the Holy City? And what is fear of need? But
need itself? Is it not dread of thirst? When you're
well is full the thirst that is unquenchable. There are
those who give little of the much which they have,
and they give it for recognition, and their hidden desire
makes their gifts unwholesome. And there are those who have

(14:15):
little and give it all. These are the believers in
life and the bounty of life, and their coffer is
never empty. There are those who give with joy, and
that joy is their reward. And there are those who
give with pain, and that pain is their baptism. And

(14:36):
there are those who give and know not pain in giving,
nor do they seek joy, nor give with mindfulness of virtue.
They give as in Yonder Valley, the myrtle breathes its
fragrance into space. Through the hands of such as these,
God speaks and from behind their eyes he smiles upon

(14:56):
the earth. It is well to give when they asked,
but it is better to give unasked, through understanding and
to the open handed. The search for one who shall
receive is joy greater than giving, and is there aught.
You would withhold all you have shall some day be given.

(15:18):
Therefore give now, that the season of giving may be
yours and not your inheritors. 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,

(15:42):
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.

(16:06):
And who are you that men should rend their bosom
and unveil their pride, that you may see their worth
naked and their pride unabashed. See first that you yourself
deserve to be a giver and an instrument of giving.
For in truth, it is life that gives unto life.
While you who deem yourself a giver, are but a witness,

(16:31):
and you receivers, and you are all receivers. Assume no
weight of gratitude, lest you lay a yoke upon yourself
and upon him who gives. Rather rise together with the
giver on his gifts as on wings. For to be
overmindful of your debt is to doubt his generosity. Who

(16:52):
has the free hearted Earth for mother, and God for father.
On eating and drinking, Then an old man, a keeper
of an inn, said, speak to us of eating and drinking.
And he said, would that you could live on the

(17:15):
fragrance of the earth, and like an air plant, be
sustained by the light. But since you must kill to eat,
and rob the newly born of its mother's milk to
quench your thirst, let it then be an active worship.
And let your board stand an altar on which the
pure and the innocent of forest and plain are sacrificed

(17:37):
for that which is purer and still more innocent in man,
When you kill a beast, say to him in your heart,
by the same power that slays you, I too am slain,
and I too shall be consumed, for the law that
delivered you into my hand shall deliver me into a

(17:58):
mightier hand. Your blood and my blood is naught but
the sap that feeds the tree of heaven. And when
you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it
in your heart. Your seeds shall live in my body,
and the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart.
And your fragrance shall be my breath. And together we

(18:22):
shall rejoice through all the seasons. And in the autumn,
when you gather the grapes of your vineyards for the
wine press, say in your heart, I too am a vineyard,
and my fruit shall be gathered for the wine press,
And like new wine, I shall be kept in eternal vessels.

(18:43):
And in winter, when you draw the wine, let there
be in your heart a song for each cup. And
let there be in the song a remembrance for the
autumn days, and for the vineyard, and for the wine press.
And on warm work, then a plowman said, speak to

(19:04):
us of work, And he answered, saying, you work, that
you may keep pace with the earth and the soul
of the earth. For to be idle is to become
a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of
life's procession that marches in majesty and proud submission towards
the infinite. When you work, you are a flute through

(19:27):
whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.
Which of you would be a read dumb and silent
when all else sings together in unison always. You have
been told that work is a curse and labor a misfortune.
But I say to you that when you work, you

(19:48):
fulfill a part of Earth's furthest dream a sign to
you when that dream was born. And in keeping yourself
with labor, you are, in truth loving life. And to
love life through labor is to be intimate with life's
inmost secret. But if you and your pain call birth

(20:08):
an affliction, and the support of the flesh a curse
written upon your brow, then I answer that naught but
the sweat of your brow shall wash away that which
is written. You have been told also that life is darkness,
and in your weariness you echo what was said by
the weary, And I say that life is indeed darkness,

(20:31):
save where there is urge, and all urge is blind,
save where there is knowledge, and all knowledge is vain.
Save when there is work, and all work is empty
save when there is love. And when you work with love,
you bind yourself to yourself and to one another and

(20:53):
to God. And what is it to work with love?
It is to weave the cloth with threat breads drawn
from your heart, even as if your beloved were to
wear that cloth. It is to build a house with affection,
even as if you're beloved were to dwell in that house.
It is to sow seeds with tenderness, and reap the

(21:16):
harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to
eat the fruit. It is to charge all things you
fashion with a breath of your own spirit, and to
know that all the blessed dead are standing about you
and watching. Often have I heard you say, as if
speaking in sleep, he who works in marble and finds

(21:40):
the shape of his own soul in the stone is
nobler than he who plows the soil, And he who
seizes the rainbow to lay it on a cloth in
the likeness of man, is more than he who makes
the sandals for our feet. But I say, not in sleep,
but in the overweight makefulness of Noontide, that the wind

(22:02):
speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to
the least of all the blades of grass. And he
alone is great who turns the voice of the wind
into a song made sweeter by his own loving work
is love made visible. And if you cannot work with love,
but only with distaste, it is better that you should

(22:26):
leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple,
and take alms of those who work with joy. For
if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter
bread that feeds but half man's hunger. And if you
grudge the crushing of the grapes, You're grudge distills a
poison in the wine. And if you sing, though as

(22:48):
angels and love not the singing, you muffle man's ears
to the voices of the day and the voices of
the night. End of Section two, Chapter eight, on joy
and sorrow. Then a woman said, speak to us of

(23:10):
joy and sorrow. And he answered, your joy is your
sorrow unmasked. And the self same well from which your
laughter arises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how
else can it be. The deeper that sorrow carves into
your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not

(23:31):
the cup that holds your wine, the very cup that
was burned in the potter's oven, and is not the
lute that soothes your spirit the very wood that was
hollowed with knives. When you are joyous, look deep into
your heart, and you shall find it is only that
which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

(23:52):
When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and
you shall see that, in truth, you are weeping for
that which been your delight. Some of you say joy
is greater than sorrow, and others say, nay, sorrow is
the greater. But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

(24:14):
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you
at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon
your bed. Verily, you are suspended like scales between your
sorrow and your joy. Only when you are empty are
you at standstill and balanced. When the treasure keeper lifts
you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs, must

(24:37):
your joy or your sorrow rise or fall? Chapter nine
on houses. Then a mason came forth and said, speak
to us of houses. And he answered and said, build
of your imaginings a bower in the wilderness, or you

(24:59):
build a house with than the city walls. And even
as you have homecomings in your twilight, so has the
wanderer in you, the ever distant and alone. Your house
is your larger body. It grows in the sun and
sleeps in the stillness of the night. And it is
not dreamless. Does not your house dream and dreaming? Leave

(25:23):
the city for grove or hilltop? Would that I could
gather your houses into my hand, and like a sower
scatter them in forest and meadow. Would the valleys were
your streets, and the green paths your alleys, that you
might seek one another through vineyards, and come with the
fragrance of the earth in your garments. Ah, But these

(25:45):
things are not yet to be. In their fear, your
forefathers gathered you two near together, And that fear shall
endure a little longer. A little longer shall your city
walls separate your hearths from your field? And tell me,
people of Orpheles, what have you in these houses? And

(26:06):
what is it you guard with fastened doors? Have you peace,
the quiet urge that reveals your power? Have you remembrances,
the glimmering arches that span the summits of the mind.
Have you beauty that leads the heart from things fashioned
of wood and stone to the holy mountain. Tell me,

(26:29):
have you these in your houses? Or have you only comfort?
And the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters
the house as a guest, and then becomes a host,
and then a master, ay, and it becomes a tamer,
and with hook and scourge, makes puppets of your larger desires.

(26:51):
Though its hands are silken, its heart is of iron.
It lulls you to sleep, only to stand by your
bed and jeer at the dignity of the flesh. It
makes mock of your sound senses and lays them in
thistle down like fragile vessels. Verily, the lust for comfort
murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning

(27:14):
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

(27:35):
fold your wings that you may pass through doors, nor
bend your heads that they strike not against the 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

(27:59):
for them. That which is boundless in you abides in
the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist,
and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.
Chapter ten on clothes, and the weaver said, speak to

(28:21):
us of clothes, And he answered, your clothes conceal much
of your beauty. Yet they hide not the unbeautiful. And
though you seek in garments the freedom of privacy, you
may find in them a harness and a chain. Would
that you could meet the sun and the wind with
more of your skin and less of your raiment. For

(28:44):
the breath of life is in the sunlight, and the
hand of life is in the wind. Some of you
say it is the north wind who has woven the
clothes we wear, And I say, ay, it was the
north wind. What shame was as loom, and the softening
of the sinews was his thread. And when his work

(29:06):
was done, he laughed in the forest. Forget not that
modesty is for a shield against the eye of the unclean,
And when the unclean shall be no more, what were
modesty but a fetter and a fouling of the mind.
And forget not that the earth delights to feel your
bare feet, and the winds long to play with your hair.

(29:31):
Chapter eleven on buying and selling. And a merchant said,
speak to us of buying and selling. And he answered,
and said to you, the earth yields her fruit, and
you shall not want if you but know how to
fill your hands. It is in exchanging the gifts of

(29:53):
the earth that you shall find abundance and be satisfied.
Yet unless the exchange be in love and kindly justice,
it will but lead some to greed and others to hunger.
When in the market place you toilers of the sea
and fields and vineyards, meet the weavers and the potters,
and the gatherers of spices, invoke, then the master spirit

(30:17):
of the earth, to come into your midst and sanctify
the scales and the reckoning that weighs value against value.
And suffer not the barren handed to take part in
your transactions. Who would sell their words for your labor.
To such men, you should say, come with us to
the field, or go with our brothers to the sea,

(30:40):
and cast your net, for the land and the sea
shall be bountiful to you, even as to us. And
if there come the singers and the dancers and the
flute players, buy of their gifts also, for they too
are gatherers of fruit in frankincense. And that which they burn,

(31:00):
though fashioned of dreams, is raiment and food for your soul.
And before you leave the marketplace, see that no one
has gone his way with empty hands. For the master
spirit of the earth shall not sleep peacefully upon the
wind till the needs of the least of you are satisfied.

(31:22):
Chapter twelve, on crime and punishment. Then one of the
judges of the city stood forth and said, speak to
us of crime and punishment. And he answered, saying, it
is when your spirit goes wandering upon the wind, that
you alone and unguarded, commit a wrong unto others, and

(31:45):
therefore unto yourself. And for that wrong committed must you
knock and wait awhile, unheeded at the gate of the blessed.
Like the ocean is your god self, it remains forever undefiled,
and like the ether it lifts, but the winged, even
like the sun, is your god self. It knows not

(32:07):
the ways of the mole, nor seeks it the holes
of the serpent. But your God Self dwells not alone
in your being. Much in you is still man, and
much in you is not yet man, but a shapeless
pigmy that walks asleep in the mist, searching for its
own awakening. And of the man in you would I

(32:30):
now speak, for it is he, and not your god self,
nor the pigmy in the mist, that knows crime and
the punishment of crime. Oftentimes have I heard you speak
of one who commits a wrong, as though he were
not one of you, but a stranger unto you, and
an intruder upon your world. But I say that, even

(32:53):
as the holy and the righteous cannot rise beyond the highest,
which is in each one of you, so the wicked
in the weak cannot fall lower than the lowest, which
is in you. Also. And as a single leaf turns
not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the whole tree,
so the wrongdoer cannot do wrong without the hidden will

(33:15):
of you. All, like a procession, you walk together towards
your God's Self. You are the way and the wayfarers.
And when one of you falls down. He falls for
those behind him, a caution against the stumbling stone. Aye,
And he falls for those ahead of him, who, though

(33:36):
faster and surer, afoot, yet remove not the stumbling stone.
And this also, though the word lie heavy upon your hearts,
the murdered is not unaccountable for his own murder, and
the robbed is not blameless in being robbed. The righteous
is not innocent of the deeds of the wicked, and

(33:58):
the white handed is not clean in the doings of
the felon. Yea. The guilty is oftentimes the victim of
the injured, and still more often the condemned is the
burden bearer for the guiltless and unblamed. You cannot separate
the just from the unjust, and the good from the wicked.
For they stand together before the face of the sun,

(34:22):
even as the black thread and the white are woven together.
And when the black thread breaks, the weaver shall look
into the whole cloth, and he shall examine the loom. Also,
if any of you would bring to judgment the unfaithful wife,
let him also weigh the heart of her husband in scales,

(34:43):
and measure his soul with measurements. And let him who
would lash the offender, look unto the spirit of the offended.
And if any of you would punish in the name
of righteousness and lay the axe unto the evil tree,
let him see to its rooms roots, and verily he
will find the roots of the good and the bad,

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the fruitful and the fruitless, all entwined together in the
silent heart of the earth. And you, judges, who would
be just? What judgment pronounce you upon him who, though
honest in the flesh, yet is a thief in spirit?
What penalty lay you upon him whose slays in the flesh,

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yet is himself slain in the spirit? And how prosecute
you him who, in action is a deceiver and an oppressor,
yet who also is aggrieved and outraged? And how shall
you punish those whose remorses already greater than their misdeeds?
Is not remorse the justice which is administered by that

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very law which you would fain serve. Yet you cannot
lay remorse upon the innocent, nor lift it from the
heart of the guilty. Unbidden shall it call in the
night that men may wake and gaze upon themselves. And you,
who would understand justice, how shall you unless you look

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upon all deeds in the fullness of light. Only then
shall you know that the erect and the fallen are
but one man standing in twilight between the night of
his pigmy self and the day of his god self,
And that the corner stone of the temple is not
higher than the lowest stone in its foundation. End of

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section Chapter thirteen on laws. Then a lawyer said, but
what of our laws? Master? And he answered, you delight
in laying down laws, yet you delight more in breaking them,
like children playing by the ocean, who build sand towers

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with constancy and then destroy them with laughter. But while
you build your sand towers, the ocean brings more sand
to the shore. And when you destroy them, the ocean
laughs with you fairly. The ocean laughs always with the innocent.
But what of those to whom life is not an ocean,

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and mad made laws are not sand towers, But to
whom life is a rock, and the law a chisel
with which they would carve it in their own likeness?
What of the cripple who hates dancers, What of the
ox who loves his yoke and deems the elk and
deer of the forest, stray and vagrant things? What of

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the old serpent who cannot shed his skin, and calls
all others naked and shameless. And of him who comes
early to the wedding feast, and when overfed and tired,
goes his way, saying that all feasts are violation, and
all feasters lawbreakers. What shall I say of these? Say

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that they too stand in the sunlight, but with their
backs to the sun, they see only their shadows. And
their shadows are their laws. And what is the sun
to them but a casture of shadows? And what is
it to acknowledge the laws but to stoop down and
trace their shadows upon the earth. But you, who walk

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facing the sun, what images drawn on the earth can
hold you? You who travel with the wind? What weather
vane shall direct your course? What man's laws shall bind you?
If you break your yoke but upon no man's prison door?
What laws shall you fear if you dance but stumble

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against no man's iron chains? And who is he that
shall bring you to judgment? If you tear off your garment,
yet leave it in no man's path? People of Orpheles,
you can muffle the drum, and you can loosen the
strings of the lyre. But who shall command and the
skylark not to sing. Chapter fourteen on freedom. And an

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orator said, speak to us of freedom, And he answered,
at the city gate and by your fireside, I have
seen you prostrate yourself and worship your own freedom, even
as slaves humble themselves before a tyrant and praise him
though he slays them. Aye. In the grove of the temple,

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and in the shadow of the citadel, I have seen
the freest among you wear their freedom as a yoke
and a hancuff. And my heart bled within me. For
you can only be free when even the desire of
seeking freedom becomes a harness to you, and when you
cease to speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfillment.

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You shall be free. Indeed, when your days are not
without a care, nor your knights without a want and
a grief, but rather when these things girdle your life,
and yet you rise above them, naked and unbound. And
how shall you rise beyond your days and nights unless
you break the chains which you, at the dawn of

(40:14):
your understanding, have fastened around your noon hour. In truth,
that which you call freedom is the strongest of these chains,
though its links glitter in the sun and dazzle your eyes.
And what is it but fragments of your own self?
You would discard that you may become free. If it

(40:35):
is an unjust law, you would abolish. That law was
written with your own hand, upon your own forehead. You
cannot erase it by burning your law books, nor by
washing the foreheads of your judges, though you pour the
sea upon them. And if it is a despot, you
would dethrone. See first, that is thrown erected within you

(40:58):
is destroyed. For how can a tyrant rule the free
and the proud but for a tyranny and their own freedom,
and a shame in their own pride. And if it
is a care, you would cast off that cart has
been chosen by you, rather than imposed upon you. And
if it is a fear, you would dispel. The seat

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of that fear is in your heart, and not in
the hand of the feared. Verily, all things move within
your being in constant half embrace the desired and the dreaded,
the repugnant, and the cherished, the pursued, and that which
you would escape. These things move within you as lights

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and shadows impairs. They cling, And when the shadow fades
and is no more the light that lingers becomes a
shadow to another light. And thus your freedom, when it
loses its fetters, becomes itself the fetter of a greater freedom.
Chapter fifteen, on reason and Passion. And the Priestess spoke

(42:07):
again and said, speak to us of reason and passion.
And he answered saying, your soul is oftentimes a battlefield
upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against
your passion and your appetite. Would that I could be
the peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the

(42:29):
discord and the rivalry of your elements into oneness and melody.
But how shall I unless you yourselves be also the peacemakers, nay,
the lovers of all your elements. Your reason and your
passion are the rudder and the sales of your seafaring soul.

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If either your saals or your rudder be broken, you
can but toss and drift, or else be held at
a standstill in mid seas. For reason, ruling alone is
a force confining, and passion unattended is a flame that
burns to its own destruction. Therefore, let your soul exalt

(43:10):
your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing,
And let it direct your passion with reason, that your
passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like
the phoenix, rise above its own ashes. I would have
you consider your judgment and your appetite, even as you
would two loved guests in your house. Surely you would

(43:34):
not honor one guest above the other, for he who
is more mindful of one loses the love and the
faith of both. Among the hills, when you sit in
the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace
and serenity of distant fields and meadows, then let your
heart say in silence, God rests in reason. And when

(43:59):
the storm and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and
thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky, then
let your heart say in awe, God moves in passion.
And since you are a breath in God's sphere and
a leaf in God's forest, you too should rest in
reason and move in passion. Chapter sixteen on pain, And

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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
much you know pain, and could you keep your heart

(44:50):
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

(45:14):
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

(45:35):
your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the
potter has moistened with his own sacred tears. Chapter seventeen
on self Knowledge. And a man said, speak to us
of self knowledge. And he answered, saying, your hearts know insightilence,

(46:00):
the secrets of the days and the nights, but your
ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge. You
would know in words that which you have always known
in thought. You would touch with your fingers the naked
body of your dreams, and it is well you should.
The hidden wellspring of your soul must needs rise and

(46:22):
run murmuring to the sea, and the treasure of your
infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes. But let
there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure. And
seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or
sounding line. For self is a sea, boundless and measureless.

(46:44):
Say not I have found the truth, But rather I
have found a truth. Say not I have found the
path of the soul. Say rather I have met the
soul walking upon my path. For the soul walks upon
all paths. The soul walks not upon a line. Neither

(47:06):
does it grow like a reed. The soul unfolds itself
like a lotus of countless pedals. Chapter eighteen on teaching,
Then said a teacher speak to us of teaching. And
he said, no man can reveal to you ought but

(47:28):
that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of
your knowledge. The teacher who walks in the shadow of
the temple among his followers, gives not of his wisdom,
but rather of his faith than his lovingness. If he
is indeed wise, he does not bid you enter the
house of his wisdom, but rather leads you to the

(47:49):
threshold of your own mind. The astronomer may speak to
you of his understanding of space, but he cannot give
you his understanding. The musician may sing to you of
the rhythm which is in all space, but he cannot
give you the ear which arrests the rhythm, nor the
voice that echoes it. And he who is versed in

(48:11):
the science of numbers can tell of the regions of
weight and measure, but he cannot conduct you hither. For
the vision of one man lends not its wings to
another man. And even as each one of you stands
alone in God's knowledge, so must each one of you
be alone in his knowledge of God and in his

(48:32):
understanding of the Earth and of section Chapter nineteen on friendship.
At a youth said, speak to us of friendship, And
he answered, saying, your friend is your needs answered. He

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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 nay and your own mind, nor
do you withhold the eye and when he is silent,

(49:13):
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

(49:34):
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.

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If he must know the ebb of your tied, let
him know its flood. Also, for what is your friend
that you should seek him with hours 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

(50:19):
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,

(50:40):
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 spain, that, in a cage of words,

(51:02):
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

(51:23):
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

(51:46):
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 forgotten and the vessel
is no more. Chapter twenty one on time. And an

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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

(52:32):
watch its flowing. Yet the timeless in you is aware
of life's timelessness, and knows that yesterday is but today's memory,
and tomorrow is today'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

(52:56):
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,

(53:17):
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

(53:38):
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,

(54:02):
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

(54:25):
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 yourself. 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

(54:48):
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

(55:13):
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

(55:35):
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

(55:56):
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

(56:16):
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 befalling your house?

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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 that is prayer but

(57:00):
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

(57:23):
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

(57:47):
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

(58:07):
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

(58:30):
listen in the stillness of the night, you shall hear
them saying, in silence, our God, who art our winged self.
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

(58:55):
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 Chapter twenty four on pleasure. Then a hermit who

(59:16):
visited the city once a year came forth and said,
speak to us of pleasure. And he answered, saying, pleasure
is a freedom song, but it is not freedom. It
is the blossoming of your desires, but it is not
their fruit. It is a depth calling unto a height,

(59:38):
but it is not the deep nor the high. It
is the caged taking wing, but it is not space encompassed. I,
in very truth, pleasure is a freedom song, and I
fain would have you sing it with fullness of heart.
Yet I would not have you lose your hearts in
the singing. Some of your youth seek pleasure as if

(01:00:01):
it were all, and they are judged and rebuked. I
would not judge nor rebuke them. I would have them seek,
for they shall find pleasure, but not her alone. Seven
are her sisters, and the least of them is more
beautiful than pleasure. Have you not heard of the man

(01:00:23):
who was digging in the earth for roots and found
a treasure? And some of your elders remember pleasures with regret,
like wrongs committed in drunkenness. But regret is they be
clouding of the mind, and not as chastisement. They should
remember their pleasures with gratitude, as they would the harvest

(01:00:45):
of a summer. Yet if it comforts them to regret,
let them be comforted. And there are among you those
who are neither young to seek nor old to remember.
And in their fear of seeking and remember bring they
shun all pleasures, lest they neglect the spirit or offend
against it. But even in their foregoing is their pleasure.

(01:01:10):
And thus they too find a treasure, though they dig
for roots with quivering hands. But tell me who is
he that can offend the spirit? Shall the nightingale offend
the stillness of the night, or the firefly the stars?
And shall your flame or your smoke burden the wind?

(01:01:32):
Think you the spirit is a still pool which you
can trouble with a staff. Oftentimes, in denying your self pleasure,
you do but store the desire in the recesses of
your being. Who knows, but that which seems omitted today
waits for tomorrow. Even your body knows its heritage and

(01:01:55):
its rightful need, and will not be deceived. And your
body is the harp of your soul, and it is
yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused sounds.
And now you ask in your heart, how shall we
distinguish that which is good in pleasure from that which

(01:02:16):
is not good? Go to your fields and your gardens
and you shall learn that it is the pleasure of
the bee to gather honey of the flower, But it
is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its
honey to the bee. For to the bee a flower
is a fountain of life, and to the flower, a

(01:02:36):
bee is a messenger of love. And to both bee
and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is
in need and an ecstasy. People of Orpheles, be in
your pleasures like the flowers and the bees. Chapter twenty

(01:02:57):
five on beauty, And a poet said, speak to us
of beauty. And he answered, where shall you seek beauty?
And how shall you find her unless she herself be
your way and your guide? And how shall you speak
of her except she be the weaver of your speech.

(01:03:20):
The aggrieved and the injured say, beauty is kind and gentle,
like a young mother, half shy of her own glory.
She walks among us. And the passionate say, nay, Beauty
is a thing of might and dread. Like the tempest.
She shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us.

(01:03:41):
The tired and the weary say, beauty is of soft whisperings.
She speaks in our spirit her voice shields to our silences,
like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow.
But the restless say, we have heard her shouting among
the mountains, and with her cries came the sound of hoofs,

(01:04:04):
and a beating of wings, and the roaring of lions.
At night, the watchmen of the city say, Beauty shall
rise with a dawn from the east, and at noontimee
the toilers and the wayfarers say we have seen her
leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset.

(01:04:26):
In winter, say the snow bound, she shall come with
the spring leaping upon the hills, and in the summer
heat the reapers say, we have seen her dancing with
the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow
in her hair. All these things have you said of beauty,
Yet in truth you spoke not of her, but of

(01:04:49):
needs unsatisfied. And beauty is not in need but an ecstasy.
It is not a mouth thirsting, nor an empty hand
stretched forth, but rather a heart inflamed and a soul enchanted.
It is not the image you would see, nor the
song you would hear, but rather an image you see,

(01:05:11):
though you close your eyes and a song you hear,
though you shut your ears. It is not the sap
within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,
but rather a garden forever in bloom, and a flock
of angels forever in flight. People of orphiles. Beauty is

(01:05:33):
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. Chapter twenty six, on religion. And an

(01:05:59):
old priest speak to us of religion, And he said,
have I spoken this day of aught? Else is not
religion all deeds and all reflection, And that which is
neither deed nor reflection, but a wonder and a surprise,
ever springing in the soul, even while the hands hew

(01:06:21):
the stone or tend the loom. Who can separate his
faith from his actions, or his belief from his occupations,
Who can spread his hours before him, saying this for God,
and this for myself, this for my soul, and this
other for my body. All your hours are wings that

(01:06:43):
be through space from self to self. He who wears
his morality but as his best garment were better naked,
the wind and the sun will tear no holes in
his skin. And he who defines his conduct by ethics
in prison his song bird in a cage. The freest

(01:07:04):
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. Your daily life is
your temple and your religion. Whenever you enter into it,

(01:07:24):
take with you your all. Take the plow and the forge,
and the mallet and the lute, the things you have fashioned,
and necessity or for delight. For in reverie you cannot
rise above your achievements, nor fall lower than your failures.
And take with you all men, for in adoration you

(01:07:45):
cannot fly higher than their hopes, nor humble yourself lower
than their despair. And if you would know God, be
not therefore a solver of riddles. Rather look about you,
and you will see him playing with your children. And
look into space. You shall see him walking in the cloud,

(01:08:06):
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. Chapter twenty seven on death.
And then Almitra spoke, saying, we would ask now of death,

(01:08:33):
And he said, you would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it
in the heart of life. The owl, whose night bound
eyes are blind unto the day, cannot unveil the mystery
of light. If you would indeed behold the spirit of death,

(01:08:54):
open your heart wide unto the body of life. For
life and death are one, even as the river and
the sea are one. 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.

(01:09:15):
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate
to eternity. Your fear of death is but the trembling
of the shepherd when he stands before the king, whose
hand is to be laid upon him in honor. Is
the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling that he shall
wear the mark of the king? Yet is he not

(01:09:37):
more mindful of his trembling? For what is it to die?
But to stand naked in the wind, and to melt
into the sun and what is it to seize breathing?
But to free the breath from its restless tides, that
it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered. When

(01:10:00):
you drink from the river of silence, shall you indeed sing?
And when you have reached the mountaintop, then you shall
begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs,
then shall you truly dance. And now it was evening,
and Almitra the cirrus said, bless it be this day

(01:10:23):
and this place, and your spirit that has spoken. And
he answered, was it I who spoke? Was I not
also a listener? End of section chapter twenty eight The Farewell.
Then he descended the steps of the temple, and all

(01:10:45):
the people followed him. And he reached his ship and
stood upon the deck, and facing the people again, he
raised his voice and said, people of Orphelies, the wind
bids me leave you less hasty than the wind. Yet
I must go. We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way,

(01:11:07):
begin no day where we have ended another day, and
no sunrise finds us where sunset left us. Even while
the earth sleeps we travel. We are the seeds of
the tenacious plant, and it is in our rightness and
our fullness of heart, that we are given to the
wind and are scattered. Brief were my days among you,

(01:11:30):
and briefer still the words I have spoken. But should
my voice fade in your ears, and my love vanish
in your memory, then I will come again, and with
a richer heart and lips more yielding to the spirit,
will I speak, yea, I shall return with the tide.
And though death may hide me and the greater silence

(01:11:52):
enfold me, yet again will I seek your understanding, And
not in vain will I seek. If aught I have
said is truth, that truth shall reveal itself in a
clearer voice and in words more kin to your thoughts.
I go with the wind, people of orphiles, but not

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down into emptiness. And if this day is not a
fulfillment of your needs and my love, then let it
be a promise till another day. Man's needs change, but
not his love nor his desire that his love should
satisfy his needs. Know therefore that from the greater silence

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I shall return the mist that drifts away at dawn leaving,
but dew in the fields shall rise and gather into
a cloud, and then fall down in rain, and not
unlike the mist have I been in the stillness of
the night. I have walked in your streets, and my
spirit has entered your houses, and your heart beats were

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in my heart art, and your breath was upon my face.
And I knew you all. I knew your joy and
your pain, and in your sleep your dreams were my dreams.
And oftentimes I was among you, a lake among the mountains.
I mirrored the summits in you, and the bending slopes,

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and even the passing flocks of your thoughts and your desires.
And to my silence came the laughter of your children
in streams, and the longing of your youths in rivers.
And when they reached my depth, the streams and the
rivers ceased, not yet to sing. But sweeter still than laughter,

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and greater than longing, came to me. It was the
boundless in you, the vast man, in whom you are
all but sells and sinews, he in whose chat all
your singing is but a soundless throbbing. It is in
the vast Man that you are vast, and in beholding

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him that I beheld you and loved you. For what
distances can love reach that are not in that vast sphere.
What visions, what expectations, and what presumptions can outsoar that
flight Like a giant oak tree covered with apple blossoms,
is the vast man in you. His might binds you

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to the earth. His might binds you to the earth.
His fragrance lifts you into space. And in his durability
you are deathless. You have been told that, even like
a chain, you are as weak as your weakest link.
This is but half the truth. You are also as

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strong as your strongest link. To measure you by your
smallest deed is to reckon the power of ocean, by
the frailty of its foam. To judge you by your
failures is to cast blame upon them seasons for their inconstancy.
I you are like an ocean, and though heavy grounded
ships await the tide upon your shores. Yet even like

(01:15:11):
an ocean, you cannot hasten your tides. And like the seasons,
you are also. And though in your winter you deny
your spring, yet spring reposing within you, smiles in her
drowsiness and is not offended. Think not. I say these
things in order that you may say the one to

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the other. He praised us well he saw, but the
good in us. I only speak to you in words
of that which you yourselves know in thought. And what
is word knowledge but a shadow of wordless knowledge. Your
thoughts and my words are waves from a sealed memory
that keeps records of our yesterdays, and of the ancient

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days when the earth knew not us nor herself, and
of nights when earth was upwrought with confusion. Wise men
have come to you to give you of their wisdom.
I came to take of your wisdom. And behold, I
have found that which is greater than wisdom. It is
a flame spirit in you, ever gathering more of itself,

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while you heedless of its expansion. Bewail the withering of
your days. It is life in quest of life in
bodies that fear the grave. There are no graves here.
These mountains and plains are a cradle and a stepping stone.
Whenever you pass by the field where you have laid

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your ancestors, look well thereupon, and you shall see yourselves
and your children dancing hand in hand. Verily, you often
make merry without knowing. Others have come to you, to
whom for golden promises made unto your faith you have given,
but riches and power and glory less than a promise

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have I given. And yet more generous have you been
to me. You have given me my deeper thirsting after life.
Surely there is no greater gift to a man than
that which turns all his aims into parching lips, and
all life into a fountain. And in this lies my
honor and my reward, that whenever I come to the

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fountain to drink, I find the living water itself thirsty,
and it drinks me while I drink it. Some of
you have deemed me proud and overshy to receive gifts.
Too proud indeed am I to receive wages, but not gifts.
And though I have eaten berries among the hills, when

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you would have had me sit at your board and
slept in the portico of the temple, when you would
gladly have sheltered me, Yet was it not loving mindfulness
of my days and my nights that made food sweet
to my mouth and girdled my sleep with visions? For
this I bless you most. You give much, and know

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not that you give it all. Verily, the kindness that
gazes upon itself in a mirror turns to stone, And
a good deed that calls itself by tender names becomes
the parent to a curse. And some of you have
called me aloof and drunk, with my own a loneness.
And you have said, he holds council with the trees

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of the forest, but not with men. He sits alone
on hilltops and looks down upon our city. True it
is that I have climbed the hills and walked in
remote places. How could I have seen you, save from
a great height or a great distance. How can one
be indeed near unless he be far among you called

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unto me, not in words? And they said, stranger, stranger,
lover of unreachable heights. Why dwell you among the summits
where eagles build their nests? Why seek you the unattainable?
What storms would you trap in your net? And what
vaporous birds do you hunt in the sky? Come and

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be one of us, Descend and appease your hunger with
our bread, and quench your thirst with our wine. In
the solitude of their souls, they said these things. But
were their solitude deeper, they would have known that I sought.
But the secret of your joy and your pain, and

(01:19:42):
I hunted only your larger cells that walked the sky.
But the hunter was also the hunted, For many of
my arrows left my bow only to seek my own breast.
And the flier was also the creeper. For when my
wing were spread in the sun, their shadow upon the

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earth was a turtle. And I, the believer, was also
the doubter. For often have I put my finger in
my own wound, that I might have the greater belief
in you, and the greater knowledge of you. And it
is with disbelief and this knowledge that I say you
were not enclosed within your bodies, nor confined to houses

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or fields. That which is you dwells above the mountain
and roves with the wind. It is not a thing
that crawls into the sun for warmth, or digs holes
into darkness for safety, but a thing free, a spirit
that envelops the earth and moves in the ether. If

(01:20:48):
these be vague words, then seek not to clear them.
Vague and nebulous is the beginning of all things, but
not their end. And I fain would have you remain
for me as a beginning. Life and all that lives
is conceived in the mist, and not in the crystal.
And who knows, but a crystal is missed in decay.

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This what I have you remember in remembering me, That
which seems most feeble and bewildered in you is the
strongest and most determined. Is it not your breath that
has erected and hardened the structure of your bones? And
is it not a dream which none of you remember
having dreamt, that builded your city and fashioned all there

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is in it? Could you but see the tides of
that breath, you would cease to see all else. And
if you could hear the whispering of the dream, you
would hear no other sound. But you do not see,
nor do you hear. And it is well the veil

(01:21:56):
that clouds your eyes shall be lifted by the hands
that wove it, and the clay that fills your ears
shall be pierced by those fingers that kneaded it, and
you shall see and you shall hear. Yet you shall
not deplore having known blindness, nor regret having been deaf,
For in that day you shall know the hidden purposes

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in all things, And you shall bless darkness as you
would bless light. After saying these things, he looked about him,
and he saw the pilot of his ship standing by
the helm and gazing now at the full sails, and
now at the distance. And he said, patient, over, patient
is the captain of my ship. The wind blows, and

(01:22:42):
restless are the sails, even the rudder begs direction. Yet
quietly my captain awaits my silence. And these my mariners,
who have heard the choir of the greater sea, they
too have heard me patiently. Now they shall wait no longer.
I am ready. The stream has reached the sea, and

(01:23:04):
once more the great mother holds her son against her breast.
Fare you well, people of Orphelies. This day has ended.
It is closing upon us, even as the water lily
upon its own. Tomorrow. What was given us here we
shall keep. And if it suffices not, then again must

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we come together and to gather stretch our hands unto
the giver. Forget not that I shall come back to
you a little while, and my longing shall gather dust
and foam for another body a little while, a moment
of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me.

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Farewell to you and the youth I have spent with you.
It was but yesterday we met in a dream you
have sung to me in my loneness, and I of
your longings have built a tower in the sky. But
now our sleep is fled, and our dream is over,
and it is no longer dawn. The nowton tide is

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upon us, and our half waking has turned to fuller day,
and we must part. If in the twilight of memory
we should meet once more, we shall speak again together,
and you shall sing to me a deeper song. And
if our hands should meet in another dream, we shall
build another tower in the sky. So saying, he made

(01:24:33):
a signal to the seamen, and straightway they weighed anchor
and cast the ship loose from its moorings, and they
moved eastward. And a cry came from the people, as
from a single heart, and it rose into the dusk,
and was carried out over the sea like a great trumpeting.
Only Almitra was silent, gazing after the ship until it

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had vanished into the mist. And when all the people
were dispersed, she he still stood alone upon the sea wall,
remembering in her heart his saying, a little while, a
moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall
bear me. This is the end of the prophet by

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Calil chibrin,