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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:27:13 GMT -5
Kahlil Gibran 1883-1931Nhà thơ, nhà văn, triết gia, họa sĩ, sinh ra tại một làng miền núi nhỏ ở Lebanon (Li băng). Hàng triệu người Arab đã quen thuộc với các tác phẩm của ông viết bằng ngôn ngữ này. Họ xem ông như bậc thiên tài thời đó. Những thi phẩm của ông đã được dịch ra hơn 20 thứ tiếng trên thế giới. Tác phẩm nổi tiếng nhất của ông là "The Prophet" với những áng văn đậm chất thơ và triết lý sống. Xuất bản năm 1932, cuốn sách đã trở thành một trong những tác phẩm mang màu sắc cổ điển được yêu thích nhất và đã được bán hàng triệu bản. Dưới đây, em xin giới thiệu bản dịch chương thứ 7 của tác phẩm "Nhà Tiên Tri" (The Prophet) của dịch giả Cao My An và sau đó là lần lượt lời giới thiệu tác giả và toàn bộ bản nguyên gốc của tác phẩm này.
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:30:35 GMT -5
Lao Động(Bản dịch của Cao My An) Anh làm việc là anh có thể sánh nhịp cùng với quả đất này và với linh hồn đất đai. Vì sống nhàn rỗi sẽ trở thành kẻ lạ mặt với bốn mùa, tự tách mình khỏi dòng đời đang uy nghi và trong quy phục đầy kiêu hãnh tiến về nơi vô tận. Khi anh làm việc, anh như một cây sáo trúc mà ngang qua tim nó, tiếng thì thầm của thời gian ngân lên thành tiếng nhạc. Có ai trong chúng ta muốn làm lau sậy lặng câm trong khi mọi người xung quanh đang cùng hát chung một bản hòa ca ? Anh vẫn hằng nghe nói rằng làm việc và lao động là một điều bất hạnh. Nhưng tôi nói với anh rằng, khi anh làm việc là anh đang hoàn thành một phần giấc mơ xa xưa nhất trên trái đất này, giấc mơ vốn dĩ dành cho anh khi nó vừa chớm nở. Rồi trong khi hòa mình vào lao động, anh mới thực sự yêu đời. Và yêu đời qua lao động là anh đã trở nên gần gũi với điều bí mật sâu xa nhất của đời sống. Tuy nhiên, nếu trong cơn thống khổ, anh cho rằng sinh ra đời là một điều phiền não và phải cưu mang hình hài là một lời nguyền in hằn trên trán anh, thì tôi nói với anh rằng, không gì có thể cuốn trôi đi những vết hằn kia ngoại trừ những giọt mồ hôi trên trán anh. Anh cũng từng nghe nói rằng, cuộc sống thì tối tăm, và trong mệt mỏi, anh lập lại những gì mà các kẻ mệt mỏi rã rời đã thốt lên. Nhưng tôi nói rằng cuộc sống quả thực tối tăm trừ khi có sự hối thúc giục giã. Mọi sự hối thúc, mọi nhiệt tình đều mù quáng trừ khi có tri thức. Nhưng mọi tri thức đều vô ích trừ khi có lao động. Và, mọi lao động đều trống rỗng trừ khi có tình yêu. Khi lao động với tình yêu, anh đã trùng phùng với bản thể, hội ngộ với tha nhân, hợp nhất với Thượng Đế. Thế nhưng lao động với tình yêu là gì ?Đó là dệt một tấm áo với muôn sợi tơ lòng như thể người yêu dấu của anh sẽ khoác lên mình tấm áo đó. Đó là xây một ngôi nhà với biết bao lòng trìu mến như thể người yêu dấu của anh sẽ đến trú ngụ trong ngôi nhà ấy. Đó là gieo những hạt mầm với tất cả dịu dàng để rồi gặt hái mùa màng với bao nỗi hân hoan như thể người yêu dấu của anh sẽ thưởng thức những hoa trái kia.. Đó là thổi vào tất cả những gì anh tạo nên bởi chính hơi thở tinh thần mình. Và biết rằng bao tâm hồn đã được chúc lành đang vây quanh và dõi theo anh. Ta thường nghe anh nói, như thốt lên trong cơn mê : "Kẻ nào làm công việc chạm trổ đá cẩm thạch và nhìn thấy bóng dáng linh hồn mình ánh lên trong đá, kẻ đó cao quý hơn người chỉ biết cày xới đất đai. Và kẻ nào biết lấy bảy sắc cầu vồng vẽ lên tấm vải theo vóc dáng con người, kẻ đó hơn hẳn người chỉ biết may những đôi giày cho chúng ta mang." Nhưng tôi nói, không phải trong cơn mê mà trong sự tỉnh thức hoàn toàn của thanh thiên bạch nhật, rằng cơn gió thổi qua những cây sồi vĩ đại cũng không ngọt ngào hơn khi thổi qua những ngọn cỏ bé nhỏ nhất. Và cao cả chính là người đã chuyển được tiếng gió thổi thành một bài ca - một bài ca mà tình yêu của chính người đó đã làm cho nó trở nên ngọt ngào hơn gấp bội. Lao động là sự thể hiện của tình yêu. Nếu anh không thể lao động với tình yêu mà chỉ với sự ghẻ lạnh thì tốt hơn anh nên rời bỏ công việc, đến ngồi nơi cổng ngôi đền kia mà nhận của bố thí của những người lao động với lòng hoan hỉ. Bởi vì nếu anh nướng chiếc bánh một cách hờ hững, anh sẽ nướng một chiếc bánh cay đắng chỉ xoa dịu được nửa phần cơn đói của con người. Nếu anh miễn cưỡng trong việc ép nho, sự miễn cưỡng của anh sẽ tiết độc tố vào rượu kia. Và nếu anh hát, dù là hát hay như thiên thần, mà anh không thích việc ca hát ấy thì anh sẽ chỉ làm át đi bao nhiêu âm thanh đêm ngày của cuộc sống.
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:33:31 GMT -5
Kahlil GibranLebanese-American philosophical essayist, novelist, mystical poet, and artist. In the 1960s Gibran's works influenced especially American popular culture. He also illustrated a number of his books with his own drawings. Gibran believed that if a sensible way of living and thinking could be found, people would have mastery over their lives. "The human heart cries out for help; the human soul implores us for deliverance; but we do not heed their cries, for we neither hear nor understand. But the man who hears and understands we call mad, and flee from him." Khalil Gibran was born in Bechari (Bsharri), Lebanon, a mountain village of Maronite Christians. A talented child, he was modelling, drawing, and writing at an early age. Gibran's mother took her children to the United States, but their father remained in Lebanon. The family settled first in Boston, then in New York. Gibran returned to Lebanon in 1897 for two years to study Arabic literature in Beirut at al-Hikma College. Gibran's artistic talents was recognized early and he was introduced to F. Holland Day, a photographer, who tutored him in art and literature. Through Day Gibran was given entrée to Boston society, where he acquired valuable contacts. Gibran's mother died when he was 20. His sister supported him while he established himself as a writer and painter. Gibran's most ardent benefactress was Mary Haskell, the headmistress of a progressive girl's school in Cambridge. She supported her protégé financially for most of his career. In 1904 Gibran had his first art exhibition in Boston. His first book, AL-MUSIQA (1905) was about music. It was followed by two collections of short stories and a novelette in 1912. From 1908 to 1910 he studied art in Paris with August Rodin. In 1912 he settled in New York, where he devoted himself to writing and painting. Though concerned with the transcendental in his books, the basic subject in Gibran's art was naked human bodies, tenderly intertwined . Gibran's early works were written in Arabic and are considered central to the development of modern Arabic literature. Gibran also wrote for journals published by the Lebanese and Arab communities in the U.S. From 1918 he wrote mostly in English and managed to revolutionize the language of poetry in the 1920s and 1930s. His first book for the publishing company Alfred Knopf was THE MADMAN (1918), a slim volume of aphorisms and parables written in biblical cadence somewhere between poetry and prose. Usually Gibran used prophetic tone to condemn the evils that torment his homeland or threaten the humankind. His style, a combination of beauty and spirituality, became known as 'Gibranism'. "I am a stranger to myself. I hear my tongue speak, but my ears find that voice strange. I may see my hidden self laughing, crying, defiant frightened, and thus does my being become enamored of my being and thus my soul begs my soul for explanation. But I remain unknown, hidden, shrouded in fog, veiled in silence." (from 'The Poet') In 1920 he founded a society for Arab writers called "Aribitah" (the pen bond), and supported the struggle to revolutionize the classically conservative Arabic literature. A very important channel for new ideas was Al Magar, the first New York Arabic newspaper, that Gibran wrote for. Other influential writers included Mikha'il Nu'aima (1889-1988), Iliya Abu Madi (1889-1957), Nasib Arida (1887-1946), Nadra Haddad (1881-1950), and Ilyas Abu Sabaka (1903-47). Especially Mikha'il Nu'aima's critical writings paved way to new freedom in poetic expression. Although Gibran was not a great poetry in verse, and most of his writings in prose should not be regarded as 'poetry', he opened doors to a new kind of creativity. Salma Khadra Jayyusi wrote in 1987 that Gibran's rhythm "fell on ears like magic, intoxicating in its frequent use of interrogations, repetitions, and the vocative; by a language which was at once modern, elegant, and original; and by an imagery that was evocative and imbued with a healthy measure of emotion. His vision of a world made sterile by dead mores and conventions but redeemable through love, good will, and constructive action deepened his readers' insights en enlightened their views of life and man." Gibran died of liver disease, possibly accelerated by alcoholism, in New York on April 10, 1931. Upon his death, his body was shipped back to his hometown in Lebanon, where alongside his tomb The Gibran Museum was later established. In his will Gibran left all the royalties of his books to his native village. "When the souls rise in the light of their joy, my soul ascends glorified by the dark of grief. I am like you, Night! And when my morn comes, then my time will end." Gibran's best-known work is THE PROPHET, a partly autobiographical book of 26 poetic essays, which has been translated into over 20 languages. The Prophet, who has lived in a foreign city 12 years, is about to board a ship that will take him home. He is stopped by a group of people, whom he teaches the mysteries of life. The resulting 26 sermons are meant to emancipate the listeners. In the 1960s The Prophet became a counterculture guide and in the 1980s the message of spiritualism overcoming material success was adopted by Yuppies. Critics have not treated the book well. Its mystical poetry is frequently read at weddings even today. Among Gibran's other popular books is THE EARTH GODS (1931), a dialogue in free verse between three titans on the human destiny. Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. (from The Prophet: Marriage)
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:36:10 GMT -5
THE PROPHET 1.The Coming of the ShipAlmustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn onto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese 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 Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he beheld the 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 he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, 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 aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret? Too many fragments of the spirit have I scatterd 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 bruden and an ache. It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands. Nor 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 mould. Fain would I take with me all that is here. But how shall I? A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give 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 saw his ship approaching the harbour, 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 I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set awaits the wind. Only another breath will I breathe in this still air, only another loving look cast backward, 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 will this stream make, only another murmur in this glade, And then shall I 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 the field to field telling one another of the coming of the 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 plough in midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his winepress? Shall my heart become a tree 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 this is my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what unrembered seasons? If this indeed be the our 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 and he shall light it also. These things he said in words. But much in his heart remained unsaid. 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 forth and said: Go not yet away from us. A noontide have you been 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: 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 facs. Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled. Yet now it 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 people proceeded towards the great square before the temple. And there came out of the sanctuary a woman whose name was Almitra. And she was a seeress. 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 hailed him, saying: Prophet of God, in quest for 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 love would 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 aloneness you have watched with our days, and in your wakefulness 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 Orphalese, of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving your souls?
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:37:29 GMT -5
2.On Love
Then said Almitra, "Speak to us of Love." And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them. And 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 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 in their clinging to the earth.
Like 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 kneads 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 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 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. When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God." And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let 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 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.
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:38:16 GMT -5
3.On Marriage
Then Almitra spoke again and said, "And what of Marriage, master?"
And he answered saying:
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore. You shall be together when 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 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, 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 oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:39:15 GMT -5
4.On Children
And a woman who held a babe against her 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 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 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 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.
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:41:02 GMT -5
5.On Giving
Then said a rich man, "Speak to us of Giving."
And he answered:
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 the holy city?
And what is fear of need but need itself? Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, 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 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 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 the earth. It is well to give when 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; 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 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?
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.
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 has the free-hearted earth for mother, and God for father.
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:41:41 GMT -5
6.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 fragerance of the earth, and like an air plant be sustained by the light. But since you must kill to eat, and rob the young of its mother's milk to quench your thirst, let it then be an act of worship, And let your board stand an altar on which the pure and the innocent of forest and plain are sacrificed for that which is purer and still more innocent in many. When you kill a beast say to him in your heart, "By the same power that slays you, I to am slain; and I too shall be consumed. For the law that delivered you into my hand shall deliver me into a 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 shall rejoice through all the seasons." And in the autumn, when you gather the grapes of your vineyard for the winepress, say in you heart, "I to am a vinyard, and my fruit shall be gathered for the winepress, And like new wine I shall be kept in eternal vessels." 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 winepress.
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:44:40 GMT -5
7.On Work
Then a ploughman said, "Speak to 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 whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music. Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison?
Always you have been told that work is a curse and labour a misfortune. But I say to you that when you work you fulfil a part of earth's furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born, And in keeping yourself with labour you are in truth loving life, And to love life through labour is to be intimate with life's inmost secret.
But if you in your pain call birth 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 life is darkness, and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary. And I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge, And all urge is blind save when 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 to God.
And what is it to work with love? It is to weave the cloth with threads 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 your beloved were to dwell in that house. It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the 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 the shape of his own soul in the stone, is a nobler than he who ploughs 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 over-wakefulness of noontide, that the wind 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 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, your grudge distils a poison in the wine. And if you sing though as angels, and love not the singing, you muffle man's ears to the voices of the day and the voices of the night.
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:45:39 GMT -5
8.On Joy & Sorrow
Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow." And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises 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 the cup that hold 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.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has 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. 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 your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:47:02 GMT -5
9.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 ere you build a house within the city walls.
For even as you have home-comings 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 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.
But these things are not yet to be. In their fear your forefathers gathered you too near together. And that fear shall endure a little longer. A little longer shall your city walls separate your hearths from your fields.
And tell me, people of Orphalese, what have you in these houses? And 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, have you these in your houses? Or have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and becomes a host, and then a master?
Ay, and it becomes a tamer, and with hook and scourge makes puppets of your larger desires. 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 thistledown like fragile vessels. Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.
But you, children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be trapped nor tamed.
Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast. It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound, but an eyelid that guards the eye.
You shall not fold your wings that you may pass through doors, nor bend your heads that they strike not against a ceiling, nor fear to breathe lest walls should crack and fall down.
You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living.
And though of magnificence and splendour, your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing.
For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:48:28 GMT -5
10.On Clothes
And the weaver said, "Speak to 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 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 to wear." But shame was his loom, and the softening of the sinews was his thread.
And when his work 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.
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:49:27 GMT -5
11.On Buying & 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 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 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 labour.
To such men you should say, "Come with us to the field, or go with our brothers to the sea 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 and frankincense, and that which they bring, 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
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Post by Oshin on Apr 5, 2004 9:51:17 GMT -5
12.On Crime & 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 therefore unto yourself.
And for that wrong committed must you knock and wait a while unheeded at the gate of the blessed.
Like the ocean is your god-self; It remains for ever undefiled. And like the ether it lifts but the winged. Even like the sun is your god-self; It knows not the ways of the mole nor seeks it the holes of the serpent.
But your god-self does not dwell 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 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 as the holy and the righteous cannot rise beyond the highest which is in each one of you,
So the wicked and 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 wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all.
Like a procession you walk together towards your god-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. Ay, and he falls for those ahead of him, who though faster and surer of foot, yet removed 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 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 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 judgment the unfaithful wife,
Let him also weight the heart of her husband in scales, 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 ax unto the evil tree, let him see to its roots;
And verily he will find the roots of the good and the bad, 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 who slays in the flesh 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 remorse is already greater than their misdeeds?
Is not remorse the justice which is administered by that 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 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.
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