Gibran Stories Omnibus

But God made no answer, and like a mighty tempest passed away.
      And after a thousand years I ascended the holy mountain and again
spoke unto God, saying, “Creator, I am thy creation. Out of clay hast
thou fashioned me and to thee I owe mine all.”
      And God made no answer, but like a thousand swift wings passed away.
      And after a thousand years I climbed the holy mountain and spoke
unto God again, saying, “Father, I am thy son. In pity and love thou
hast given me birth, and through love and worship I shall inherit thy
kingdom.”
      And God made no answer, and like the mist that veils the distant
hills he passed away.
      And after a thousand years I climbed the sacred mountain and gain
spoke unto God, saying, “My God, my aim and my fulfilment; I am thy
yesterday and thou are my tomorrow. I am thy root in the earth and thou
art my flower in the sky, and together we grow before the face of the
sun.”
      Then God leaned over me, and in my ears whispered words of
sweetness, and even as the sea that enfoldeth a brook that runneth down
to her, he enfolded me.
      And when I descended to the valleys and the plains God was there
also.

MY FRIEND
         
      My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear-a
care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee from
my negligence.
      The “I” in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and
therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.
      I would not have thee believe in what I say nor trust in what I
do-for my words are naught but thy own thoughts in sound and my deeds
thy own hopes in action.
      When thou sayest, “The wind bloweth eastward,” I say, “Aye it doth
blow eastward”; for I would not have thee know that my mind doth not
dwell upon the wind but upon the sea.
      Thou canst not understand my seafaring thoughts, nor would I have
thee understand. I would be at sea alone.
      When it is day with thee, my friend, it is night with me; yet even
then I speak of the noontide that dances upon the hills and of the
purple shadow that steals its way across the valley; for thou canst not
hear the songs of my darkness nor see my wings beating against the
stars-and I fain would not have thee hear or see. I would be with night
alone.
      When thou ascendest to thy Heaven I descend to my Hell-even then
thou callest to me across the unbridgeable gulf, “My companion, my
comrade,” and I call back to thee, “My comrade, my companion"-for I
would not have thee see my Hell. The flame would burn thy eyesight and
the smoke would crowd thy nostrils. And I love my Hell too well to have
thee visit it. I would be in Hell alone.
      Thou lovest Truth and Beauty and Righteousness; and I for thy sake
say it is well and seemly to love these things. But in my heart I
laughed at thy love. Yet I would not have thee see my laughter. I would
laugh alone.
      My friend, thou art good and cautious and wise; nay, thou art
perfect-and I, too, speak with thee wisely and cautiously. And yet I am
mad. But I mask my madness. I would be mad alone.
      My friend, thou art not my friend, but how shall I make thee
understand? My path is not thy path, yet together we walk, hand in
hand.

THE SCARECROW
         
      Once I said to a scarecrow, “You must be tired of standing in this
lonely field.”
      And he said, “The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I
never tire of it.”
      Said I, after a minute of thought, “It is true; for I too have known
that joy.”
      Said he, “Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it.”
      Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or
belittled me.
      A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher.
      And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest under
his hat.

THE SLEEP-WALKERS
         
      In the town where I was born lived a woman and her daughter, who
walked in their sleep.
      One night, while silence enfolded the world, the woman and her
daughter, walking, yet asleep, met in their mist-veiled garden.
      And the mother spoke, and she said: “At last, at last, my enemy! You
by whom my youth was destroyed-who have built up your life upon the
ruins of mine! Would I could