The Prophet
Hello and welcome back to There’s a book for that, the podcast where I, the resident bookworm in our little friend group talk about books I have read, and share my thoughts about them. We have had a little hiatus, as the subject of war in the current background was just a little too depressing, and honestly, much bigger than I expected, so I have pushed it back a little, so I can do it justice.
In the meantime, with Valentine’s Day a couple of days away, I thought we could talk about some of the many shades of love, have a little palette cleanser before it all gets ugly and serious again.
So, love. Today’s episode, is a minisode, in which our reading will be presented largely without comment. You can listen to this one in the time it takes to enjoy a nice cup of something hot, as our hearts and minds also imbibe the wisdom, of The Prophet.
My favourite ex, he might come up a few times in this love edition, and I, loved to read. It was the thing that brought us together. I was in the library when we met, the library is my jam, I have had a lot of library cards over the years, anyway, I was in the uni library, at night. This is when I was doing my masters, where I had taken upon myself a particularly brutal regiment.
I would take the bus at 1am on Thursday morning, arriving in Lancaster at 9 am, in time for class at 10, then take the bus back at 10pm, back to London. In between I attended lectures, and spent a lot of time in the library, swapping books, studying, printing articles, the standard student fare.
On this fateful night, in January I was in the library, sat on a highchair by a walkway, waiting for 10 pm so I could take my bus home, when an extremely tall man walked past. Then he walked back again and said hello, and introduced himself, name, and surname. It still makes me giggle. Anyway, he says, the usual things people say in this situations, and asks for my number. It being a library, I did not want to spend too much time talking, but he was quite charming. He was from that African country, with all the people. And from those people, out of all that smaller group of people who seem to like writing books. You know the one, they got us started in the game.
Sigh, while I liked his face, and extreme tallness, 6’7, nobody needs that, I was not convinced to be talking to a man at that time, but as he had said he liked to read, I set a test. “If you can name 10 African writers, that you have read, that I have also read, I will give you my number”. Dear listener, of course I gave him my number, we talked for about 3 hours until I took my bus home, and then for a two-week whirlwind, my world was transformed. I could talk about books to my heart’s delight, but now that I do not have anyone to talk to about books, you are forced to listen to me, and this minisode, is swiftly expanding. Oh well.
On one of those rose-tinted nights as we skyped, (it was a social distanced relationship) he read to me, from the Prophet, by Khalil Gibran, our author for today, and when he had finished, he asked, “what do you think about that?” It remains one of the most pivotal moments in my life; to be asked anything is wonderful. To be asked to pour out from my mind and share my thoughts, is a treasure to one such as I. I am very much aware that you, dear listener, did not ask, and that I do not ask you to share your thoughts in turn. I do you a disservice, but my aim with the podcast is simply to provide a reading list, and reasons to delve into some of the stories life has to offer and see their applications in your daily life. I encourage you to have the conversations with your loved ones. For today, the version of the book I will read from was a gift from another friend, with a foreword by the poet, Rupi Kaur. In her foreword she says, Quote,
“This book is not just for poetry lovers. It is for anyone wondering what this thing we call life is about. If you are looking for something to carry you through life's most sorrowful moments, but also ground you through during life's greatest joys, you are holding the answer in your very hands. The poems in these pages will become your medicine and your mentor, too. And as you grow old, so will its words grow old with you. As you evolve, so will The Prophet, - becoming what you need it to be, when you need it, fashioning itself into an anchor, a lifeline, and a friend. It is a chameleon. It is both the caterpillar and the butterfly. If you are arriving here for the first time. Welcome. I envy you. If you have been to the foot of these gates before, it's good to have you back, old friend.”
End Quote
I heartily agree, and invite you, whether for the first time or the hundredth, to join me on this journey. So, Khalil Gibran, was born in 1883, in Bsharri village in Lebanon, to a humble Christian family, humble meaning poor here. At 12, his mother moved the family to Boston, away from his father, who liked drinking too much apparently, where she hoped that they lives would improve. For a while they did, and three years later, Gibran returned to Lebanon to study French and Arabic in Beirut. However, tragedy struck, and within a few years of finishing his studies and returning to the US, he had lost his mother, sister, and brother, and was left with but one sibling. His mother had been a huge influence in his life, and it is notable that he had very significant relationships with other well educated and cultured women throughout his life. In addition to being a writer, he was also known for his artwork, his drawings in fact. Though he died at the very young age of 48, he accomplished a great deal in his young life, from being a writer to a passionate activist for Arab liberation from the Ottoman empire, and had the joy of knowing success in his lifetime.
He is remembered chiefly for the Prophet, the subject of our podcast today, but he wrote many other works and letters which are highly regarded and available in English and Arabic, his main languages.
So, the prophet is a book of 26 little fables, stories intended to teach us about life, written in a poetic prose. In it we meet the Prophet, Al Mustafa, (though raised in a Christian home, growing up in Lebanon, Gibran had the privilege of being influenced by various religions around him, and this is evident in his works). Al Mustafa, QUOTE, “the chosen and the beloved”, is a stranger in the land wherein he lives, and had long been longing to go home, and now finally, the time has come. As he prepare himself to leave. He reflects on his life, and what leaving means to him, before being accosted by the locals, who want to hear from him before he goes.
One of them, Almitra, the “seeress,” and his first friend in the city, says, Quote,
“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 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 until our children and they unto their children, and it shall not perish.
And he answered, People of Orphalese. Of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving within your souls?”
Thus, setting up the framework for the words that we will now read, which are always given in response to a question, the first question being, speak to us of love.
I will read the chapter in its entirety, and keep it largely without comment.
QUOTE
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 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 words may shatter your dreams as a 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. His 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 loves peace, and loves 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, for 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 wilfully 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 the prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.” End Quote.
I'll just throw in the next section, which speaks about marriage, as they are often so closely related. Quote
“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 the white wings of death scatter your days. Ay, 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 of you be alone, even as the strings of a lute are alone, even 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, but not yet too near together: for the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree in the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
End Quote.
Hey. Guys. Will be careful. Hanzi don't love too much. In both of these fables, we are encouraged to think more deeply about it means to love, or to be married, to in relation with others, as well as ourselves. We are invited to love, but not to bind, or possess, to give without losing ourselves, and to seek in love more than our own gain, more than love’s peace, and love’s pleasure.
I maintain, and have for a long time, that love is a verb, a doing word, and in the Prophet, we see love anthropomorphised as a man, a being, who takes us on a journey, with a lot of action words. On this first day of our series, I invite you to invite love the verb into your life, and your perception of love. If you find yourself describing how you love, or how you are loved, using describing words, instead of verbs, I would challenge you, in the way of the Prophet, to do better, and ask yourself, how can I make love come alive to those I love? How can I make it real for them, as more than just a picture on a page, but something vibrant, pulsing with life, bursting at the seams to make itself known. Something real? And those who claim to love me, can I count the ways? How many verbs can I use to describe their love for me, and if I cannot, is it truly a love, sufficient unto itself, or is it deficient of the necessary nutrients to call itself love, to sustain me, and to keep me going?
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.
Sigh
Join me tomorrow, when we will be talking about The Colour Purple, by Alice Walker. Till then, Happy Valentines week, step away from the commerce, and into a book…