The blessed city

In my youth I was told that in a certain city every one lived according to the Scriptures.
And I said, “I will seek that city and the blessedness thereof.” And it was far. And I
made great provision for my journey. And after forty-days I beheld the city and on the
forty-first day I entered into it.
And lo! the whole company of the inhabitants had each but a single eye and but one
hand. And I was astonished and said to myself, “Shall they of this so holy city have but
one eye and one hand?”
Then I saw that they too were astonished, for they were marvelling greatly at my two
hands and my two eyes. And as they were speaking together I inquired of them saying,
“Is this indeed the Blessed City, where each man lives according to the Scriptures?”
And they said, “Yes, this is that city.”
“And what,” said I, “hath befallen you, and where are your right eyes and your right
hands?”
And all the people were moved. And they said, “Come thou and see.”
And they took me to the temple in the midst of the city. And in the temple I saw a
heap of hands and eyes. All withered. Then said I, “Alas! what conqueror hath
committed this cruelty upon you?”
And there went a murmur amongst them. And one of their elders stood forth and
said, “This doing is of ourselves. God hath made us conquerors over the evil that was in
us.”
And he led me to a high altar, and all the people followed. And he showed me above
the alter and inscription graven, and I read:
“If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out and cast it from thee; for it is profitable for
thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be
cast into hell. And if thy right hand offend thee, cut if off and cast it from thee; for it is
profitable for thee that one of th members should perish, and not that thy whole body
should be cast into hell.”
Then I understood. And I turned about to all the people and cried, “Hath no man or
woman among you two eyes or two hands?”
And they answered me saying, “No, not one. There is none whole save such as are yet
too young to read the Scripture and to understand its commandment.”
And when we had comeout of the temple, I straightway left that Blessed City; for I
was not too young, and I could read the scripture.
Silent Sorrow
My neighbors, you remember the dawn of youth with pleasure and regret its passing;
but I remember it like a prisoner who recalls the bars and shackles of his jail. You
speak of those years between infancy and youth as a golden era free from confinement
and cares, but I call those years an era of silent sorrow which dropped as a seed into
my heart and grew with it and could find no outlet to the world of Knowledge and
wisdom until love came and opened the heart's doors and lighted its corners. Love
provided me with a tongue and tears. You people remember the gardens and orchids
and the meeting places and street corners that witnessed your games and heard your
innocent whispering; and I remember, too, the beautiful spot in North Lebanon. Every
time I close my eyes I see those valleys full of magic and dignity and those mountains
covered with glory and greatness trying to reach the sky. Every time I shut my ears to
the clamor of the city I hear the murmur of the rivulets and the rustling of the
branches. All those beauties which I speak of now and which I long to see, as a child
longs for his mother's breast, wounded my spirit, imprisoned in the darkness of youth,
as a falcon suffers in its cage when it sees a flock of birds flying freely in the spacious
sky. Those valleys and hills fired my imagination, but bitter thoughts wove round my
heart a net of hopelessness.
Every time I went to the fields I returned disappointed, without understanding the
cause of my disappointment. Every time I looked at the gray sky I felt my heart
contract. Every time I heard the singing of the birds and babbling of the spring I
suffered without understanding the reason for my suffering. It is said that
unsophistication makes a man empty and that emptiness makes him carefree. It may
be true among those who were born dead and who exist like frozen corpses; but the
sensitive boy who feels much and knows little is the most unfortunate creature under
the sun, because he is torn by two forces. The first force elevates him and shows him
the beauty of existence through a cloud of dreams; the second ties him down to the
earth and fills his eyes with dust and overpowers him with fears and darkness.
Solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it
ache with sorrow. Solitude is the ally of sorrow as well as a companion of spiritual
exaltation.
The boy's soul undergoing the buffeting of sorrow is like a white lily just unfolding. It
trembles before the breeze and opens its heart to daybreak and folds its leaves back
when the shadow of night comes. If that boy does not have diversion or friends or
companions in his games his life will be like a narrow prison in which he sees nothing
but spiderwebs and hears nothing but the crawling of insects.
That sorrow which obsessed me during my youth was not caused by lack of
amusement, because I could have had it; neither from lack of friends, because I could
have found them. That sorrow was caused by an inward ailment which made me love
solitude. It killed in me the inclination for games and amusement. It removed from my
shoulders the wings of youth and made me like a pong of water between mountains
which reflects in its calm surface the shadows of ghosts and the colors of clouds and
trees, but cannot find an outlet by which to pass singing to the sea.
 Thus was my life before I attained the age of eighteen. That year is like a mountain
peak in my life, for it awakened knowledge in me and made me understand the
vicissitudes of mankind. In that year I was reborn and unless a person is born again his
life will remain like a blank sheet in the book of existence. In that year, I saw the angels
of heaven looking at me through the eyes of a beautiful woman. I also saw the devils of
hell raging in the heart of an evil man. He who does not see the angels and devils in the
beauty and malice of life will be far removed from knowledge, and his spirit will be
empty of affection.

The Hand of Destiny

In the spring of the that wonderful year, I was in Beirut. The gardens were full of Nisan
flowers and the earth was carpeted with green grass, and like a secret of earth revealed
to Heaven. The orange trees and apple trees, looking like houris or brides sent by
nature to inspire poets and excite the imagination, were wearing white garments of
perfumed blossoms.
Spring is beautiful everywhere, but it is most beautiful in Lebanon. It is a spirit that
roams round the earth but hovers over Lebanon, conversing with kings and prophets,
singing with the rives the songs of Solomon, and repeating with the Holy Cedars of
Lebanon the memory of ancient glory. Beirut, free from the mud of winter and the dust
of summer, is like a bride in the spring, or like a mermaid sitting by the side of a brook
drying her smooth skin in the rays of the sun.
One day, in the month of Nisan, I went to visit a friend whose home was at some
distance from the glamorous city. As we were conversing, a dignified man of about
sixty-five entered the house. As I rose to greet him, my friend introduced him to me as
Farris Effandi Karamy and then gave him my name with flattering words. The old man
looked at me a moment, touching his forehead with the ends of his fingers as if he were
trying to regain his memory. Then he smilingly approached me saying, "You are the
son of a very dear friend of mine, and I am happy to see that friend in your person."
Much affected by his words, I was attracted to him like a bird whose instinct leads
him to his nest before the coming of the tempest. As we sat down, he told us about his
friendship with my father, recalling the time which they spent together. An old man
likes to return in memory to the days of his youth like a stranger who longs to go back
to his own country. He delights to tell stories of the past like a poet who takes pleasure
in reciting his best poem. He lives spiritually in the past because the present passes
swiftly, and the future seems to him an approach to the oblivion of the grave. An hour
full of old memories passed like the shadows of the trees over the grass. When Farris
Effandi started to leave, he put his left hand on my shoulder and shook my right hand,
saying, "I have not seen your father for twenty years. I hope you will l take his place in
frequent visits to my house." I promised gratefully to do my duty toward a dear friend
of my father.
 When the old man left the house, I asked my friend to tell me more about him. He
said, "I do not know any other man in Beirut whose wealth has made him kind and
whose kindness has made him wealthy. He is one of the few who come to this world
and leave it without harming any one, but people of that kind are usually miserable
and oppressed because they are not clever enough to save themselves from the
crookedness of others. Farris Effandi has one daughter whose character is similar to
his and whose beauty and gracefulness are beyond description, and she will also be
miserable because her father's wealth is placing her already at the edge of a horrible
precipice."
As he uttered these words, I noticed that his face clouded. Then he continued,
"Farris Effandi is a good old man with a noble heart, but he lacks will power. People
lead him like a blind man. His daughter obeys him in spite of her pride and
intelligence, and this is the secret which lurks in the life of father and daughter. This
secret was discovered by an evil man who is a bishop and whose wickedness hides in
the shadow of his Gospel. He makes the people believe that he is kind and noble. He is
the head of religion in this land of the religions. The people obey and worship him. He
leads them like a flock of lambs to the slaughter house. This bishop has a nephew who
is full of hatefulness and corruption. The day will come sooner or later when he will
place his nephew on his right and Farris Effandi's daughter on this left, and, holding
with his evil hand the wreath of matrimony over their heads, will tie a pure virgin to a
filthy degenerate, placing the heart of the day in the bosom of the night.
"That is all I can tell you about Farris Effandi and his daughter, so do not ask me any
more questions."
Saying this, he turned his head toward the window as if he were trying to solve the
problems of human existence by concentrating on the beauty of the universe.
As I left the house I told my friend that I was going to visit Farris Effandi in a few
days for the purpose of fulfilling my promise and for the sake of the friendship which
had joined him and my father. He stared at me for a moment, and I noticed a change in
his expression as if my few simple words had revealed to him a new idea. Then he
looked straight through my eyes in a strange manner, a look of love, mercy, and fear—
the look of a prophet who foresees what no one else can divine. Then his lips trembled
a little, but he said nothing when I started towards the door. That strange look
followed me, the meaning of which I could not understand until I grew up in the world
of experience, where hearts understand each other intuitively and where spirits are
mature with knowledge.
Entrance to the Shrine
In a few days, loneliness overcame me; and I tired of the grim faces of books; I hired a
carriage and started for the house of Farris Effandi. As I reached the pine woods where
people went for picnics, the driver took a private way, shaded with willow trees on each
side. Passing through, we could see the beauty of the green grass, the grapevines, and
the many colored flowers of Nisan just blossoming.
In a few minutes the carriage stopped before a solitary house in the midst of a
beautiful garden. The scent of roses, gardenia, and jasmine filled the air. As I
dismounted and entered the spacious garden, I saw Farris Effandi coming to meet me.
He ushered me into his house with a hearty welcome and sat by me, like a happy father
when he sees his son, showering me with questions on my life, future and education. I
answered him, my voice full of ambition and zeal; for I heard ringing in my ears the
hymn of glory, and I was sailing the calm sea of hopeful dreams. Just then a beautiful
young woman, dressed in a gorgeous white silk gown, appeared from behind the velvet
curtains of the door and walked toward me. Farris Effandi and I rose from our seats.
"This is my daughter Selma," said the old man. Then he introduced me to her,
saying, "Fate has brought back to me a dear old friend of mine in the person of his
son." Selma stared at me a moment as if doubting that a visitor could have entered
their house. Her hand, when I touched it, was like a white lily, and a strange pang
pierced my heart."
We all sat silent as if Selma had brought into the room with her heavenly spirit
worthy of mute respect. As she felt the silence she smiled at me and said, "Many a
times my father has repeated to me the stories of his youth and of the old days he and
your father spent together. If your father spoke to you in the same way, then this
meeting is not the first one between us."
The old man was delighted to hear his daughter talking in such a manner and said,
"Selma is very sentimental. She sees everything through the eyes of the spirit." Then he
resumed his converstion with care and tact as if he had found in me a magic which
took him on the wings of memory to the days of the past.
As I considered him, dreaming of my own later years, he looked upon me, as a lofty
old tree that has withstood storms and sunshine throws its shadow upon a small
sapling which shakes before the breeze of dawn.
But Selma was silent. Occasionally, she looked first at me and then at her father as if
reading the first and last chapters of life's drama. The day passed faster in that garden,
and I could see through the window the ghostly yellow kiss of sunset on the mountains
of Lebanon. Farris Effandi continued to recount his experiences and I listened
entranced and responded with such enthusiasm that his sorrow was changed to
happiness.
Selma sat by the window, looking on with sorrowful eyes and not speaking, although
beauty has its own heavenly language, loftier than the voices of tongues and lips. It is a
timeless language, common to all humanity, a calm lake that attracts the singing
rivulets to its depth and makes them silent.
Only our spirits can understand beauty, or live and grow with it. It puzzles our
minds; we are unable to describe it in words; it is a sensation that our eyes cannot see,
derived from both the one who observes and the one who is looked upon. Real beauty
is a ray which emanates from the holy of holies of the spirit, and illuminates the body,
as life comes from the depths of the earth and gives color and scent to a flower.
Real beauty lies in the spiritual accord that is called love which can exist between a
man and a woman.
Did my spirit and Selma's reach out to each other that day when we met, and did
that yearning make me see her as the most beautiful woman under the sun? Or was I
intoxicated with the wine of youth which made me fancy that which never existed?
Did my youth blind my natural eyes and make me imagine the brightness of her
eyes, the sweetness of her mouth, and the grace of her figure? Or was it that her
brightness, sweetness, and grace opened my eyes and showed me the happiness and
sorrow of love?
It is hard to answer these questions, but I say truly that in that hour I felt an emotion
that I had never felt before, a new affection resting calmly in my heart, like the spirit
hovering over the waters at the creation of the world, and from that affection was born
my happiness and my sorrow. Thus ended the hour of my first meeting with Selma,
and thus the will of Heaven freed me from the bondage of youth and solitude and let
me walk in the procession of love.
Love is the only freedom in the world because it so elevates the spirit that the laws of
humanity and the phenomena of nature do not alter its course.
As I rose from my seat to depart, Farris Effandi came close to me and said soberly,
"Now my son, since you know your way to this house, you should come often and feel
that you are coming to your father's house. Consider me as a father and Selma as a
sister." Saying this, he turned to Selma as if to ask confirmation of his statement. She
nodded her head positively and then looked at me as one who has found an old
acquaintance.
Those words uttered by Farris Effandi Karamy placed me side by side with his
daughter at the altar of love. Those words were a heavenly song which started with
exaltation and ended with sorrow; they raised our spirits to the realm of light and
searing flame; they were the cup from which we drank happiness and bitterness.
I left the house. The old man accompanied me to the edge of the garden, while my
heart throbbed like the trembling lips of a thirsty man.

The White Torch

The month of Nisan had nearly passed. I continued to visit the home of Farris Effendi
and to meet Selma in that beautiful garden, gazing upon her beauty, marveling at her
intelligence, and hearing the stillness of sorrow. I felt an invisible hand drawing me to
her.
Every visit gave me a new meaning to her beauty and a new insight into her sweet
spirit, Until she became a book whose pages I could understand and whose praises I
could sing, but which I could never finish reading. A woman whom Providence has
provided with beauty of spirit and body is a truth, at the same time both open and
secret, which we can understand only by love, and touch only by virtue; and when we
attempt to describe such a woman she disappears like vapor.
Selma Karamy had bodily and spiritual beauty, but how can I describe her to one
who never knew her? Can a dead man remember the singing of a nightingale and the
fragrance of a rose and the sigh of a brook? Can a prisoner who is heavily loaded with
shackles follow the breeze of the dawn? Is not silence more painful than death? Does
pride prevent me from describing Selma in plain words since I cannot draw her
truthfully with luminous colors? A hungry man in a desert will not refuse to eat dry
bread if Heaven does not shower him with manna and quails.
In her white silk dress, Selma was slender as a ray of moonlight coming through the
window. She walked gracefully and rhythmically. Her voice was low and sweet; words
fell from her lips like drops of dew falling from the petals of flowers when they are
disturbed by the wind.
But Selma's face! No words can describe its expression, reflecting first great internal
suffering, then heavenly exaltation.
The beauty of Selma's face was not classic; it was like a dream of revelation which
cannot be measured or bound or copied by the brush of a painter or the chisel of a
sculptor. Selma's beauty was not in her golden hair, but in the virtue of purity which
surrounded it; not in her large eyes, but in the light which emanated from them; not in
her red lips, but in the sweetness of her words; not in her ivory neck, but in its slight
bow to the front. Nor was it in her perfect figure, but in the nobility of her spirit,
burning like a white torch between earth and sky. Her beauty was like a gift of poetry.
But poets care unhappy people, for, no matter how high their spirits reach, they will
still be enclosed in an envelope of tears.
Selma was deeply thoughtful rather than talkative, and her silence was a kind of
music that carried one to a world of dreams and made him listen to the throbbing of
his heart, and see the ghosts of his thoughts and feelings standing before him, looking
him in the eyes.
She wore a cloak of deep sorrow through her life, which increased her strange beauty
and dignity, as a tree in blossom is more lovely when seen through the mist of dawn.
Sorrow linked her spirit and mine, as if each saw in the other's face what the heart
was feeling and heard the echo of a hidden voice. God had made two bodies in one, and
separation could be nothing but agony.
The sorrowful spirit finds rest when united with a similar one. They join
affectionately, as a stranger is cheered when he sees another stranger in a strange land.
Hearts that are united through the medium of sorrow will not be separated by the glory
of happiness. Love that is cleansed by tears will remain externally pure and beautiful.
 Vision
There in the middle of the field, by the side of a crystalline stream, I saw a bird-cage
whose rods and hinges were fashioned by an expert's hands. In one corner lay a dead
bird, and in another were two basins—one empty of water and the other of seeds. I
stood there reverently, as if the lifeless bird and the murmur of the water were worthy
of deep silence and respect—something worth of examination and meditation by the
heard and conscience.
As I engrossed myself in view and thought, I found that the poor creature had died of
thirst beside a stream of water, and of hunger in the midst of a rich field, cradle of life;
like a rich man locked inside his iron safe, perishing from hunger amid heaps of gold.
Before my eyes I saw the cage turned suddenly into a human skeleton, and the dead
bird into a man's heart which was bleeding from a deep wound that looked like the lips
of a sorrowing woman. A voice came from that wound saying, "I am the human heart,
prisoner of substance and victim of earthly laws.
"In God's field of Beauty, at the edge of the stream of life, I was imprisoned in the
cage of laws made by man.
"In the center of beautiful Creation I died neglected because I was kept from
enjoying the freedom of God's bounty.
"Everything of beauty that awakens my love and desire is a disgrace, according to
man's conceptions; everything of goodness that I crave is but naught, according to his
judgment.
"I am the lost human heart, imprisoned in the foul dungeon of man's dictates, tied
with chains of earthly authority, dead and forgotten by laughing humanity whose
tongue is tied and whose eyes are empty of visible tears."
All these words I heard, and I saw them emerging with a stream of ever thinning
blood from that wounded heart.
More was said, but my misted eyes and crying should prevented further sight or
hearing.

Two Wishes
In the silence of the night Death descended from God toward the earth. He hovered
above a city and pierced the dwellings with his eyes. He say the spirits floating on
wings of dreams, and the people who were surrendered to the Slumber.
When the moon fell below the horizon and the city became black, Death walked
silently among the houses—careful to touch nothing—until he reached a palace. He
entered through the bolted gates undisturbed, and stood by the rich man's bed; and as
Death touched his forehead, the sleeper's eyes opened, showing great fright.
When he saw the specter, he summoned a voice mingled with fear and anger, and
said, "God away, oh horrible dream; leave me, you dreadful ghost. Who are you? How
did you enter this place? What do you want? Leave this place at once, for I am the lord
of the house and will call my slaves and guards, and order them to kill you!"
Then Death spoke, softly but with smoldering thunder, "I am Death. Stand and
bow!"
The man responded, "What do you want? What have you come here when I have not
yet finished my affairs? What see you from strength such as mine? Go to the weak
man, and take him away!
"I loathe the sight of your bloody paws and hollow face, and my eyes take sick at
your horrible ribbed winds and cadaverous body."
After a moment of fearful realization he added, "No, No, oh merciful Death! Mind
not talk, for even fear reveals what the heart forbids.
"Take a bushelful of my gold, or a handful of my slave's souls, but leave me. I have
accounts with Life requiring settling; I have due from people much gold; my ships have
not reached the harbor; my demand, but spare my life. Death, I own harems of
supernatural beauty; your choice is my gift to you. Give heed, Death—I have but one
child, and I love him dearly for he is my only joy in this life. I offer supreme sacrifice—
take him, but spare me!"
Death murmured, "You are not rich, but pitifully poor." Then Death took the hand of
that earthly slave, removed his reality, and gave to the angels the heavy task of
correction.
And Death walked slowly amidst the dwellings of the poor until he reached the most
miserable he could find. He entered and approached a bed upon which a youth slept
fitfully. Death touched his eyes; the lad sprang up as he saw Death standing by, and,
with a voice full of love and hope he said, "Here I am, my beautiful Death. Accept my
soul, for you are the hope of my dreams. Be their accomplishment! Embrace me, oh
beloved Death! You are merciful; do not leave me. You are God's messenger; deliver
me to Him. You are the right hand of Truth and the heart of Kindness; do not neglect
me.
"I have begged for you many times, but you did not come; I have sought you, but you
avoided me; I called out to you, but you listened not. You hear me now—embrace my
soul, beloved Death!"
Death placed his softened hand upon the trembling lips, removed all reality, and
enfolded it beneath his wings for secure conduct. And returning to the sky, Death
looked back and whispered his warning:
 "Only those return to Eternity
 Who on earth seek out Eternity."

Yesterday and Today

The gold-hoarder walked in his palace park and with him walked his troubles. And
over his head hovered worries as a vulture hovers over a carcass, until he reached a
beautiful lake surrounded by magnificent marble statuary.
He sat there pondering the water which poured from the mouths of the statues like
thoughts flowing freely from a lover's imagination, and contemplating heavily his
palace which stood upon a knoll like a birth-mark upon the cheek of a maiden. His
fancy revealed to him the pages of his life's drama which he read with falling tears that
veiled his eyes and prevented him from viewing man's feeble additions to Nature.
He looked back with piercing regret to the images of his early life, woven into
pattern by the gods, until he could no longer control his anguish. He said aloud,
"Yesterday I was grazing my sheep in the green valley, enjoying my existence, sounding
my flute, and holding my head high. Today I am a prisoner of greed. Gold leads into
gold, then into restlessness and finally into crushing misery.
"Yesterday I was like a singing bird, soaring freely here and there in the fields. Today
I am a slave to fickle wealth, society's rules, and city's customs, and purchased friends,
pleasing the people by conforming to the strange and narrow laws of man. I was born
to be free and enjoy the bounty of life, but I find myself like a beast of burden so
heavily laden with gold that his back is breaking.
"Where are the spacious plains, the singing brooks, the pure breeze, the closeness of
Nature? Where is my deity? I have lost all! Naught remains save loneliness that
saddens me, gold that ridicules me, slaves who curse to my back, and a palace that I
have erected as a tomb for my happiness, and in whose greatness I have lost my heart.
"Yesterday I roamed the prairies and the hills together with the Bedouin's daughter;
Virtue was our companion, Love our delight, and the moon our guardian. Today I am
among women with shallow beauty who sell themselves for gold and diamonds.
"Yesterday I was carefree, sharing with the shepherds all the joy of life; eating,
playing, working, singing, and dancing together to the music of the heart's truth. Today
I find myself among the people like a frightened lamb among the wolves. As I walk in
the roads, they gaze at me with hateful eyes and point at me with scorn and jealousy,
and as I steal through the park I see frowning faces all about me.
"Yesterday I was rich in happiness and today I am poor in gold.
"Yesterday I was a happy shepherd looking upon his head as a merciful king looks
with pleasure upon his contented subjects. Today I am a slave standing before my
wealth, my wealth which robbed me of the beauty of life I once knew.
 "Forgive me, my Judge! I did not know that riches would put my life in fragments
and lead me into the dungeons of harshness and stupidity. What I thought was glory is
naught but an eternal inferno."
He gathered himself wearily and walked slowly toward the palace, sighing and
repeating, "Is this what people call wealth? Is this the god I am serving and
worshipping? Is this what I seek of the earth? Why can I not trade it for one particle of
contentment? Who would sell me one beautiful thought for a ton of gold? Who would
give me one moment of love for a handful of gems? Who would grant me an eye that
can see others' hearts, and take all my coffers in barter?"
As he reached the palace gates he turned and looked toward the city as Jeremiah
gazed toward Jerusalem. He raised his arms in woeful lament and shouted, "Oh people
of the noisome city, who are living in darkness, hastening toward misery, preaching
falsehood, and speaking with stupidity...until when shall you remain ignorant? Unit
when shall you abide in the filth of life and continue to desert its gardens? Why wear
you tattered robes of narrowness while the silk raiment of Nature's beauty is fashioned
for you? The lamp of wisdom is dimming; it is time to furnish it with oil. The house of
true fortune is being destroyed; it is time to rebuild it and guard it. The thieves of
ignorance have stolen the treasure of your peace; it is time to retake it!"
At that moment a poor man stood before him and stretched forth his hand for alms.
As he looked at the beggar, his lips parted, his eyes brightened with a softness, and his
face radiated kindness. It was as if the yesterday he had lamented by the lake had come
to greet him. He embraced the pauper with affection and filled his hands with gold,
and with a voice sincere with the sweetness of love he said, "Come back tomorrow and
bring with you your fellow sufferers. All your possessions will be restored."
He entered his palace saying, "Everything in life is good; even gold, for it teaches a
lesson. Money is like a stringed instrument; he who does not know how to use it
properly will hear only discordant music. Money is like love; it kills slowly and
painfully the one who withholds it, and it enlivens the other who turns it upon his
fellow man."

Leave Me, My Blamer

 Leave me, my blamer,
 For the sake of the love
 Which unites your soul with
 That of your beloved one;
 For the sake of that which
 Joins spirit with mothers
 Affection, and ties your
 Heart with filial love. Go,
 And leave me to my own
 Weeping heart.

 Let me sail in the ocean of
 My dreams; Wait until Tomorrow
 Comes, for tomorrow is free to
 Do with me as he wishes. Your
 Laying is naught but shadow
 That walks with the spirit to
 The tomb of abashment, and shows
 Heard the cold, solid earth.

 I have a little heart within me
 And I like to bring him out of
 His prison and carry him on the
 Palm of my hand to examine him
 In depth and extract his secret.
 Aim not your arrows at him, lest
 He takes fright and vanish 'ere he
 Pours the secrets blood as a
 Sacrifice at the altar of his
 Own faith, given him by Deity
 When he fashioned him of love and beauty.

 The sun is rising and the nightingale
 Is singing, and the myrtle is
 Breathing its fragrance into space.
 I want to free myself from the
 Quilted slumber of wrong. Do not
 Detain me, my blamer!

 Cavil me not by mention of the
 Lions of the forest or the
 Snakes of the valley, for
 Me soul knows no fear of earth and
 Accepts no warning of evil before
 Evil comes.

 Advise me not, my blamer, for
 Calamities have opened my heart and
 Tears have cleanses my eyes, and
 Errors have taught me the language
 Of the hearts.

 Talk not of banishment, for conscience
 Is my judge and he will justify me
 And protect me if I am innocent, and
 Will deny me of life if I am a criminal.

 Love's procession is moving;
 Beauty is waving her banner;
 Youth is sounding the trumpet of joy;
 Disturb not my contrition, my blamer.
 Let me walk, for the path is rich
 With roses and mint, and the air
 Is scented with cleanliness.

 Relate not the tales of wealth and
 Greatness, for my soul is rich
 With bounty and great with God's glory.

 Speak not of peoples and laws and
 Kingdoms, for the whole earth is
 My birthplace and all humans are
 My brothers.

 Go from me, for you are taking away
  Life—giving repentance and bringing
 Needless words.

The Beauty of Death

Part One - The Calling
 Let me sleep, for my soul is intoxicated with love and
 Let me rest, for my spirit has had its bounty of days and nights;
 Light the candles and burn the incense around my bed, and
 Scatter leaves of jasmine and roses over my body;
 Embalm my hair with frankincense and sprinkle my feet with perfume,
 And read what the hand of Death has written on my forehead.

 Let me rest in the arms of Slumber, for my open eyes are tired;
 Let the silver-stringed lyre quiver and soothe my spirit;
 Weave from the harp and lute a veil around my withering heart.

 Sing of the past as you behold the dawn of hope in my eyes, for
 It's magic meaning is a soft bed upon which my heart rests.

 Dry your tears, my friends, and raise your heads as the flowers
 Raise their crowns to greet the dawn.
 Look at the bride of Death standing like a column of light
 Between my bed and the infinite;
 Hold your breath and listen with me to the beckoning rustle of
 Her white wings.

 Come close and bid me farewell; touch my eyes with smiling lips.
 Let the children grasp my hands with soft and rosy fingers;
 Let the ages place their veined hands upon my head and bless me;
 Let the virgins come close and see the shadow of God in my eyes,
 And hear the echo of His will racing with my breath.
Part Two - The Ascending
 I have passed a mountain peak and my soul is soaring in the
 Firmament of complete and unbound freedom;
 I am far, far away, my companions, and the clouds are
 Hiding the hills from my eyes.
  The valleys are becoming flooded with an ocean of silence, and the
 Hands of oblivion are engulfing the roads and the houses;
 The prairies and fields are disappearing behind a white specter
 That looks like the spring cloud, yellow as the candlelight
 And red as the twilight.

 The songs of the waves and the hymns of the streams
 Are scattered, and the voices of the throngs reduced to silence;
 And I can hear naught but the music of Eternity
 In exact harmony with the spirit's desires.
 I am cloaked in full whiteness;
 I am in comfort; I am in peace.
Part Three - The Remains
 Unwrap me from this white linen shroud and clothe me
 With leaves of jasmine and lilies;
 Take my body from the ivory casket and let it rest
 Upon pillows of orange blossoms.
 Lament me not, but sing songs of youth and joy;
 Shed not tears upon me, but sing of harvest and the winepress;
 Utter no sigh of agony, but draw upon my face with your
 Finger the symbol of Love and Joy.
 Disturb not the air's tranquility with chanting and requiems,
 But let your hearts sing with me the song of Eternal Life;
 Mourn me not with apparel of black,
 But dress in color and rejoice with me;
 Talk not of my departure with sighs in your hearts; close
 Your eyes and you will see me with you forevermore.

 Place me upon clusters of leaves and
 Carry my upon your friendly shoulders and
 Walk slowly to the deserted forest.
 Take me not to the crowded burying ground lest my slumber
 Be disrupted by the rattling of bones and skulls.
 Carry me to the cypress woods and dig my grave where violets
 And poppies grow not in the other's shadow;
 Let my grave be deep so that the flood will not
 Carry my bones to the open valley;
  Let my grace be wide, so that the twilight shadows
 Will come and sit by me.

 Take from me all earthly raiment and place me deep in my
 Mother Earth; and place me with care upon my mother's breast.
 Cover me with soft earth, and let each handful be mixed
 With seeds of jasmine, lilies and myrtle; and when they
 Grow above me, and thrive on my body's element they will
 Breathe the fragrance of my heart into space;
 And reveal even to the sun the secret of my peace;
 And sail with the breeze and comfort the wayfarer.

 Leave me then, friends—leave me and depart on mute feet,
 As the silence walks in the deserted valley;
 Leave me to God and disperse yourselves slowly, as the almond
 And apple blossoms disperse under the vibration of Nisan's breeze.
 Go back to the joy of your dwellings and you will find there
 That which Death cannot remove from you and me.
 Leave with place, for what you see here is far away in meaning
 From the earthly world. Leave me.

A Poet's Voice
Part One
The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in
bundles and give them to the hungry.
My soul gives life to the grapevine and I press its bunches and give the juice to the
thirsty.
Heaven fills my lamp with oil and I place it at my window to direct the stranger
through the dark.
I do all these things because I live in them; and if destiny should tie my hands and
prevent me from so doing, then death would be my only desire. For I am a poet, and if
I cannot give, I shall refuse to receive.
Humanity rages like a tempest, but I sigh in silence for I know the storm must pass
away while a sigh goes to God.
Human kinds cling to earthly things, but I seek ever to embrace the torch of love so
it will purify me by its fire and sear inhumanity from my heart.
Substantial things deaden a man without suffering; love awakens him with
enlivening pains.
 Humans are divided into different clans and tribes, and belong to countries and
towns. But I find myself a stranger to all communities and belong to no settlement. The
universe is my country and the human family is my tribe.
Men are weak, and it is sad that they divide amongst themselves. The world is
narrow and it is unwise to cleave it into kingdoms, empires, and provinces.
Human kinds unite themselves one to destroy the temples of the soul, and they join
hands to build edifices for earthly bodies. I stand alone listening to the voice of hope in
my deep self saying, "As love enlivens a man's heart with pain, so ignorance teaches
him the way of knowledge." Pain and ignorance lead to great joy and knowledge
because the Supreme Being has created nothing vain under the sun.
Part Two
I have a yearning for my beautiful country, and I love its people because of their
misery. But if my people rose, stimulated by plunder and motivated by what they call
"patriotic spirit" to murder, and invaded my neighbor's country, then upon the
committing of any human atrocity I would hate my people and my country.
I sing the praise of my birthplace and long to see the home of my children; but if the
people in that home refused to shelter and feed the needy wayfarer, I would convert
my praise into anger and my longing to forgetfulness. My inner voice would say, "The
house that does not comfort the need is worthy of naught by destruction."
I love my native village with some of my love for my country; and I love my country
with part of my love for the earth, all of which is my country; and I love the earth will
all of myself because it is the haven of humanity, the manifest spirit of God.
Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that humanity is standing
amidst ruins, hiding its nakedness behind tattered rags, shedding tears upon hollow
cheeks, and calling for its children with pitiful voice. But the children are busy singing
their clan's anthem; they are busy sharpening the swords and cannot hear the cry of
their mothers.
Humanity appeals to its people but they listen not. Were one to listen, and console a
mother by wiping her tears, other would say, "He is weak, affected by sentiment."
Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that Supreme Being
preaches love and good-will. But the people ridicule such teachings. The Nazarene
Jesus listened, and crucifixion was his lot; Socrates heard the voice and followed it,
and he too fell victim in body. The followers of The Nazarene and Socrates are the
followers of Deity, and since people will not kill them, they deride them, saying,
"Ridicule is more bitter than killing."
Jerusalem could not kill The Nazarene, nor Athens Socrates; they are living yet and
shall live eternally. Ridicule cannot triumph over the followers of Deity. They live and
grow forever.
Part Three
Thou art my brother because you are a human, and we both are sons of one Holy
Spirit; we are equal and made of the same earth.
You are here as my companion along the path of life, and my aid in understanding
the meaning of hidden Truth. You are a human, and, that fact sufficing, I love you as a
brother. You may speak of me as you choose, for Tomorrow shall take you away and
will use your talk as evidence for his judgment, and you shall receive justice.
You may deprive me of whatever I possess, for my greed instigated the amassing of
wealth and you are entitled to my lot if it will satisfy you.
You may do unto me whatever you wish, but you shall not be able to touch my Truth.
You may shed my blood and burn my body, but you cannot kill or hurt my spirit.
You may tie my hands with chains and my feet with shackles, and put me in the dark
prison, but who shall not enslave my thinking, for it is free, like the breeze in the
spacious sky.
You are my brother and I love you. I love you worshipping in your church, kneeling
in your temple, and praying in your mosque. You and I and all are children of one
religion, for the varied paths of religion are but the fingers of the loving hand of the
Supreme Being, extended to all, offering completeness of spirit to all, anxious to
receive all.
I love you for your Truth, derived from your knowledge; that Truth which I cannot
see because of my ignorance. But I respect it as a divine thing, for it is the deed of the
spirit. Your Truth shall meet my Truth in the coming world and blend together like the
fragrance of flowers and becoming one whole and eternal Truth, perpetuating and
living in the eternity of Love and Beauty.
I love you because you are weak before the strong oppressor, and poor before the
greedy rich. For these reasons I shed tears and comfort you; and from behind my tears
I see you embraced in the arms of Justice, smiling and forgiving your persecutors. You
are my brother and I love you.
Part Four
You are my brother, but why are you quarreling with me? Why do you invade my
country and try to subjugate me for the sake of pleasing those who are seeking glory
and authority?
Why do you leave your wife and children and follow Death to the distant land for the
sake of those who buy glory with your blood, and high honor with your mother's tears?
Is it an honor for a man to kill his brother man? If you deem it an honor, let it be an
act of worship, and erect a temple to Cain who slew his brother Abel.
Is self-preservation the first law of Nature? Why, then, does Greed urge you to self-
sacrifice in order only to achieve his aim in hurting your brothers? Beware, my brother,
of the leader who says, "Love of existence obliges us to deprive the people of their
rights!" I say unto you but this: protecting others' rights is the noblest and most
beautiful human act; if my existence requires that I kill others, then death is more
honorable to me, and if I cannot find someone to kill me for the protection of my
honor, I will not hesitate to take my life by my own hands for the sake of Eternity
before Eternity comes.
Selfishness, my brother, is the cause of blind superiority, and superiority creates
clanship, and clanship creates authority which leads to discord and subjugation.
The soul believes in the power of knowledge and justice over dark ignorance; it
denies the authority that supplies the swords to defend and strengthen ignorance and
oppression—that authority which destroyed Babylon and shook the foundation of
Jerusalem and left Rome in ruins. It is that which made people call criminals great
mean; made writers respect their names; made historians relate the stories of their
inhumanity in manner of praise.
The only authority I obey is the knowledge of guarding and acquiescing in the
Natural Law of Justice.
What justice does authority display when it kills the killer? When it imprisons the
robber? When it descends on a neighborhood country and slays its people? What does
justice think of the authority under which a killer punishes the one who kills, and a
thief sentences the one who steals?
You are my brother, and I love you; and Love is justice with its full intensity and
dignity. If justice did not support my love for you, regardless of your tribe and
community, I would be a deceiver concealing the ugliness of selfishness behind the
outer garment of pure love.
Conclusion
My soul is my friend who consoles me in misery and distress of life. He who does not
befriend his soul is an enemy of humanity, and he who does not find human guidance
within himself will perish desperately. Life emerges from within, and derives not from
environs.
 I came to say a word and I shall say it now
 but if death prevents me, it will be said by tomorrow
 for tomorrow never leaves a secret in the book of eternity.

 I came to live here in the glory of love and the light of beauty,
 which are the reflections of God.

 I am here, living, and I cannot be exiled from the domain of life
 for through my living word I will live in death.

 I came here to be for all and with all,
 and what I do today in my solitude
 will be echoed tomorrow by the multitude.

 What I say now with one heart
 will be said tomorrow by thousands of hearts...
The Life of Love
Spring
 Come, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,
 For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its
 Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.
 Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the
 Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw
 Inspiration high above the cool green plains.

 Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
 And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and
 They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of
 the Night of Kedre.

 The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like
 Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance
 Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;
 And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of
 Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.

 Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter's
 Tears from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits
 With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander
 In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.

 Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us
 Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.
Summer
 Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the
 Time of harvest approaches, and the sun's eyes
 Are ripening the grain.
 Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the
 Spirit nourishes the grains of Joy from the
 Seeds of Love, sowed deep in our hearts.
 Let us fill our bins with the products of
  Nature, as life fills so abundantly the
 Domain of our hearts with her endless bounty.
 Let us make the flowers our bed, and the
 Sky our blanket, and rest our heads together
 Upon pillows of soft hay.
 Let us relax after the day's toil, and listen
 To the provoking murmur of the brook.
Autumn
 Let us go and gather grapes in the vineyard
 For the winepress, and keep the wine in old
 Vases, as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the
 Ages in eternal vessels.

 Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has
 Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the
 Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.
 Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds
 Have made pilgrimage to warmth and lest the chilled
 Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The jasmine
 And myrtle have no more tears.

 Let us retreat, for the tired brook has
 Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs
 Are drained of their copious weeping; and
 Their cautious old hills have stored away
 Their colorful garments.

 Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary
 And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell
 With quiet and contented melody.
Winter
 Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;
 Come close to me and let not Winter's touch
 Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,
 For fire is the only fruit of Winter.

  Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for
 That is greater than the shrieking elements
 Beyond our door.
 Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the
 Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my
 Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields
 Makes my soul cry.

 Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and
 Place it by you, so I can read with tears what
 Your life with me has written upon your face.

 Bring Autumn's wine. Let us drink and sing the
 Song of remembrance to Spring's carefree sowing,
 And Summer's watchful tending, and Autumn's
 Reward in harvest.

 Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the
 Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
 Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is
 Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing
 Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before
 They are shut.
 Find me with your arms and embrace me; let
 Slumber then embrace our souls as one.
 Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
 All but our moving lips.

 You are close by me, My Forever.
 How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber,
 And how recent was the dawn!

Song of the Wave

 The strong shore is my beloved
 And I am his sweetheart.
 We are at last united by love, and
 Then the moon draws me from him.
 I go to him in haste and depart
 Reluctantly, with many
 Little farewells.

 I steal swiftly from behind the
 Blue horizon to cast the silver of
 My foam upon the gold of his sand, and
 We blend in melted brilliance.

 I quench his thirst and submerge his
 Heart; he softens my voice and subdues
 My temper.
 At dawn I recite the rules of love upon
 His ears, and he embraces me longingly.

 At eventide I sing to him the song of
 Hope, and then print smooth hisses upon
 His face; I am swift and fearful, but he
 Is quiet, patient, and thoughtful. His
 Broad bosom soothes my restlessness.

 As the tide comes we caress each other,
 When it withdraws, I drop to his feet in
 Prayer.

 Many times have I danced around mermaids
 As they rose from the depths and rested
 Upon my crest to watch the stars;
 Many times have I heard lovers complain
 Of their smallness, and I helped them to sigh.

  Many times have I teased the great rocks
 And fondled them with a smile, but never
 Have I received laughter from them;
 Many times have I lifted drowning souls
 And carried them tenderly to my beloved
 Shore. He gives them strength as he
 Takes mine.

 Many times have I stolen gems from the
 Depths and presented them to my beloved
 Shore. He takes them in silence, but still
 I give fro he welcomes me ever.

 In the heaviness of night, when all
 Creatures seek the ghost of Slumber, I
 Sit up, singing at one time and sighing
 At another. I am awake always.

 Alas! Sleeplessness has weakened me!
 But I am a lover, and the truth of love
 Is strong.
 I may be weary, but I shall never die.

Peace
The tempest calmed after bending the branches of the trees and leaning heavily upon
the grain in the field. The stars appeared as broken remnants of lightning, but now
silence prevailed over all, as if Nature's war had never been fought.
At that hour a young woman entered her chamber and knelt by her bed sobbing
bitterly. Her heart flamed with agony but she could finally open her lips and say, "Oh
Lord, bring him home safely to me. I have exhausted my tears and can offer no more,
oh Lord, full of love and mercy. My patience is drained and calamity is seeking
possession of my heart. Save him, oh Lord, from the iron paws of War; deliver him
from such unmerciful Death, for he is weak, governed by the strong. Oh Lord, save my
beloved, who is Thine own son, from the foe, who is Thy foe. Keep him from the forced
pathway to Death's door; let him see me, or come and take me to him."
Quietly a young man entered. His head was wrapped in bandage soaked with
escaping life.
He approached he with a greeting of tears and laughter, then took her hand and
placed against it his flaming lips. And with a voice with bespoke past sorrow, and joy of
union, and uncertainty of her reaction, he said, "Fear me not, for I am the object of
your plea. Be glad, for Peace has carried me back safely to you, and humanity has
restored what greed essayed to take from us. Be not sad, but smile, my beloved. Do not
express bewilderment, for Love has power that dispels Death; charm that conquers the
enemy. I am your one. Think me not a specter emerging from the House of Death to
visit your Home of Beauty.
"Do not be frightened, for I am now Truth, spared from swords and fire to reveal to
the people the triumph of Love over War. I am Word uttering introduction to the play
of happiness and peace."
Then the young man became speechless and his tears spoke the language of the
heart; and the angels of Joy hovered about that dwelling, and the two hearts restored
the singleness which had been taken from them.
At dawn the two stood in the middle of the field contemplating the beauty of Nature
injured by the tempest. After a deep and comforting silence, the soldier said to his
sweetheart, "Look at the Darkness, giving birth to the Sun."

The Playground of Life

 One hour devoted to the pursuit of Beauty
 And Love is worth a full century of glory
 Given by the frightened weak to the strong.

 From that hour comes man's Truth; and
 During that century Truth sleeps between
 The restless arms of disturbing dreams.

 In that hour the soul sees for herself
 The Natural Law, and for that century she
 Imprisons herself behind the law of man;
 And she is shackled with irons of oppression.

 That hour was the inspiration of the Songs
 Of Solomon, an that century was the blind
 Power which destroyed the temple of Baalbek.

 That hour was the birth of the Sermon on the
 Mount, and that century wrecked the castles of
 Palmyra and the Tower of Babylon.

 That hour was the Hegira of Mohammed and that
 Century forgot Allah, Golgotha, and Sinai.

 One hour devoted to mourning and lamenting the
 Stolen equality of the weak is nobler than a
 Century filled with greed and usurpation.

 It is at that hour when the heart is
 Purified by flaming sorrow and
 Illuminated by the torch of Love.
 And in that century, desires for Truth
 Are buried in the bosom of the earth.
 That hour is the root which must flourish.
 That hour of meditation, the hour of
 Prayer, and the hour of a new era of good.

 And that century is a life of Nero spent
 On self-investment taken solely from
 Earthly substance.

 This is life.
 Portrayed on the stage for ages;
 Recorded earthly for centuries;
 Lived in strangeness for years;
 Sung as a hymn for days;
  Exalted but for an hour, but the
 Hour is treasured by Eternity as a jewel.

The City of the Dead

Yesterday I drew myself from the noisome throngs and proceeded into the field until I
reached a knoll upon which Nature had spread her comely garments. Now I could
breathe.
I looked back, and the city appeared with its magnificent mosques and stately
residences veiled by the smoke of the shops.
I commenced analyzing man's mission, but could conclude only that most of his life
was identified with struggle and hardship. Then I tried not to ponder over what the
sons of Adam had done, and centered my eyes on the field which is the throne of God's
glory. In one secluded corner of the field I observed a burying ground surrounded by
poplar trees.
There, between the city of the dead and the city of the living, I meditated. I thought
of the eternal silence in the first and the endless sorrow in the second.
In the city of the living I found hope and despair; love and hatred, joy and sorrow,
wealth and poverty, faith and infidelity.
In the city of the dead there is buried earth in earth that Nature converts, in the
night's silence, into vegetation, and then into animal, and then into man. As my mind
wandered in this fashion, I saw a procession moving slowly and reverently,
accompanied by pieces of music that filled the sky with sad melody. It was an elaborate
funeral. The dead was followed by the living who wept and lamented his going. As the
cortege reached the place of interment the priests commenced praying and burning
incense, and musicians blowing and plucking their instruments, mourning the
departed. Then the leaders came forward one after the other and recited their eulogies
with fine choice of words.
At last the multitude departed, leaving the dead resting in a most spacious and
beautiful vault, expertly designed in stone and iron, and surrounded by the most
expensively-entwined wreaths of flowers.
The farewell-bidders returned to the city and I remained, watching them from a
distance and speaking softly to myself while the sun was descending to the horizon and
Nature was making her many preparations for slumber.
Then I saw two men laboring under the weight of a wooden casket, and behind them
a shabby-appearing woman carrying an infant on her arms. Following last was a dog
who, with heartbreaking eyes, stared first at the woman and then at the casket.
 It was a poor funeral. This guest of Death left to cold society a miserable wife and an
infant to share her sorrows and a faithful dog whose heart knew of his companion's
departure.
As they reached the burial place they deposited the casket into a ditch away from the
tended shrubs and marble stones, and retreated after a few simple words to God. The
dog made one last turn to look at his friend's grave as the small group disappeared
behind the trees.
I looked at the city of the living and said to myself, "That place belongs to the few."
Then I looked upon the trim city of the dead and said, "That place, too, belongs to the
few. Oh Lord, where is the haven of all the people?"
As I said this, I looked toward the clouds, mingled with the sun's longest and most
beautiful golden rays. And I heard a voice within me saying, "Over there!"