for 12 years, almusthafa had waited in the city of orphalese for the ship that would return him to the isle of his birth. in the seventh day of the month of ielool, the month of reaping, he saw his ship coming through the mist. the first surge of happiness slowly changed to sadness when he thought about the times he had spent in the city; the days of pain and loneliness. he would have to leave with a wound in his spirit; leaving the city was like tearing one’s own skin with one’s own hands. his mother the sea called out and it made him decide that he had to board the ship. just another loving look backwards, that was all before he would join his men. as he walked, he saw men and women returning from the fields and the vineyards, calling out his name and announcing the arrival of the ship. the day of parting seemed to change into the day of gathering. he wondered what could he, a seeker of silences, give the city in return? the elders asked him not to leave. for them, he was a noontide at twilight, a youth whose dreams had given them dreams; he was a beloved son of theirs. the hour of separation is when the depths of love can be known the most. tears welling his eyes, he walked with the people to the temple-square. the prophetess, almitra, who was the first to believe him on his first day in the city, came out of the sanctuary and hailed him as a prophet of god, in quest for the uttermost and have searched long distances for his ship and now that it has come, he has to go; the deep longing for his homeland is greater than the binding love of the city-dwellers yet she request him to give them the truth so that it will be passed on down the generations and wont perish. the city requested him to disclose about them to themselves and tell them all that is between birth and death. the prophet started to speak, ‘people of orphalese, of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving within your souls?’ then they asked him his thoughts about certain topics:
love – 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 might shatter your dreams. love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. but if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: to melt and be like the 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 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.
marriage – you were born together and shall be for evermore. you shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days. you shall be together in the silent memory of god. but, let there be spaces in your togetherness. love one another, but make not a bond of love; 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 they quiver with the same music. and stand together yet not too near together, like the pillars of the temple stand apart; like the oak and cypress trees that grow not in each other’s shadow.
children – they are life’s longing for itself. 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 dreams. you may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. you are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
giving – 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 over-prudent dog burying bones in the trackless sand. there are those who give little of the much which they have – and they give it for recognition and their hidden desires make 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. 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 with-hold is to perish.
eating & drinking – would that you could live on the fragrance of the earth, and like an air plant be sustained by light. but since you must kill to eat, and rob the newly born of its mother’s milk to quench your thirst, let it then be an act of worship. and let your board stand on altar on which the pure and the innocent of forest and plain are sacrificed for that which is purer and still more innocent in man. when you kill a beast, say to him in your heart: ‘by the same power that slays you, i too am slain; and i too shall be consumed. for the law that delivered you into my hand shall deliver me into a mightier hand.’ and, in the autumn, when you gather the grapes of your vineyard for the wine-press, say in your heart: ‘i too am a vineyard, 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.
work – 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 put of life’s procession that maries in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite. which of you would like to be a dumb and silent reed when all others are singing together in unison? 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. i have heard many say. ‘he who works in marble and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone is nobler that he who ploughs the soil.’ but i say, that the wind speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades of grass. and if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better than you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy.
joy and sorrow – your joy is your sorrow unmasked. is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven? 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 into your heart and you shall see that, in truth, you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
houses – your house is your larger body. it grows in the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the night. in their fear, your grandfathers gathered you too near together. and that fear shall endure a little longer. 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, which leads the heart from things fashioned of wood and stone to the holy mountain? or have you only comfort, and lust for comfort, that stealthily thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host and then a master? and it becomes a tamer, and with a hook and scourge makes puppets of your larger desires. your house shall be not an anchor but a mast. you shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living. 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 the night.
clothes – your clothes conceal much of your beauty, yet they hide not the unbeautiful. and thought you seek in garments the freedom of privacy you may find in them a harness and a chain. would it be rather that you could feel the sun and the wind with more of your skin and less of your raiment? for the breath of life, is in sunlight and the hand of life, is in wind. forget not that modesty is for a shield against the eye of the unclean. and when the unclean shall be no more, what were the modesty but a fetter and fouling of the mind?
buying and selling – 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, fields and vineyards meet the weavers, potters and spice merchants, invoke then the master spirit of the earth, to come to your midst and sanctify the scales. and if there come the singers and 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 market-place, see that no one has gone his way empty-handed.
crime and punishment – it is when your spirit goes wandering upon the wind that you, alone and unguarded, commit a wrong unto others and yourself. and for that wrong committed must you knock and wait a while unheeded at the gate of the blessed. 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. even as the holy and the righteous cannot rise beyond the highest which is in each of you, so the wicked and the weak cannot fall lower than the lowest which is in you also. as a single leaf does not turn yellow without the silent knowledge of the whole tree, so the wrongdoer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all. like a procession you walk together towards your god-self. and when one of you falls down he falls for those behind him, a caution against the stumbling stone. and he falls for those ahead of him, who, though faster and surer of foot, yet removed not the stumbling stone. the murdered is accountable for the murder; the righteous is not innocent of the deeds of the wicked. you cannot separate the just from the unjust and the good from the wicked, for they stand together. if any of you would punish in the name of righteousness and lay the axe unto the evil tree, let him see to its roots; where he will find the roots of good and bad; fruitful and fruitless all entwined together in the silent heart of the earth. and how shall you punish those whose remorse is already greater than their mis-deeds? the cornerstone of the temple is not higher than the lowest stone in the foundation.
laws – you delight in laying down laws yet you delight in breaking them; like children playing by the ocean who build sand-towers with constancy and then destroy them with laughter. what shall i say of those that stand in the sunlight with their backs to the sun? they see only their shadows and the shadows are their laws. you can muffle the drum, you can loosen the strings of the lyre, but who shall command the skylark to sing?
freedom – you can only be free when even the desire of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you and when you cease to speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfillment. you shall be free when our days are not without a care or your nights without want and a grief. how shall you rise beyond your days and nights unless you break the chains which you at the dawn of your understanding have fastened around your noon hour? in truth that which you call freedom is the strongest of these chains. just like when the shadow fades and is no more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light, your freedom, when it loses its fetters becomes itself the fetter of a greater freedom.
