Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran (73 page)

But your enthusiasm for Arrabitah and the deeds of its workers shows eagerness in your heart and willingness in your spirit for renovation, growth and enlightenment. Now in behalf of my brethren and fellow-workers of Arrabitah I offer to you thanks and gratitude.

Please accept my sincerest respect accompanied with my best wishes, and may Allah protect you and keep you.

G
IBRAN

P.S. Please remember me to my great literary brother Felix Farris and give him my salaam.

TO MAY ZIADEH

1925

Dear May:

… What shall I say to you about my vicissitudes? A year ago I was living in peace and tranquility, but today my tranquility has turned into clamor, and my peace into strife. The people devour my days and my nights and submerge my life in their conflicts and desires. Many a time I have fled from this awful city
*
to a remote place to be away from the people and from the shadow of myself. The Americans are a mighty people who never give up or get tired or sleep or dream. If these people hate someone, they will kill him by negligence, and if they like or love a person, they will shower him with affection. He who wishes to live in New York must be a sharp sword in a sheath of honey. The sword is to repel those who are desirous of killing time, and the honey is to satisfy their hunger.

The day will come when I will be leaving for the Orient. My longing for my country almost melts my heart. Had it not been for this cage which I have woven with my own hands, I would have caught the first boat sailing towards the Orient. But what man is capable of leaving an edifice on whose construction he has spent all his life, even though that edifice is his own prison? It is difficult to get rid of it in one day …

… So you want me to smile and forgive. I have been smiling a lot since this morning, and I am now all smiles deep down in my heart. I smile as if I were born to smile…. But forgiveness is a horrible word which makes me stand in fear and shame. The noble soul that humbles herself to that extent is closer to the angels than to human beings…. I alone am to blame, and I have done wrong in my silence and despair. For this reason I ask you to forget what I have done and to forgive me.

G
IBRAN

*
New York.

TO MAY ZIADEH

In the year 1926

Dear May:

… You say that I am an artist and a poet. I am neither an artist, May, nor a poet. I have spent my days writing and painting, but I am not in accord with my days and my nights. I am a cloud, May—a cloud that mingles with objects, but never becomes united with them. I am a cloud, and in the cloud is my solitude, my loneliness, my hunger, and my thirst. But my calamity is that the cloud, which is my reality, longs to hear someone say, “You are not alone in this world but we are two together, and I know who you are.”

… Tell me, May, is there any other person over there capable of and willing to say to me, “I am another cloud; O, cloud, let us spread ourselves over the mountains and in the valleys: let us walk between and above the trees, let us cover the high rocks, let us penetrate the heart of the human race, let us roam the unknown and the fortified distant places.” Tell me, May, is there anyone who is capable of and willing to say at least one of these words?

G
IBRAN

TO MAY ZIADEH

1928

Dear May:

I am indebted for all that I call “I” to women, ever since I was an infant. Women opened the windows of my eyes and the doors of my spirit. Had it not been for the woman-mother, the woman-sister, and the woman-friend, I would have been sleeping among those who seek the tranquility of the world with their snoring.

… I have found pleasure in being ill. This pleasure differs with its effect from any other pleasure. I have found a sort of tranquility that makes me love illness. The sick man is safe from people's strife, demands, dates and appointments, excess of talking, and ringing of telephones … I have found another kind of enjoyment through illness which is more important and unmeasurable. I have found that I am closer to abstract things in my sickness than in health. When I lay my head upon the pillow and close my eyes and lose myself to the world, I find myself flying like a bird over serene valleys and forests, wrapped in a gentle veil. I see myself close to those whom my heart has loved, calling and talking to them, but without anger and with the same feelings they feel and the same thoughts they think. They lay their hands now and then upon my forehead to bless me.

… I wish I were sick in Egypt or in my country so I might be close to the ones I love.
*
Do you know, May, that every morning and every evening I find myself in a home in Cairo with you sitting before me reading the last article I wrote or the one you wrote which has not yet been published.

… Do you realize, May, that whenever I think of the Departure which the people call Death, I find pleasure in such thinking and great longing for such departure. But then I return to myself and remember that there is one word I must say before I depart. I become perplexed between my disability and my obligation and I give up hope. No, I have not said my word yet, and nothing but smoke has come out from this light. This is what makes me feel that cessation of work is more bitter than gall. I say this to you, May, and I don't say it to anyone else: If I don't depart before I spell and pronounce my word, I will return to say the word which is now hanging like a cloud in the sky of my heart.

… Does this sound strange to you? The strangest things are the closest to the real truth. In the will of man there is a power of longing which turns the mist in ourselves into sun.

G
IBRAN

*
At the writing of this letter May was living in Cairo, Egypt.

This letter was written in the year 1928 when Gibran's book,
Jesus the Son of Man,
was published by Alfred A. Knopf. In this book Gibran speaks of Jesus in behalf of seventy-nine persons who saw him. The last man who speaks of Jesus in the book is a man from Lebanon who lives in the twentieth century.

As we notice in the following letter, Gibran wrote this book while he was ill.

TO MIKHAIL NAIMY