There is one book I carry with me wherever I go-The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.
Every time I read a few pages, I start to feel an inner tingling in my heart, and my soul starts chirping like the nightingale he so lyrically describes. It’s true that I cling to his words harder than the average person, because we both come from Lebanon. However, his great fame and works both as a poet and an artist has had a profound effect on many people around the world.
Gibran wrote in both Arabic and English, and his best work was produced in the era of the roaring twenties in New York, USA. He was influenced by the free thought and exuberance of that time, and he was regularly associated with W.B. Yeats, Carl Jung and August Rodin. His seminal book The Prophet is amongst the best-selling books of all time after the Bible and Shakespeare’s collections.
Though his books were initially ignored by critics, they have influenced world leaders like J.F.Kennedy, The Beatles and many millions around the globe.There is both simplicity and beauty to his writings that reach far and wide. They offer spiritual and philosophical musings on God, love, family, work, death and many other threads that unite humanity.
Below are 11 quotes from Gibran that I read regularly, and that are indelibly stamped in my heart:
1) “Your daily life is your temple and your religion.”
2)“You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts.”
3)“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 one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone 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, yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.”
4)“Your children are not your children.
They are sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
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 your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.”
5)“Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.”
6)“You give but little when you give of your possessions.It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.”
7)“I love you when you bow in your mosque, kneel in your temple, pray in your church. For you and I are sons of one religion, and it is the spirit.”
8)“No man can reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of your knowledge.The teacher who walks in the shadow of the temple, among his followers, gives not of his wisdom but rather of his faith and his lovingness.If he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the house of his wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind.”
9)“When you love you should not think you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”
10)“Say not, ‘I have found the truth,’ but rather, ‘I have found a truth.’ Say not, ‘ I have found the path of the soul.’ Say rather, ‘I have met the soul walking upon my path.’ For the soul walks upon all paths. The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed. The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.”
11)“Work is love made visible. And if you can’t work with love, but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of the people who work with joy”
“This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.” ― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
I was bored, ambivalent and felt no passion for life. My business was going through tough times, and my kids were growing up so fast that they had little time for me.
I was getting regular bouts of flu and was just not feeling good about myself.I looked closely at the mirror. I didn’t like what I saw. How had the last twenty years flown by? Why couldn’t I recall any great moments?
The brutal truth was that I had become a robot, a man tied down to responsibilities and tasks. I wore a straitjacket and labeled it as my life. I found myself in an existential crisis.
Has everything I’ve done in my 40-year existence not been what I wanted?
Who am I?
What am I living for?
I didn’t have any answers, but at least, I now had the will to search and ask. My search inevitably led to one word—Authenticity.
Authenticity doesn’t just mean being honest about ourselves. It doesn’t just mean living a positive and giving life. It doesn’t mean being a new-agey person who doesn’t eat meat and meditates all the time.
Authenticity is rather becoming the master of our lives. The word authenticity has Latin roots which today means “Author.” This mastery of life we choose is based on our Values, Principles and Aspirations.
The world-renowned Psychologist Abraham Maslow says: ”What a man can be, he must be.” He later went on to call this concept the need for Self-Actualization.
For me, it means recognizing that:
We are spirit, a part of a supreme being coming into human form to have this Physical experience on earth.
We are here to shed layer after layer of our density, to become lighter and find our inner core, or in other words learn and grow.
We have a unique gift or talent and we must find it and work on it, as it will give us the greatest platform to be who we must be and so serve humanity.
These are some ways to start our self-discovery journey into becoming authentic:
1)Looking at the Mirror
We start by questioning, reflecting and analysing the way we are living our lives. We must realise that our only goal in life is to live authentically.
We need to recognise that suffering comes from us not being authentic, not awakening and not connecting to our real selves. We can’t allow the ego and its many faces such as anger, greed and fear to sidetrack us from our true path.
We are lulled into a false sense of belief and remain in a comfort zone that paralyses us into seeking an easy path but not the right way.We do things because we have to. We take jobs to survive. We follow the herd and get caught up in living a life that is not meant for us.
My journey started almost seven years ago when I decided I needed to change and seek a more meaningful life.It all started with an intention and the right books,teachers and lessons quickly came my way.
2)Ego is tamed
Often, the only way to awaken to our authenticity is when it’s enforced onto us, and where the ego is finally shattered into submission and the chattering mind subsides allowing our hearts to take a more active role in guiding us to our authentic path.
When we fall hopelessly in love, the mind’s hold on us eases, and our heart starts feeling and creating a new path for us. People in love are often in an inspired mood, get a spring in their step, or see the intensity of colours they never saw before.
We start recognising our values, formulating our principles, and it’s often the time when we allow ourselves to dream those big dreams. Our hearts are purring, and we get a glimpse of our true selves.
Other times, it could take a traumatic event that subdues the ego.I went through a few horrible years where my business was failing, and my nephew had a near-fatal accident.These events led me to drop my egoic armour and see that what used to work for me, doesn’t anymore.It was the pain that I suffered that finally forced me to start questioning my life.
3)Get inspired by heroes
There are many heroes, famous or not; that inspire us to live an authentic life.Buddha’s enlightenment and his clear, logical dogma, making us directly responsible for our lives or Hemingway’s larger than life existence where he coupled great writing with wonderful real-life experiences are the ones that inspire me most.
However, our biggest heroes are those who live amongst us, in our families and communities, where we see them first hand doing what they love effortlessly. We see them in their element, enjoying what they do and we feel it viscerally and our hearts scream with joy.
I was inspired by my grandfather’s final years. At the age of 83, he would get up very early, pray and then set off in collecting monies and food from those people who could afford it, to give to those who didn’t—the poor and the homeless. He was relentless, and I saw his eyes light up when he set off, and his energy never wavered, often coming back very late at night.
4) Know Thyself
Authenticity requires self-knowledge and self-awareness. We must accept our strengths and weaknesses and know that they connect with our values and desires. And most importantly we need to act deliberately in ways that are consistent with those qualities.
A journey of self-discovery is also one of self-enquiry, so the more information we gather on ourselves, the better.
Over the past seven years, I did all kinds of personality, strengths and behaviour tests that helped me in understanding myself. I asked my family and friends to identify my strengths, weaknesses and what I represented to them.I went back to my childhood to investigate what I was like.I experimented on what piqued my interest to see if it was worthwhile pursuing.
I’ve found that I need a lot of solitary time; I’ve found writing to be the best way to share parts of me in this world and recognising that what my soul needs more than anything is inner peace and presence.
To be authentic is to be in a place that feels right, where everything you think, say and do are the same.It’s like we’re a river flowing effortlessly downstream, manoeuvring easily around any obstacles that get in our way.
Authenticity means being willing to sacrifice any relationship, situation or circumstance that violates your truth.It doesn’t mean you don’t have bad days, but at least, you are fully alive to handle them.
Authenticity is not something that when acquired means you need not do anymore but rather a continuous process.
We know that we must tend toward what is right, blessed, sweet and noble in life.
We hunger and thirst for what makes our hearts purr.
We do not wish to fill our souls with bitterness.
We look on love as a goal and not as a means in itself to achieve something else.
We regard submission as elevation and reverence as a form of reward.
We see longing as a gift and a bounty in itself.
We don’t pray so that God spares us torment. We know it’s part of our lives, as we can’t do without that which infuses the soul with a sacred kiss. And we can’t do without that which brings us closer to our greater selves and reveals to us the power, mystery and wonder we have within us.
We see life and happiness in its purest manifestations. In the eyes of a baby smiling, we find all the hope and aspiration of humanity. And in a simple flower we see the glory and beauty of spring.
We don’t use what is near to reach what lies far ahead, and we don’t demand from God: “give us what we want or gives us nothing.”
We realize that what is right, blessed and permanent in life does not follow our wishes, but moves according to its own will. It does not stop in one place; it marches on with all its beauty like a procession encapsulating and bewildering everyone in its path.
We are ready to be part of life and to be used as one of its many translucent elements. What motive has a Robin when singing but to sing? What motive has the river got but to flow? What motive has a Royal Oak tree but to stand tall and majestic?
We know we are part of a myriad of souls who each have their own purpose and also a collective one in serving each other. We know that a lonely soul has no purpose at all.
We know that God has instilled a part of him in us, and all we need to do is to remove all the obstacles that stand in the way of us reaching that sacrosanct part.
I drift back again to the wonderful summers I spent in Lebanon, and then I am suddenly nudged to leave the empty plane. I remember why I’m here – Gibran Khalil Gibran – and I smile.
The taxi driver complains that the political leaders are robbing the nation. “They’re all in on the game,” he says, adding that they’re cheating the people of their futures and livelihood. I know that many of the four million Lebanese suffer without jobs, without any kind of infrastructure, and that they live in daily fear, while five or six men rule by dividing the nation. I love to listen to taxi drivers because I feel a city’s vibes and secrets through them, as if they are the eyes and ears of that city. I think of what the driver says, and Gibran’s words come to mind:
Pity the nation that acclaims the bully as hero,
and that deems the glittering conqueror bountiful.
Pity a nation that despises a passion in its dream,
yet submits in its awakening.
I decided on a whim to travel to Lebanon and visit Gibran’s Museum. I felt spiritually bankrupt, and a visit to Gibran’s museum and my family would be an ideal way to rejuvenate and awaken me.
However, the trip turned out to be not about rekindling my spirituality, as much as unravelling many hidden feelings inside of me. I reconnected with my country and its people in a way I hadn’t before. I empathized with their plight and felt my stomach tighten every time a taxi driver complained and cried about his misery.
I would get riled when I heard about a top bank manager earning as little as a janitor in any average American university, or when I heard that someone born into a specific religion, sect, or village could be ostracized, attacked or miss out on a job opportunity. It was clear that the Machiavellian so-called political barons were getting what they wanted. When they didn’t, they were ruthless in retribution.
But had the Lebanese given up on the fight, as they were too tired or too afraid to lose the few benefits they had received? Had they silently agreed to the terms of their devils, so that they didn’t have to suffer more pain?
Many questions start flashing up in my mind. Why had circumstances always conspired to keep me away from this country for so long? What about Lebanon and its people had led me to adopt other countries? Would I ever return here to live?
Again, Gibran described the duality of my thoughts perfectly:
You have your Lebanon and I have mine. You have your Lebanon with her problems, and I have my Lebanon with her beauty. You have your Lebanon with all her prejudices and struggles, and I have my Lebanon with all her dreams and securities. Your Lebanon is a political knot, a national dilemma, a place of conflict and deception. My Lebanon, is a place of beauty and dreams of enchanting valleys and splendid mountains. Your Lebanon is inhabited by functionaries, officers, politicians, committees, and factions. My Lebanon is for peasants, shepherds, young boys and girls, parents and poets. Your Lebanon is empty and fleeting, whereas My Lebanon will endure forever.
As I entered the museum, I began to understand the real Gibran and imagine how he was as a man. He wasn’t just a writer of beautiful words, or a painter of breathtaking pictures, but a messenger from some higher place who came to serve as a reminder, as an exemplar and a guide to we mere mortals. His message was simple: that we are beautiful souls having a human experience, and we are united in this experience called life. He communicated in a language that addressed our hearts, directly removing the need for our analytical minds.
His works will remain immortal. I reached his tomb and read his epitaph: “I am alive like you, and I now stand beside you. Close your eyes and look around you. You will see me in front of you.” I was overwhelmed, and tears rolled down my cheeks just like a summer thunderstorm that erupts without warning.
I was intoxicated with that “wine of life” Gibran kept referring to, and I felt something stir deep within me. I felt I had someone looking out for me. I felt my heart had expanded, as if I was all-knowing, and I felt absolute peace. Most of all, I felt totally loved. Finally, I felt I belonged to Lebanon.
I walked down to a spot where I saw some cedar trees and just sat in awe of them for a few minutes. I could swear they were talking to me, inviting me to come closer and to observe how simply they live.
I wondered if they were trying to tell me that we cedar trees know where we belong, in this mountain range, in this Lebanon. We go through tough times in winter, when it is cold and we face strong and abrasive winds. We shed our leaves and our seeds and stand naked, and yet we stand tall. We also go through the spring, where we grow our seeds and leaves, and we stand beautiful and tall. However, throughout the year, we stand together, grateful, joyful and accepting what comes our way.
“We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them.” ― Kahlil Gibran
The drive back was long, lonely and sad. The good energy had left me, replaced by a creeping self-doubt and despair. Soon these thoughts were like an invisible force with a will of its own, whispering and spreading rumours inside my mind, wiping away all the peace I had found earlier that day.
I had reached a crossroads in my life. I had to make some tough decisions.
Where will I live in five years? Who will I become in the next stage of my life?
I feel like I’m living a double life, caught between the spiritual and material worlds. I find it difficult to fuse both realms into one life and it makes me feel lost, confused and frustrated. This taps directly into my greatest fear – that I will live a mediocre life, far away from my country, my tribe and my true essence, and only realizing on my deathbed that I chose the easy way instead of the more authentic one for me.
Gibran was born with a talent, yet he endured much pain; he had to leave his native country early on his life. His mother, sister and brother all died within a year of each other. However, he found the strength to live alone in New York and sacrificed himself for the love of his work. He would often write or paint for hours, without eating or taking a break. He couldn’t even visit his beloved Lebanon, so that he could produce the masterpieces he did. However, he found his unique way and carved his own niche in the psyche of Lebanon.
The night before I travelled home, I read Gibran and stumbled upon these words:
Say not, ‘I have found the truth,’ but rather, ‘I have found a truth.’ Say not, ‘ I have found the path of the soul.’ Say rather, ‘I have met the soul walking upon my path.’ For the soul walks upon all paths. The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed. The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.
His words and my thoughts met for a timeless second and painted one single thought: Life is all about asking questions, and ultimately it’s about asking the right question that is particular to me. Only then can I start living the answers to my life.
I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.~ Maya Angelou
At the core of our civilization is the expression of human emotion.
I read Shakespeare’s sonnets often, watch “Chick Flicks” without telling anyone and listen to catchy love songs that I can’t get out of my head no matter how hard I try. Sometimes, I regard my feelings with distrust, disdain and fear especially given my macho upbringing and surroundings. However, all my memories, points of interest and most importantly lessons in life seem to be intertwined with moments of intense feelings.
One time I had a wonderful run under the rain and immediately feelings of freedom, lightness and that “close-to-nature-bliss” enveloped me. Earlier that morning, I gazed out my window and noticed the way the rain danced onto the grass. I could see all this as if it was in slow motion, the drops growing in size and dropping gently, almost asking for permission to land.
I put on my running gear, and hurried outside so as not to miss this awesomeness. I stood under the covered arch in front of my house and felt the chill of the wind moving across my face and neck. Even now, when I think about that day, I can feel the chill on my face and the excitement that only “15 degrees centigrade” kind of weather can give me. I adjusted my earphones and cap and I was off, smiling away the first few kilometres. I felt the rain drizzling against my body, and I tried to sidestep the puddles that had formed on the ground. I run as if it was the last day of my life. Finally, the pain of it caught up with me and wiped my smile away. Still, it was a moment of intense joy and contentment.
The streets were completely empty then. I was immersed in a sense of liberation and freedom. It was as if I was the only one on this planet—reminiscent of a scene from the movie “Mad Max.” I felt that inner peace and power that you feel only when your soul has made contact with you. That feeling of running under the rain was so transfixing to me that now I wait eagerly for the clouds to roll in, thrilled for the opportunity to experience it again.
I sit down in the theatre with five hundred other parents, feeling totally alone in the dark and the quiet, with the formality of the setting slowly sinking in. It’s May, my son’s graduation day—a day of laughter and excitement for the kids, and an intense mix of feelings for the rest of us. I watch him walk down the aisle with 50 other students and start to tear up without warning. I look around—a few people are watching me—so I hold myself together and watch speech after speech. I feel like I’m in a daze. One of the teachers gives a great, heartfelt speech. “Where did this guy come from?” I wonder.
Next, my son wins an award for achievement, and I’m convinced this is definitely a conspiracy to make me cry. Soon after, the ceremony ends and the graduates throw their graduation caps into the air. We all applaud. People are crying all around me. We take pictures, and say our hellos and goodbyes, then drive off to the hotel where we are holding a shared reception with some of my son’s friends. The first thing I do is down a double vodka to calm me down—as if that ever works. The evening goes well, and then the speeches begin.
I can’t remember the exact words my son uses, but I will never forget the feelings I felt as I watched him in front of the crowd, so grown-up and confident. As I hug him in front of all those people, my knees go weak, and suddenly the earth moves beneath me, as if time stopped and still. That hug brought back memories mixed with the many emotions built up throughout the evening (perhaps,enhanced by a few more double vodkas).
All in all, my heart was deeply touched with a feeling that I will never be able to explain. That hug was not just a hug. It encompassed years and years of fears, love, doubts, insecurities, heartache, hope, joy, respect, and admiration. That hug was speaking a universal language understood by all. It was speaking directly to all the hearts in the room—it was a silent conversation.
“I’m leaving you,” my son was saying to me.
“I’m losing my best friend,” I replied.
“But you need to let me go. I need to start my own life, my own adventure.”
“I know. I understand.”
Kahlil Gibran writes:
“Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.”
As we slowly let each other go, I noticed tears in his eyes. Then the floodgates opened, and I cried like I’ve never cried before.
Once, I had a conversation with a woman on a flight to London. I can’t remember her face exactly, or her name, but I do remember her glittering turquoise blue eyes and her white soft skin. She was considerably older than me and I was drawn to her composure and the way the words came out of her mouth in short, powerful and meaningful phrases. She said something to the effect that life is an adventure, one that is unique and particular to every single one of us. She made me feel special and intelligent. Most of all, she made me feel powerful and like anything was possible, even at my ripe old age of forty five. I felt as if I was an anointed king going to reclaim his country. I felt that I still have many chapters to fill in the story of my life.
Our lives are defined by the moments we experience and the intensity of our feelings. How did we feel at that moment? Where were we when we felt that way? Why did we feel like that? Who made us feel them? We feel good when we are happy, joyful, excited, alive, compassionate, peaceful and full of love.
We feel bad when we are sad, hurt, tired, irritated, confused, afraid, angry and hateful. The inner labels that we give to people, places and events don’t actually refer to those things, but rather, how we feel about them. If Rome was the place I had my heart broken, then it will be etched in my heart that way, and most likely the only feeling I will get when I hear or see anything about Rome are the echoes of my pain, sadness and fear.
When I run, I feel joy, freedom and inner peace. Running becomes a symbol for those feelings. I associate running with that particular day I was running under the rain and feeling the bliss of nature. The feelings that arose from “that hug” contained both love and fear, and the mix was so powerful that I only remember how I felt whenever the image of that moment comes to mind. Not what anyone wore, not the speeches, or any of the details we had obsessed about preparing the reception for months in advance.
We live life for our feelings.
Our bodies are the vessels that carry and experience those feelings.
Our minds try to understand and decipher the feelings.
Our Spirits speak to us only through our feelings.
