A little Gibran for a Sunday

Some things from Kahlil Gibran that fell into my lap recently, clipped from Sand and Foam; with smart-ass remarks added by some fat-headed clown.


… Only once have I been made mute. It was when a man asked me, “Who are you?”  [After a moment I said, “Depends on who’s asking.”]

… Remembrance is a form of meeting.  [… without having to make lunch for them]
Forgetfulness is a form of freedom.  [Yes, and if only it were as easy to forget pain as readily as joy.]

… Our mind is a sponge; our heart is a stream.
Is it not strange that most of us choose sucking rather than running?  [It’s because sponges obscure and streams are naked.]

… Half of what I say is meaningless; but I say it so that the other half
may reach you.  [So please be patient with me.  After all, at least I do actually have something to say.]

… My loneliness was born when men praised my talkative faults and blamed my silent virtues.  [So now I tell them to shut up.]

… The real in us is silent; the acquired is talkative.  [And, Mr. Gibran, you wrote elsewhere, “You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts … and in your talking thought is half murdered.”  That line has haunted me for half a century, yet I go on killing.  I’ve started using the excuse that I’m excavating for the real.]

… Only the dumb envy the talkative.  [ _____ ]

… Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky. We fell them down and turn them into paper that we may record our emptiness.  [Ouch.]

… Should you care to write (and only the saints know why you should) you must needs have knowledge and art and music — the knowledge of the music of words, the art of being artless, and the magic of loving your readers.  [I don’t bother much with that last part, except to exploit readers, because having an audience — or one imagined — is more entertaining for me.]

They dip their pens in our hearts and think they are inspired.    [See?]

… If you sing of beauty though alone in the heart of the desert you will have an audience.  [Well, now, that’s another matter entirely.  There is no solitude in the apprehension of beauty.]

… Inspiration will always sing; inspiration will never explain.  [“… Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels | Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles | Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings …”]

… All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the
mind.  [That’s depressing.]

… A madman is not less a musician than you or myself; only the
instrument on which he plays is a little out of tune.  [Kahlil, I wish you’d stop calling me a madman.]

… No longing remains unfulfilled.  [Longing is the mind’s inability to conjure an aroma as it does a picture or a sound.  It comes only through the nose.]

Copyright 2020 TheBalsamean.com… We live only to discover beauty. All else is a form of waiting.  [Nice that waiting for beauty grows more patient with age, too.]

… Lovers embrace that which is between them rather than each other.  [It’s called a relationship.  To love it is to love each other.]