Much like The Prophet before, I want to share with you some of my favorite passages from Kahlil Gibran’s The Beloved. How true a sentiment to subtitle the work “Reflections on the Path of the Heart.”
As was the case with the original series, all I ask is that you read these entries as I post them. “Only the most benighted among us will walk away having gained nothing.”
Reading from The Beloved
In late 2005 I began sharing with you my favorite excerpts from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet. As I have said time and again, everyone should read his works.
Very much unlike The Prophet, however, which is nothing short of a philosophical exploration of life, The Beloved reaches toward something deeper with regards to one aspect of humanity that we all struggle with every day of our lives: the heart.
What is this which we call ‘love’?
Who amongst us can truly understand the ways of the heart? Who can explain its every intricacy, its every whim, its every ebb and flow? Are not we all drowned by its tides and torrents in unexpected ways and at unforeseen times? Even the most intimate of familiars with its ins and outs cannot see or comprehend its every mystery.
What is this hidden mystery?
I doubt any amongst us could easily deny the allure of the soul-entrapping curse of true love, the heartfelt cage in which we find our thoughts and feelings when another overpowers us with unconquerable ardor.
How would you describe love?
For each heart upon which is bestowed even the smallest gift of love, the mind interprets the magic according to its own experiences. Each smile enriches the memory while each pain darkens it. How then would you describe love?
What flesh can sing the songs of the gods?
Describe for me thus in simple words how love besets your soul. Tarry not with yesterday, nor hope for tomorrow, but sing to me of this moment in your heart, and tell me what you will—what you can—of love. Or can such a thing even pass the lips with clarity?
What life shall your flesh wear?
In love do you find contentment? In love do you caress repose? Or in the most magical of emotions do you, like so many others, don the robes of awareness, of compassion, of worry, of heartbreak, of fatigue? Tell me, dearest friend, if you are indeed a true lover, what life shall your flesh wear, for does not the body live only as happily as the anguished soul allows?
What role dare you play?
In love, shall you be the splendor or the suffering? In matters of the heart, what majestic embodiment do you wish to portray: pleasure’s anguish or pain’s desire?
