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Title: The Madman

 

Author: Kahlil Gibran

 

Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5616]

[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]

[This file was first posted on July 22, 2002]

 

Edition: 10

 

Language: English

 

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE MADMAN ***

 

This eBook created by William Fishburne.

 

The Madman

 

His Parables and Poems

 

By Kahlil Gibran

 

You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long

before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all

my masks were stolen,—the seven masks I have fashioned an worn in

seven lives,—I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting,

“Thieves, thieves, the cursed thieves.”

 

Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear

of me.

 

And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top

cried, “He is a madman.” I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed

my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun

kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for

the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I

cried, “Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks.”

 

Thus I became a madman.

 

And I have found both freedom of loneliness and the safety from

being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in

us.

 

But let me not be too proud of my safety. Even a Thief in a jail

is safe from another thief.

 

God

 

In the ancient days, when the first quiver of speech came to my lips,

I ascended the holy mountain and spoke unto God, saying, “Master,

I am thy slave. Thy hidden will is my law and I shall obey thee

for ever more.”

 

But God made no answer, and like a mighty tempest passed away.

 

And after a thousand years I ascended the holy mountain and again

spoke unto God, saying, “Creator, I am thy creation. Out of clay

hast thou fashioned me and to thee I owe mine all.”

 

And God made no answer, but like a thousand swift wings passed

away.

 

And after a thousand years I climbed the holy mountain and spoke

unto God again, saying, “Father, I am thy son. In pity and love

thou hast given me birth, and through love and worship I shall

inherit thy kingdom.”

 

And God made no answer, and like the mist that veils the distant

hills he passed away.

 

And after a thousand years I climbed the sacred mountain and gain

spoke unto God, saying, “My God, my aim and my fulfillment; I am

thy yesterday and thou are my tomorrow. I am thy root in the earth

and thou art my flower in the sky, and together we grow before the

face of the sun.”

 

Then God leaned over me, and in my ears whispered words of sweetness,

and even as the sea that enfoldeth a brook that runneth down to

her, he enfolded me.

 

And when I descended to the valleys and the plains God was there

also.

 

My Friend

 

My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear—a

care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee

from my negligence.

 

The “I” in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and

therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.

 

I would not have thee believe in what I say nor trust in what I

do—for my words are naught but thy own thoughts in sound and my

deeds thy own hopes in action.

 

When thou sayest, “The wind bloweth eastward,” I say, “Aye it doth

blow eastward”; for I would not have thee know that my mind doth

not dwell upon the wind but upon the sea.

 

Thou canst not understand my seafaring thoughts, nor would I have

thee understand. I would be at sea alone.

 

When it is day with thee, my friend, it is night with me; yet even

then I speak of the noontide that dances upon the hills and of

the purple shadow that steals its way across the valley; for thou

canst not hear the songs of my darkness nor see my wings beating

against the stars—and I fain would not have thee hear or see. I

would be with night alone.

 

When thou ascendest to thy Heaven I descend to my Hell—even then

thou callest to me across the unbridgeable gulf, “My companion, my

comrade,” and I call back to thee, “My comrade, my companion”—for

I would not have thee see my Hell. The flame would burn thy eyesight

and the smoke would crowd thy nostrils. And I love my Hell too

well to have thee visit it. I would be in Hell alone.

 

Thou lovest Truth and Beauty and Righteousness; and I for thy sake

say it is well and seemly to love these things. But in my heart

I laught at thy love. Yet I would not have thee see my laughter.

I would laugh alone.

 

My friend, thou art good and cautious and wise; nay, thou art

perfect—and I, too, speak with thee wisely and cautiously. And

yet I am mad. But I mask my madness. I would be mad alone.

 

My friend, thou art not my friend, but how shall I make thee

understand? My path is not thy path, yet together we walk, hand

in hand.

 

The Scarecrow

 

Once I said to a scarecrow, “You must be tired of standing in this

lonely field.”

 

And he said, “The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I

never tire of it.”

 

Said I, after a minute of thought, “It is true; for I too have

known that joy.”

 

Said he, “Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it.”

 

Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or belittled

me.

 

A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher.

 

And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest

under his hat.

 

The Sleep-Walkers

 

In the town where I was born lived a woman and her daughter, who

walked in their sleep.

 

One night, while silence enfolded the world, the woman and her

daughter, walking, yet asleep, met in their mist-veiled garden.

 

And the mother spoke, and she said: “At last, at last, my enemy!

You by whom my youth was destroyed—who have built up your life

upon the ruins of mine! Would I could kill you!”

 

And the daughter spoke, and she said: “O hateful woman, selfish

and old! Who stand between my freer self and me! Who would have

my life an echo of your own faded life! Would you were dead!”

 

At that moment a cock crew, and both women awoke. The mother said

gently, “Is that you, darling?” And the daughter answered gently,

“Yes, dear.”

 

The Wise Dog

 

One day there passed by a company of cats a wise dog.

 

And as he came near and saw that they were very intent and heeded

him not, he stopped.

 

Then there arose in the midst of the company a large, grave cat and

looked upon them and said, “Brethren, pray ye; and when ye have

prayed again and yet again, nothing doubting, verily then it shall

rain mice.”

 

And when the dog heard this he laughed in his heart and turned from

them saying, “O blind and foolish cats, has it not been written and

have I not known and my fathers before me, that that which raineth

for prayer and faith and supplication is not mice but bones.”

 

The Two Hermits

 

Upon a lonely mountain, there lived two hermits who worshipped God

and loved one another.

 

Now these two hermits had one earthen bowl, and this was their only

possession.

 

One day an evil spirit entered into the heart of the older hermit

and he came to the younger and said, “It is long that we have

lived together. The time has come for us to part. Let us divide

our possessions.”

 

Then the younger hermit was saddened and he said, “It grieves

me, Brother, that thou shouldst leave me. But if thou must needs

go, so be it,” and he brought the earthen bowl and gave it to him

saying, “We cannot divide it, Brother, let it be thine.”

 

Then the older hermit said, “Charity I will not accept. I will

take nothing but mine own. It must be divided.”

 

And the younger one said, “If the bowl be broken, of what use would

it be to thee or to me? If it be thy pleasure let us rather cast

a lot.”

 

But the older hermit said again, “I will have but justice and mine

own, and I will not trust justice and mine own to vain chance. The

bowl must be divided.”

 

Then the younger hermit could reason no further and he said, “If

it be indeed thy will, and if even so thou wouldst have it let us

now break the bowl.”

 

But the face of the older hermit grew exceedingly dark, and he

cried, “O thou cursed coward, thou wouldst not fight.”

 

On Giving and Taking

 

Once there lived a man who had a valley-full of needles. And one

day the mother of Jesus came to him and said: “Friend, my son’s

garment is torn and I must needs mend it before he goeth to the

temple. Wouldst thou not give me a needle?”

 

And he gave her not a needle, but he gave her a learned discourse

on Giving and Taking to carry to her son before he should go to

the temple.

 

The Seven Selves

 

In the stillest hour of the night, as I lay half asleep, my seven

selves sat together and thus conversed in whisper:

 

First Self: Here, in this madman, I have dwelt all these years,

with naught to do but renew his pain by day and recreate his sorrow

by night. I can bear my fate no longer, and now I rebel.