For a few minutes I heard the fall of his feet upon the broken stones of the valley.

PART FIVE

Morning came, after a night of deep thought, and the tempest had passed away, while the sky was clear and the mountains and the plains were reveling in the sun’s warm rays. On my way back to the city I felt that spiritual awakening of which Yusif El Fakhri had spoken, and it was raging throughout every fibre of my being. I felt that my shivering must be visible. And when I calmed, all about me was beauty and perfection.

As soon as I reached the noisome people and heard their voices and saw their deeds, I stopped and said within myself, “Yes, the spiritual awakening is the most essential thing in man’s life, and it is the sole purpose of being. Is not civilization, in all its tragic forms, a supreme motive for spiritual awakening? Then how can we deny existing matter, while its very existence is unwavering proof of its conform-ability into the intended fitness? The present civilization may possess a vanishing purpose, but the eternal law has offered to that purpose a ladder whose steps can lead to a free substance.”

I never saw Yusif El Fakhri again, for through my endeavours to attend the ills of civilization, Life had expelled me from North Lebanon in late Autumn of that same year, and I was required to live in exile in a distant country whose tempests are domestic. And leading a hermit’s life in that country is a sort of glorious madness, for its society, too, is ailing.

THE LIFE OF LOVE

SPRING

COME, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,

For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its

Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.

Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the

Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw

Inspiration high above the cool green plains.

Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment

And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and

They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of

The Night of Kedre.

The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like

Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance

Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;

And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of

Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.

Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter’s

Tears from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits

With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander

In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.

Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us

Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.

SUMMER

Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the

Time of harvest approaches, and the sun’s eyes

Are ripening the grain.

Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the

Spirit nourishes the grains of Joy from the

Seeds of Love, sowed deep in our hearts.

Let us fill our bins with the products of

Nature, as life fills so abundantly the

Domain of our hearts with her endless bounty.

Let us make the flowers our bed, and the

Sky our blanket, and rest our heads together

Upon pillows of soft hay.

Let us relax after the day’s toil, and listen

To the provoking murmur of the brook.

AUTUMN

Let us go and gather the grapes of the vineyard

For the winepress, and keep the wine in old

Vases, as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the

Ages in eternal vessels.

Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has

Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the

Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.

Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds

Have made pilgrimage to warmth and left the chilled

Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The jasmine

And myrtle have no more tears.

Let us retreat, for the tired brook has

Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs

Are drained of their copious weeping; and

The cautious old hills have stored away

Their colourful garments.

Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary

And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell

With quiet and contented melody.

WINTER

Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;

Come close to me and let not Winter’s touch

Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,

For fire is the only fruit of Winter.

Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for

That is greater than the shrieking elements

Beyond our door.

Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the

Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my

Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields

Makes my soul cry.

Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and

Place it by you, so I can read with tears what

Your life with me has written upon your face.

Bring Autumn’s wine. Let us drink and sing the

Song of remembrance to Spring’s carefree sowing,

And Summer’s watchful tending, and Autumn’s

Reward in harvest.

Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the

Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.

Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is

Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing

Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before

They are shut.

Find me with your arms and embrace me; let

Slumber then embrace our souls as one.

Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen

All but our moving lips.

You are close by me, My Forever.

How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber;

And how recent was the dawn!

THE CITY OF THE DEAD

YESTERDAY I drew myself from the noisome throngs and proceeded into the field until I reached a knoll upon which Nature had spread her comely garments. Now I could breathe.

I looked back, and the city appeared with its magnificent mosques and stately residences veiled by the smoke of the shops.

I commenced analyzing man’s mission, but could conclude only that most of his life was identified with struggle and hardship. Then I tried not to ponder over what the sons of Adam had done, and centered my eyes on the field which is the throne of God’s glory. In one secluded corner of the field I observed a burying ground surrounded by poplar trees.

There, between the city of the dead and the city of the living, I meditated. I thought of the eternal silence in the first and the endless sorrow in the second.

In the city of the living I found hope and despair, love and hatred, joy and sorrow, wealth and poverty, faith and infidelity.

In the city of the dead there is buried earth in earth that Nature converts, in the night’s silence, into vegetation, and then into animal, and then into man. As my mind wandered in this fashion, I saw a procession moving slowly and reverently, accompanied by pieces of music that filled the sky with sad melody. It was an elaborate funeral. The dead was followed by the living who wept and lamented his going. As the cortege reached the place of interment the priests commenced praying and burning incense, and the musicians blowing and plucking their instruments, mourning the departed. Then the leaders came forward one after the other and recited their eulogies with fine choice of words.

At last the multitude departed, leaving the dead resting in a most spacious and beautiful vault, expertly designed in stone and iron, and surrounded by the most expensively-entwined wreaths of flowers.

The farewell-bidders returned to the city and I remained, watching them from a distance and speaking softly to myself while the sun was descending to the horizon and Nature was making her many preparations for slumber.

Then I saw two men labouring under the weight of a wooden casket, and behind them a shabby-appearing woman carrying an infant on her arms. Following last was a dog who, with heartbreaking eyes, stared first at the woman and then at the casket.

It was a poor funeral. This guest of Death left to cold society a miserable wife and an infant to share her sorrows, and a faithful dog whose heart knew of his companion’s departure.

As they reached the burial place they deposited the casket into a ditch away from the tended shrubs and marble stones, and retreated after a few simple words to God. The dog made one last turn to look at his friend’s grave as the small group disappeared behind the trees.

I looked at the city of the living and said to myself, “That place belongs to the few.” Then I looked upon the trim city of the dead and said, “That place, too, belongs to the few. Oh Lord, where is the haven of all people?”

As I said this, I looked toward the clouds, mingled with the sun’s longest and most beautiful golden rays. And I heard a voice within me saying, “Over there!”

SONG OF FORTUNE

MAN and I are sweethearts

He craves me and I long for him,

But alas! Between us has appeared

A rival who brings us misery.

She is cruel and demanding,

Possessing empty lure.

Her name is Substance.

She follows wherever we go

And watches like a sentinel, bringing

Restlessness to my lover.

I ask for my beloved in the forest,

Under the trees, by the lakes.

I cannot find him, for Substance

Has spirited him to the clamourous

City and placed him on the throne

Of quaking, metal riches.

I call for him with the voice of

Knowledge and the song of Wisdom.

He does not hearken, for Substance

Has enticed him into the dungeon

Of selfishness, where avarice dwells.

I seek him in the field of Contentment,

But I am alone, for my rival has

Imprisoned him in the cave of gluttony

And greed, and locked him there

With painful chains of gold.

I call to him at dawn, when Nature smiles,

But he does not hear, for excess has

Laden his drugged eyes with sick slumber.

I beguile him at eventide, when Silence rule.

And the flowers sleep. But he responds not,

For his fear over what the morrow will

Bring, shadows his thoughts.

He yearns to love me;

He asks for me in his own acts. But he

Will find me not except in God’s acts.

He seeks me in the edifices of his glory

Which he has built upon the bones of others;

He whispers to me from among

His heaps of gold and silver;

But he will find me only by coming to

The house of Simplicity which God has built

At the brink of the stream of affection.

He desires to kiss me before his coffers,

But his lips will never touch mine except

In the richness of the pure breeze.

He asks me to share with him his

Fabulous wealth, but I will not forsake God’s

Fortune; I will not cast off my cloak of beauty.

He seeks deceit for medium; I seek only

The medium of his heart.

He bruises his heart in his narrow cell;

I would enrich his heart with my love.

My beloved has learned how to shriek and

Cry for my enemy, Substance; I would

Teach him how to shed tears of affection

And mercy from the eyes of his soul

For all things,

And utter sighs of contentment through

Those tears.

Man is my sweetheart;

I want to belong to him.

SATAN

THE PEOPLE looked upon Father Samaan as their guide in the field of spiritual and theological matters, for he was an authority and a source of deep information on venial and mortal sins, well versed in the secrets of Paradise, Hell, and Purgatory.

Father Samaan’s mission in North Lebanon was to travel from one village to another, preaching and curing the people from the spiritual disease of sin, and saving them from the horrible trap of Satan. The Reverend Father waged constant war with Satan. The fellahin honoured and respected this clergyman, and were always anxious to buy his advice or prayers with pieces of gold and silver; and at every harvest they would present him with the finest fruits of their fields.

One evening in Autumn, as Father Samaan walked his way toward a solitary village, crossing those valleys and hills, he heard a painful cry emerging from a ditch at the side of the road. He stopped and looked in the direction of the voice, and saw an unclothed man lying on the ground. Streams of blood oozed from deep wounds in his head and chest.