Gibran: The Shell and the Nucleus

No matter when and where, Yixin walks with you

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Text | Gibran

Anchor | The mountains have wood

Every time I drink a cup of bitter wine, the juice at the bottom of the cup is always honey.

Every time I stepped into a forest, I always saw the green field.

My friend, who had been lost in the fog, appeared in the morning light.

How many times have I covered my pain and troubles with a cloak of hard work, fantasizing that I would be rewarded for doing so? But when I took off my coat, I found that the pain had become joy, and the troubles had turned into peace and tranquility.

How many times have I walked with my colleagues in broad daylight, and I thought to myself how stupid and obtuse this man was. However, as soon as I stepped into the hidden world, I immediately found that I was tyrannical and tyrannical, and he was quite wise and humorous.

How many times have I been intoxicated by myself, thinking that I am an innocent lamb and that the person sitting with me is a vicious jackal. But when I woke up, I found that he and I were the same people.

People, we are often confused by appearances and thus neglect our own essence. If someone is tripped and falls to the ground, we say he fell; if someone can't speak, we say he's dumb; if someone is moaning, we say it's a gasp he made before he died, and he's going to die.

You and I are so passionate about the shell of "me" and the skin of "you" that we cannot see the secrets in "me" souls and the secrets in "your" souls.

What can we do with such arrogance that we ignore our essence?

I tell you and tell myself—perhaps my words are a mask to disguise my truth—that all that we see with the naked eye is nothing more than a cloud of smoke that obscures everything that we can only discern with our insight. What we hear with our ears is nothing more than a chaotic and noisy sound that disturbs everything we can only hear with our hearts. If we see a policeman escorting a person to prison, let's not determine which one is the offender. If we see one person lying in a pool of blood and the other person's hands are covered in blood, don't rush to judge who the murderer is. If we hear one person singing and another crying, we need to be patient to know who is truly happy.

No, friend, we cannot look at a man's essence from his appearance, and we cannot use his words and deeds as a measure of his soul. A clumsy person who is looked down upon by you may be a gifted and intelligent person with a good heart. A person with an ugly face, living a poor life, and despised by you may be the proud son of heaven and the darling of God.

You might visit a palace and a hut in one day. When you walk out of the palace you will be in awe, and when you walk out of the hut you will feel a sense of pity. But if you tear apart the illusion that the appearance of things has woven for you, then reverence may degenerate into pity, and pity will rise to infinite admiration.

You may meet two people in the morning and one night, the first of whom speaks in a loud voice and moves like a soldier. And the second person is trembling when he talks to you, his voice trembling, and he can't say a word. So you decide that the former is brave and the latter is cowardly. But if you see how they behave in the face of hardship or hardship or when they make sacrifices for the sake of principle, you will understand that the abrupt behavior that is concealed in grandiose is not bravery, and silence and shyness are not weakness.

You look out the window at your home and you see a nun walking on the right and a prostitute on the left. You will immediately say, "How noble one is, how shameless the other is!" But if you close your eyes and listen, you will hear a voice in the universe whispering, "This nun asked me through prayer, and the prostitute cried out to me with sorrow." But in their souls, each holds up an umbrella of my spirit. ”

You travel the world in search of so-called civilizations and advances. You walk into a city with majestic palaces, wide streets, magnificent academies, people coming and going in a hurry, a busy scene. Someone is crossing the earth, someone is soaring in the sky, someone is catching lightning, someone is calling for a storm. They were all well-dressed and fashionable, as if they were celebrating a grand festival or a carnival.

A few days later, you come to another city with rudimentary houses and narrow streets. On sunny days, the streets are dusty and rainy and muddy streets. The inhabitants there are still in pristine condition, like loose bowstrings. They are slow to act and careless in their work. When they look at you, it seems that there is still one eye behind their eyes looking into the distance. You leave the place in disgust and say to yourself, "There is a world of difference between these two places." It's full of energy over there, it's old-fashioned here. It's full of spring and summer vitality over there, and it's the aging of autumn and winter. It was like young people dancing happily in the garden, and here it was like a weak old man lying on the beach. ”

If you can look at these two cities with the help of God's light, you will see that they are two similar trees in the same garden. Once your gaze sees their essence, you will find that what you think is advanced is nothing more than a crystal clear, fleeting blister, and what you think of as slack is a hidden eternal substance.

No, religion is not manifested in monasteries and rituals, but in sincerity of heart.

No, life is not in its appearance, but in its substance; things are not in their shell, but in their essence; man is not in his appearance, but in his heart.

No, art is not in the ups and downs of the song you hear with your ears, not in the sonorousness of the poetic language, nor in the lines and colors of the paintings you see with the naked eye; art lies in the silent and trembling pauses between the songs, in the deep, quiet and lonely feelings that the poet transmits to you through his poems, in the revelation of a painting to you and the yearning for something better.

No, friend, the years are not about its appearance. I am also a man who marches through the ranks of the years, and what I say to you is only my silent wish that words can pass on to you. Therefore, do not say that I am ignorant until I have insight into the hidden self; do not think that I am a genius until I have stripped away my shell. Don't say I'm miserly until you see my heart; don't say I'm miserly until you understand my motives for generosity. Don't think I'm really cute unless you fully understand my fidelity and purity of love. Don't say I'm carefree unless you touch my bleeding wound.

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Author: Gibran, poet, painter, writer. Representative works: "Tears and Laughter", "Prophet", "Sand and Foam", etc.