I am finally back writing after more than eight months without updating my blog. I am somehow sad that I didn't manage to keep writing during the last months, and that life has turned out to be so hectic that I have neglected one of the things I enjoy the most: writing.
There have been many changes in my life and many new experiences, trips, challenges, sad and happy moments, but most importantly a lot of growth. I will make sure to share during the coming months many of the trips I did last year and several reflections about education, violence, relationships, work experiences and life.
Today, I just wanted to break silence and share with you a short reflection that is going on in my mind during the last months. I couldn't find a better way to do it but through this beautiful poem of Khalil Gibran, The Seven Selves, that describes a conversation between the selves inside a madman, arguing with each other and feeling pity for their luck. The poem ends when the seventh self, the do-nothing, speaks and questions them about their pre-ordeined fate and somehow makes them reflect about their own purpose in comparison to his. Pure wisdom!
What an irony! and what a beautiful way to question the craziness inside ourselves, that most of the times takes our full attention, our discomfort or comfort, normality and way of living; keeping "nothingness" away from us. Though "nothingness" remains there, empty, watchful, silent but alive. How often do we "talk" to this part of our self? How often do we acknowledge it? How often do we realize is through "nothingness" the other parts of our selves make sense? How often do we stop life to do nothing?
Read the full poem below.
Chapter 9 - The Seven Selves
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.
Second Self: Yours is a better lot than mine, brother, for it is given to me to be this madman's joyous self. I laugh his laughter and sing his happy hours, and with thrice winged feet I dance his brighter thoughts. It is I that would rebel against my weary existence.
Third Self: And what of me, the love-ridden self, the flaming brand of wild passion and fantastic desires? It is I the love-sick self who would rebel against this madman.
Fourth Self: I, amongst you all, am the most miserable, for naught was given me but odious hatred and destructive loathing. It is I, the tempest-like self, the one born in the black caves of Hell, who would protest against serving this madman.
Fifth Self: Nay, it is I, the thinking self, the fanciful self, the self of hunger and thirst, the one doomed to wander without rest in search of unknown things and things not yet created; it is I, not you, who would rebel.
Sixth Self: And I, the working self, the pitiful labourer, who, with patient hands, and longing eyes, fashion the days into images and give the formless elements new and eternal forms-it is I, the solitary one, who would rebel against this restless madman.
Seventh Self: How strange that you all would rebel against this man, because each and every one of you has a preordained fate to fulfill. Ah! could I but be like one of you, a self with a determined lot! But I have none, I am the do-nothing self, the one who sits in the dumb, empty nowhere and nowhen, while you are busy re-creating life. Is it you or I, neighbours, who should rebel?
When the seventh self thus spake the other six selves looked with pity upon him but said nothing more; and as the night grew deeper one after the other went to sleep enfolded with a new and happy submission.
But the seventh self remained watching and gazing at nothingness, which is behind all things.