Hello,
It has been a long time since I last wrote. There are so many unwritten posts, unsaid words, untouched experiences that I would need a lot of time to update my blog. I am still writing my thesis and there are still reflections about my field research in Colombia that I want to share as part of my analysis and work, then the trips to Dijon, Brussels, Basel and most recently to Azerbaijan, plus other reflections on narratives, war, peace and violence. I guess everything will come at its own pace and reflections will start taking shape and written form.
Today I have been thinking about new beginnings and leaving behind what has been enriching but is somehow not part of our world anymore. I have been thinking about changes and how changes take place and about how difficult it is to let go of things that have shaped who you are now and with what you have learned many things, even in difficult times. I came across this beautiful story from Kahlil Gibran called The Coming of the Ship, that fits pretty well with somehow many of the feelings I have today and the reflections going on in my mind.
The Coming of the Ship talks about a man called Almustafa who had been waiting for twelve years for his ship to return and take him from the island where he was. It talks about the mixed feelings leaving behind his life there and finally doing what he had dreamed about. He speaks about pain, the pain that he has suffered during his life on this island for 12 years and how much it has carved his soul. He knows he needs to leave since not leaving means crystallizing a moment that needs to end. How can we take with us everything that made sense and that transformed us and still be sure that we are living a new reality without holding onto the past? The experience itself needs to be enshrined in our heart with its different voices and memories but it also needs to be detached from our life today.
We stay immersed in the past that we fail to look at the future we have longed for, and when it is finally here we feel we are not ready to embark on it. Perhaps this is how I feel today. I longed for many of the things I have done during the last months and for what I am doing now, but now that those dreams have become my present, I feel afraid of letting them go and embark on another reality. I longed for many encounters, for many experiences, and when they come I feel suspended in uncertainty and dwelling upon the past and the future.
"...But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret."... How to express the happiness of feeling a cycle has been closed but at the same time acknowledging that the past is still important? How to speak the words that will bring to an end the silence that has kept everything alive and to which we remain attached? How to let go and feel the freedom of what the future brings with it? "...what treasure have I found in silences that I may dispense with confidence?" and yet those silences are what made us strong and at the same time vigilant of the past.
"...Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory.... The priests and priestesses said to him... You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces. Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled. Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you..." So let the experiences, the past, the people we have met, enrich us and strengthen us once we realize the moment of separation between what it was and what it will, has finally come, that even if never expressed with words before, it is now when you understand how powerful they were in your life. And then, what is there to say that it is not already written in the soul? What is there to disclose that has not already been engraved in the memories and experiences?
Important and powerful is what comes with the past, present and future and yet needless to hold onto since it also carries within the pain of uncertainty and attachment.
Read the full story and enjoy the reflection.
Love,
Malu
The Coming of the Ship - Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet and the Art of Peace
Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn unto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth.
And in the twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he beheld the ship coming with the mist.
Then the gates of his heart were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul.
But he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart: How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city.
Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret?
Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache.
It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands. Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst.
Yet I cannot tarry longer. The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark. For to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould.
Fain would I take with me all that is here. But how shall I?
A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. Alone must it seek the ether.
And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.
Now when he reached the foot of the hill, he turned again towards the sea, and he saw his ship approaching the harbour, and upon her prow the mariners, the men of his own land.
And his soul cried out to them, and he said:
Sons of my ancient mother, you riders of the tides,
How often have you sailed in my dreams. And now you come in my awakening, which is my deeper dream.
Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set awaits the wind.
Only another breath will I breathe in this still air, only another loving look cast backward,
Then I shall stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers.
And you, vast sea, sleepless mother,
Who alone are peace and freedom to the river and the stream,
Only another winding will this stream make, only another murmur in this glade, And then shall I come to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean.
And as he walked he saw from afar men and women leaving their fields and their vineyards and hastening towards the city gates.
And he heard their voices calling his name, and shouting from field to field telling one another of the coming of the ship.
And he said to himself:
Shall the day of parting be the day of gathering?
And shall it be said that my eve was in truth my dawn?
And what shall I give unto him who has left his plough in midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his winepress?
Shall my heart become a tree heavy-laden with fruit that I may gather and give unto them?
And shall my desires flow like a fountain that I may fill their cups?
Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass through me?
A seeker of silences am I, and what treasure have I found in silences that I may dispense with confidence?
If this is my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what unremembered seasons?
If this indeed be the hour in which I lift up my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn therein.
Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern,
And the guardian of the night shall fill it with oil and he shall light it also.
These things he said in words. But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret.
And when he entered into the city all the people came to meet him, and they were crying out to him as with one voice.
And the elders of the city stood forth and said:
Go not yet away from us.
A noontide have you been in our twilight, and your youth has given us dreams to dream.
No stranger are you among us, nor a guest, but our son and our dearly beloved. Suffer not yet our eyes to hunger for your face.
And the priests and the priestesses said unto him:
Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory.
You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces.
Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled. Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.
And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
And others came also and entreated him.
But he answered them not. He only bent his head; and those who stood near saw his tears falling upon his breast.
And he and the people proceeded towards the great square before the temple. And there came out of the sanctuary a woman whose name was Almitra. And she was a seeress.
And he looked upon her with exceeding tenderness, for it was she who had first sought and believed in him when he had been but a day in their city.
And she hailed him, saying: Prophet of God, in quest for the uttermost, long have you searched the distances for your ship.
And now your ship has come, and you must needs go.
Deep is your longing for the land of your memories and the dwelling place of your greater desires; and our love would not bind you nor our needs hold you.
Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you speak to us and give us of your truth. And we will give it unto our children, and they unto their children, and it shall not perish.
In your aloneness you have watched with our days, and in your wakefulness you have listened to the weeping and the laughter of our sleep.
Now therefore disclose us to ourselves, and tell us all that has been shown you of that which is between birth and death.
And he answered,
People of Orphalese, of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving within your souls?
It has been a long time since I last wrote. There are so many unwritten posts, unsaid words, untouched experiences that I would need a lot of time to update my blog. I am still writing my thesis and there are still reflections about my field research in Colombia that I want to share as part of my analysis and work, then the trips to Dijon, Brussels, Basel and most recently to Azerbaijan, plus other reflections on narratives, war, peace and violence. I guess everything will come at its own pace and reflections will start taking shape and written form.
Today I have been thinking about new beginnings and leaving behind what has been enriching but is somehow not part of our world anymore. I have been thinking about changes and how changes take place and about how difficult it is to let go of things that have shaped who you are now and with what you have learned many things, even in difficult times. I came across this beautiful story from Kahlil Gibran called The Coming of the Ship, that fits pretty well with somehow many of the feelings I have today and the reflections going on in my mind.
The Coming of the Ship talks about a man called Almustafa who had been waiting for twelve years for his ship to return and take him from the island where he was. It talks about the mixed feelings leaving behind his life there and finally doing what he had dreamed about. He speaks about pain, the pain that he has suffered during his life on this island for 12 years and how much it has carved his soul. He knows he needs to leave since not leaving means crystallizing a moment that needs to end. How can we take with us everything that made sense and that transformed us and still be sure that we are living a new reality without holding onto the past? The experience itself needs to be enshrined in our heart with its different voices and memories but it also needs to be detached from our life today.
We stay immersed in the past that we fail to look at the future we have longed for, and when it is finally here we feel we are not ready to embark on it. Perhaps this is how I feel today. I longed for many of the things I have done during the last months and for what I am doing now, but now that those dreams have become my present, I feel afraid of letting them go and embark on another reality. I longed for many encounters, for many experiences, and when they come I feel suspended in uncertainty and dwelling upon the past and the future.
"...But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret."... How to express the happiness of feeling a cycle has been closed but at the same time acknowledging that the past is still important? How to speak the words that will bring to an end the silence that has kept everything alive and to which we remain attached? How to let go and feel the freedom of what the future brings with it? "...what treasure have I found in silences that I may dispense with confidence?" and yet those silences are what made us strong and at the same time vigilant of the past.
"...Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory.... The priests and priestesses said to him... You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces. Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled. Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you..." So let the experiences, the past, the people we have met, enrich us and strengthen us once we realize the moment of separation between what it was and what it will, has finally come, that even if never expressed with words before, it is now when you understand how powerful they were in your life. And then, what is there to say that it is not already written in the soul? What is there to disclose that has not already been engraved in the memories and experiences?
Important and powerful is what comes with the past, present and future and yet needless to hold onto since it also carries within the pain of uncertainty and attachment.
Read the full story and enjoy the reflection.
Love,
Malu
The Coming of the Ship - Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet and the Art of Peace
Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn unto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth.
And in the twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he beheld the ship coming with the mist.
Then the gates of his heart were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul.
But he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart: How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city.
Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret?
Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache.
It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands. Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst.
Yet I cannot tarry longer. The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark. For to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould.
Fain would I take with me all that is here. But how shall I?
A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. Alone must it seek the ether.
And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.
Now when he reached the foot of the hill, he turned again towards the sea, and he saw his ship approaching the harbour, and upon her prow the mariners, the men of his own land.
And his soul cried out to them, and he said:
Sons of my ancient mother, you riders of the tides,
How often have you sailed in my dreams. And now you come in my awakening, which is my deeper dream.
Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set awaits the wind.
Only another breath will I breathe in this still air, only another loving look cast backward,
Then I shall stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers.
And you, vast sea, sleepless mother,
Who alone are peace and freedom to the river and the stream,
Only another winding will this stream make, only another murmur in this glade, And then shall I come to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean.
And as he walked he saw from afar men and women leaving their fields and their vineyards and hastening towards the city gates.
And he heard their voices calling his name, and shouting from field to field telling one another of the coming of the ship.
And he said to himself:
Shall the day of parting be the day of gathering?
And shall it be said that my eve was in truth my dawn?
And what shall I give unto him who has left his plough in midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his winepress?
Shall my heart become a tree heavy-laden with fruit that I may gather and give unto them?
And shall my desires flow like a fountain that I may fill their cups?
Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass through me?
A seeker of silences am I, and what treasure have I found in silences that I may dispense with confidence?
If this is my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what unremembered seasons?
If this indeed be the hour in which I lift up my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn therein.
Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern,
And the guardian of the night shall fill it with oil and he shall light it also.
These things he said in words. But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret.
And when he entered into the city all the people came to meet him, and they were crying out to him as with one voice.
And the elders of the city stood forth and said:
Go not yet away from us.
A noontide have you been in our twilight, and your youth has given us dreams to dream.
No stranger are you among us, nor a guest, but our son and our dearly beloved. Suffer not yet our eyes to hunger for your face.
And the priests and the priestesses said unto him:
Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory.
You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces.
Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled. Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.
And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
And others came also and entreated him.
But he answered them not. He only bent his head; and those who stood near saw his tears falling upon his breast.
And he and the people proceeded towards the great square before the temple. And there came out of the sanctuary a woman whose name was Almitra. And she was a seeress.
And he looked upon her with exceeding tenderness, for it was she who had first sought and believed in him when he had been but a day in their city.
And she hailed him, saying: Prophet of God, in quest for the uttermost, long have you searched the distances for your ship.
And now your ship has come, and you must needs go.
Deep is your longing for the land of your memories and the dwelling place of your greater desires; and our love would not bind you nor our needs hold you.
Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you speak to us and give us of your truth. And we will give it unto our children, and they unto their children, and it shall not perish.
In your aloneness you have watched with our days, and in your wakefulness you have listened to the weeping and the laughter of our sleep.
Now therefore disclose us to ourselves, and tell us all that has been shown you of that which is between birth and death.
And he answered,
People of Orphalese, of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving within your souls?
2 comments:
Ithaca
When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.
Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.
Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.
Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.
Constantine P. Cavafy (1911)
Beautiful, Ciro, thank you for sharing it with me. I agree...life is a long journey to be discovered, to be surprised by, to be in constant search of...I guess what is more difficult is to detach from it, especially from the past, the present or what we want the future to be! Big hugs and all the best in your journey!
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