Of Life
Life is an island in an ocean of loneliness, an island whose rocks are hopes, whose trees are dreams, whose flowers are solitude, and whose brooks are thirst.
Your life is an island separated from all other islands and regions. No matter how many are the ships that leave youre shores for other climes, no matter how many are the fleets that touch your coast, you remain a solitary island, suffering the pangs of loneliness and yearning for happiness. You are unknown to your fellow men and far removed from their sympathy and understanding.
I have seen you sitting on your hillock of gold rejoicing over your riches–product of your treasures and secure in your belief that each handful of gold you have amassed is an invisible link that joins other men’s desires and thoughts with yours.
I have seen you in my mind’s eye as a great conqueror leading your troops, intent on the destruction of your enemies’ strongholds. But when I looked again, I saw naught but a solitary heart pining behind your coffers of gold, a thirsty bird in a golden cage, with its water tray empty.
I have seen you, sitting upon the throne of glory, and around you stood your people acclaiming your majesty, and singing praises of your great deeds, extolling your wisdom, and gazing upon you as though in the presence of a prophet, their spirits exulting even to the canopy of heaven.
And as you gazed upon your subjets, I saw in your face the marks of happiness and power and triumph, as if you were the soul of their body.
But when I looked again, behold I found you alone in your loneliness, standing by the side of your throne, an exile stretching his hand in every direction, as if pleading for mercy and kindness from invisible ghosts–begging for shelter, even such as has naught in it but warmth and friendliness.
I have seen you, enamoured of a beautiful woman, laying down you heart at the altar of her loveliness. When I saw her gazing upon you with tenderness and maternal love, I said to myself, "Long live Love that has done away with this man’s loneliness and joined his heart with another’s."
Yet, when I looked again, I saw within your loving heart another solitary heart, crying out in vain to reveal its secrets in a woman; and behind your love-filled soul, another lonely soul that was like a wandering cloud, wishing in vain that it might turn into teardrops in the eyes of your beloved.
Your life is a solitary habitation separated from other men’s dwellings. It is a house into whose interior no neighbor’s gaze can penetrate. If it were plunged into darkness, your neighbor’s lamp could not illumine it. If it were emptied of provisions, the stores of your neighbors could not fill it into other men’s gardens, tilled and planted by other hands. If it stood on a mountaintop, you could not bring it down into the valley trod by other men’s feet.
Your spirit’s life is encompassed by loneliness, and were it not for that loneliness and solitude, you would not be you, nor would I be I. Were it not for this loneliness and solitude, I would come to believe on hearing your voice that it was my voice speaking; or seeing your face, that it was myself looking into a mirror.
