Mirrors of the Soul

Mirrors of the Soul by Joseph Sheban Joseph Sheban Kahlil Gibran Page A

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Authors: Joseph Sheban Joseph Sheban Kahlil Gibran
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buzzard which descends only upon a decaying carcass?
    Or are you a teacher on the platform of the city gathering experience from life and presenting it to the people as sermons you have learned?
    If you are the first, then you are a sore and an ulcer. If you are the second, then you are a balsam and a medicine.
    Are you a governor who denigrates himself before those who appoint him and denigrates those whom he is to govern, who never raises a hand unless it is to reach into pockets and who does not take a step unless it is for greed?
    Or are you the faithful servant who serves only the welfare of the people?
    If you are the first, then you are as a tare in the threshing floor of the nation; and if the second, then you are a blessing upon its granaries.
    Are you a husband who allows for himself what he disallows for his wife, living in abandonment with the key of her prison in his boots, gorging himself with his favorite food while she sits, by herself, before an empty dish?
    Or are you a companion, taking no action except hand in hand, nor doing anything unless she gives her thoughts and opinions, and sharing with her your happiness and success?
    If you are the first, then you are a remnant of a tribe which, still dressing in the skins of animals, vanished long before leaving the caves; and if you are the second, then you are a leader in a nation moving in the dawn toward the light of justice and wisdom.
    Are you a searching writer full of self-admiration, keeping his head in the valley of a dusty past, where the ages discarded the remnant of its clothes and useless ideas?
    Or are you a clear thinker examining what is good and useful for society and spending your life in building what is useful and destroying what is harmful?
    If you are the first, then you are feeble and stupid, and if you are the second, then you are bread for the hungry and water for the thirsty.
    Are you a poet, who plays the tambourine at the doors of emirs, or the one who throws the flowers during weddings and who walks in processions with a sponge full of warm water in his mouth, a sponge to be pressed by his tongue and lips as soon as he reaches the cemetery?
    Or have you a gift which God has placed in your hands on which to play heavenly melodies which draw our hearts toward the beautiful in life?
    If you are the first, then you are a juggler who evokes in our soul that which is contrary to what you intend.
    If you are the second, then you are love in our hearts and a vision in our minds.
    In the Middle East there are two processions: One procession is of old people walking with bent backs, supported with bent canes; they are out of breath though their path is downhill.
    The other is a procession of young men, running as if on winged feet, and jubilant as with musical strings in their throats, surmounting obstacles as if there were magnets drawing them up the mountainside and magic enchanting their hearts.
    Which are you and in which procession do you move?
    Ask yourself and meditate in the still of the night; find if you are a slave of yesterday or free for the morrow.
    I tell you that the children of yesteryears are walking in the funeral of the era that they created for themselves. They are pulling a rotted rope that might break soon and cause them to drop into a forgotten abyss. I say that they are living in homes with weak foundations; as the storm blows — and it is about to blow — their homes will fall upon their heads and thus become their tombs. I say that all their thoughts, their sayings, their quarrels, their compositions, their books and all their work are nothing but chains dragging them because they are too weak to pull the load.
    But the children of tomorrow are the ones called by life, and they follow it with steady steps and heads high, they are the dawn of new frontiers, no smoke will veil their eyes and no jingle of chains will drown out their voices. They are few in number, but the difference is as between a grain of

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