Entrada destacada

El hombre oso

va  Y conocí a una hermosa mujer de nombre Sofía, que era torturada constantemente por un demonio que la acompañaba.  Le pregunte do...

martes, 30 de octubre de 2012

Veneno Dulce Kalil Gibran



VENENO DULCE

En una mañana de otoño, que en norte del Líbano tiene un esplendor inigualable, los aldeanos de Tala se reunieron en la plaza de la iglesia para comentar el repentino viaje de Fares Rahal que, abandonando a su joven esposa, partiera con rumbo desconocido.
Fares Rahal era el líder de la aldea. Había heredado su primacía de su abuelo y de su padre. Y, aunque joven, había en él una superioridad que se imponía.
Cuando se casó con Susan Barabat todos dijeron: “! Qué felicidad ¡ consiguió, con menos de treinta años, todo lo que un hombre puede desear de este mundo.”

Pero, aquella mañana en que lo recordaban, los habitantes de Tula, que sabían que Fares había reunido todo su dinero antes de montar su caballo y abandonar la aldea sin despedirse de nadie, se sentían perplejos y comenzaron a buscar los motivos que podían haber llevado, a un hombre como él a abandonar de repente a su gente, su esposa, su casa, sus campos y viñedos.
En el norte del Líbano, la vida se asemeja a un socialismo más que a cualquier otro sistema. Todos comparten las alegrías y las tristezas de la vida, guiados por instintos simples y sinceros. Y hacen frente, juntos, a todos los acontecimientos importantes.
Fue por eso que los habitantes de Tula abandonaron sus tareas cotidianas y se reunieron cerca de la iglesia para cambiar opiniones sobre la misteriosa partida de Fares Rahal.
Mientras conversaban, vieron acercarse al padre Esteban párroco de la ciudad, con la cabeza gacha y el rostro sombrío. Lo acogieron con miradas interrogantes.
-No me hagan preguntas- dijo él, por fin-. Todo cuanto sé, es lo siguiente: Fares vino a golpear mi puerta antes del amanecer; su rostro estaba marcado por la tristeza cuando me dijo:
-Vine a despedirme, Padre. Me voy más allá del may y no regresaré jamás a este país.
Después, me entregó una carta para su amigo Nagib Malik y me pidió que la entregara personalmente. Hecho eso, saltó sobre su caballo y desapareció antes que pudiera preguntarle nada.
Alguien conjeturó: - Sin duda, la carta explica los motivos de su viaje, ya que Nagib era su mejor amigo.
Otro preguntó: - ¿Ha visto a su esposa, Padre?
-               La visité después de las oraciones de la mañana – respondió el Padre – La encontré sentada al lado de su ventana. Miraba a la distancia, con ojos vidriosos, cual si hubiera perdido la razón. Cuando la interrogué, abanicó su cabeza y murmuró: - No sé.- Y se echó a llorar como una criatura.

De pronto se escuchó un disparo de revólver y todos se estremecieron. Y a continuación escucharon los gritos de una mujer. Los aldeanos quedaron atónitos un instante, y, enseguida, salieron corriendo en dirección al sitio donde sonó el disparo. Cuando llegaron cerca de la casa de Fares Rahal, vieron a Nagib Malik tendido en el suelo, con sangre brotando de su cuerpo. A pocos pasos de él, Susan, la esposa de Fares Rahal, se arrancaba los cabellos y gemía:
-               Se ha suicidado, se ha suicidado…

La gente se detuvo temerosa. El Padre vio, en la mano del infeliz la carta que le entregara aquella mañana, la retiró y la puso discretamente en su bolsillo.
Cargaron, luego, el cuerpo del suicida y lo llevaron a casa de su madre, quien al ver el cadáver de su único hijo, perdió el sentido.
Las mujeres cuidaban a Susan, que estaba medio muerta.
Cuando el Padre Esteban volvió a su casa, cerró la puerta, se puso los anteojos y abrió la carta leyendo con voz trémula:
“Nagib, hermano mío,
  Abandono esta ciudad porque mi presencia en ella es causa de infelicidad para ti, para mi esposa y para mí mismo.
Sé que eres demasiado noble para traicionar a tu amigo y vecino.
Sé que Susan, mi esposa, es pura e incapaz de cometer un pecado.
Más sé, también, que el amor que liga tu corazón al de ella es más fuerte que vuestras voluntades. Tú no lo puedes detener, como no puedes detener el curso del río Kadisha. Somos amigos, Nagib, desde que éramos pequeños. Y deseo que continúes pensando en mí como lo has hecho hasta ahora. Y si te encontrases con Susan, dile que la amo y que no la censuro. Dile que sentía pena de ella cuando, de noche, la veía arrodillada frente a la imagen de Jesús, rezando y llorando.
Nada es tan cruel como el destino de una mujer que ama a un hombre, mientras debe vivir con aquél a quien debe amor. Quería mantenerse fiel a sus obligaciones, pero no podía acallar sus sentimientos. Es por eso que me alejo hacia lejanas tierras de donde jamás regresaré. No deseo continuar siendo un obstáculo en el camino de vuestra felicidad.
Finalmente, te pido, amigo y hermano, se fiel a Susan y ampárala hasta el fin. Ella sacrificó todo por tu causa. Y permanece, Nagib, tal como te conozco: corazón noble, alma elevada. ¡Y que Dios te proteja ¡
                                         Fares Rahal

El Padre Esteban dobló la carta y la devolvió a su bolsillo con aire ausente. Sentía que algo se le escapaba. Luego, se levantó agitado, como si hubiera descubierto un secreto terrible escondido tras apariencias inocentes. Y gritó:
-Extraordinaria fue tu astucia, ¡oh, Fares Rahal! Supiste matar a tu amigo sin manchar tus manos con su sangre. Enviaste el veneno mezclado con miel, y cuando él dirigió el revólver contra su propio pecho, tu mano guiaba su mano y tu voluntad dominaba su voluntad… ¡Mortal es tu astucia, oh, Fares Rahal…!

Y el Padre Esteban se volvió de espaldas acariciando sus barbas, el rostro marcado por una mueca amarga.
Desde el centro de la aldea, llegaba hasta él los lamentos de las mujeres.


Jalil Gibran : The Return of the Beloved



Jalil Gibran: THE RETURN OF THE BELOVED

By nightfall the enemy fled with slashes of the sword and wounds of lance tips scarring their backs. Our heroes waved banners of triumph and chanted songs of victory to the cadence of  their horses’ hoofs than drummed upon the stones of the valley.
The moon had already risen from behind Fam El Mizab, The mighty and lofty rocks seemed to ascend with the spirits of the people, and the forest of cedars to lie like a medal of honour upon the bosom of Lebanon.
They continued their march, and the moon shone upon their weapons. The distant cave echoed their songs of praise and victory, until they reached the foot of a slope. There they were arrested by the neighing of a horse standing among grey rocks as though carved from them.
Near the horse they found a corpse, and the earth on which he lay was attained with his blood. The leader of the troop shouted, “Show me the man’s sword and I will tell you who the owner is.”

Some of the horsemen dismounted and surrounded the dead man and then one said to the chief, “His fingers have taken too strong a hold on the hilt. It would be a shame to undo them.”
Another said, “The sword has been sheathed with escaping life that hides its metal.”
A third one added, “The blood has congealed on both the hand and the hilt and made them one piece.”

Whereupon the chief dismounted and walked to the corpse and said, “Raise his head and let the moon shine on his face so we may identify him.” The men did as ordered, and the face of the slain man appeared from behind the veil of Death showing the marks of valour an nobility. It was the face of a strong horseman, and it bespoke manhood. It was the face of a sorrowing and rejoicing man; the face of one who had met the enemy courageously and faced death smilingly; the face of a Lebanese hero who, on that day, had witnessed the triumph but had not lived to march and sing and celebrate the victory with his comrades.
As they removed the silk head-wrapper and cleaned the dust of battle from his pale face, the chief cried out, in agony, “This is the son of Assaaby, what a great loss!” And the men repeated that name, sighing. Then silence fell upon them, and their hearts, intoxicated with the wine of victory, sobered. For they had seen something greater than the glory of triumph, in the loss of a hero.
Like statues of marble they stood in that scene of dread, and their taut tongues were mute and voiceless. This is what death does to the souls of heroes. Weeping and lamentation are for women; and moans and cries for children. Nothing befits the sorrow of men of the sword save silence which grips the strong heart as the eagle’s talons grip the throat of its prey. It is that silence which rises above tears and wiling which, in its majesty, adds more awe and anguish to the misfortune; that silence which causes the soul to descend from the mountain-top  into the abyss. It is the silence which proclaims the coming tempest. And when the tempest makes not its appearance, it is because the silence is stronger than the tempest.

They removed the raiment of the young hero to see where death had placed its iron claws. And the wounds appeared in his breast like speaking lips proclaiming, in the calmness of the night, the bravery of men.
The chief approached the corpse and dropped on his knees. Taking a closer look at the slain warrior, he found a scarf embroidered with gold threads tied around the arm. He recognized the hand that has spun its silk and the fingers that has woven its thread. He hid it under his raiment and withdrew slowly, hiding his stricken face with a trembling hand. Yet this trembling hand, with its might, had disjoined the heads of the enemy. Now it trembled because it had touched the edge of a scarf tied by loving fingers around the arm of a slain hero, who would return to her lifeless, borne upon the shoulders of his comrades.
While the leader’s spirit wavered, considering both the tyranny of death and the secrets of love, one of the men suggested, “Let us dig a grave for him under that oak tree so that its roots may drink from his blood and its branches may receive nourishment from his remains. It will again strength and become immortal and stand as a sign declaring to the hills and valleys his bravery and his might.”

Another man said, “Let us carry him to the forest of the cedars and bury him by the church. There his bones will be eternally guarded by the shadow of the Cross.”
And another said, “Bury him here where his blood is mingled with the earth. And let his sword remain in his right hand; plant his lance by his side and sly his horse over his grave and let his weapons be his cheer in his solitude.”
But another objected, “Do not bury a sword stained with the enemy blood, nor slay a steed that has withstood death in the battle field. Do not leave in the wilderness weapons accustomed to action and strength, but carry them to his relatives as a great and good inheritance.”

“Let us knee down by his side and pray the Nazarene’s prayers that God might forgive him and bless our victory,” said another.

“Let us raise him upon our shoulders and make our shield and lances a bier for him and circle again this valley of our victory singing the songs of triumph so that the lips of his wounds will smile before they are muffled by the earth of the grave,” said a comrade.

And another: “Let us mount him upon his charger and support him with the skulls of the dead enemy and gird him with his lance and bring him to the village a victor. He never yielded to death until he burdened it with the enemy’s souls.

Another one said, “Come, let us bury him at the foot of this mountain. The echo of the caves shall be his companion and the murmur of the brook his minstrel. His bones shall rest in a wilderness where the tread of the silenced night is light and gentle.”

Another objected, “no, do not leave him in this place, for here dwells tedium and solitude. But let us carry him to the burial-ground of the village. The spirits of our forefathers will be his comrades and will speak to him in the silenced night and relate to him tales of their wars and sagas of their glory.”
Then the chief walked to the centre and motioned them to silence. He sighed and said, “Do not annoy him with memories of war or repeat to the ears of his soul that hovers over us, the tales of swords and lances. Rather come and let us carry him calmly and silently to his birthplace, here a loving soul awaits his homecoming… a soul of a maiden awaiting his return from the battlefield. Let us return him to her, she my not be denied the sight of his face and the printing of a last sill upon his forehead.”

So they carried him upon their shoulders and walked silently with bent heads and downcast eyes. His sorrowful horse plodded behind them dragging its reins on the ground, uttering from time to time a desolate neighing echoed by the caves as if those caves had hearts and shared their grief.

Through the thorny path of the valley illuminated by a full moon, the procession of victory walked behind the cavalcade of Death and the spirit of Love led the way dragging his broken wings.

------------------------------------------------------------From Gibran’s Thoughts and Meditations

Jalil Gibran: Pensamientos y meditaciones



Vision

From Jalil Gibran’s Thoughts and Meditations

When Night came and Slumber spread its garment upon the face of the earth, I left my bed and walked toward the sea saying, “The sea never sleeps, and in its vigil there is consolation for a sleepless soul”.

When I reached the shore, the mist from the mountains had engauzed the region as a veil adorns the face of a young woman, I gazed at the teeming waves and listened to their praise of God and meditated upon the eternal power hidden within them- that power which runs with the tempest and rises with the volcano and smiles through the lips of the roses and sings with the brooks.

Then I saw three phantoms sitting upon a rock. I stumbled toward them as if some power were pulling me against my will.
Within a few paces from the phantoms, I halted as though held still by a magic force. At that moment one of the phantoms stood up and in a voice that seemed to rise from the depth of the sea said:
“Life without Love is like a tree without blossom and fruit. And love without Beauty is like flowers without scent and fruits without seeds…. Life, Love, and Beauty are three persons in one, who cannot be separated or changed.”

A second phantom spoke with a voice that roared like cascading water and said:
“Life without Rebellion is like seasons without Spring. And Rebellion without Right is like Spring in an arid desert…. Life, Rebellion, and Right are three- in- one who cannot be changed or separated.”

Then the third phantom in a voice like a clap of thunder spoke:
“Life without Freedom is like a body without a soul, and Freedom without Thought is like a confused spirit… Life, Freedom, and Thought are three –in- one , and are everlasting and never pass away.”

Then the three phantoms stood up together, and with one tremendous voice said:

“That which Love begets,
That which Rebellion creates,
That which Freedom rears,
Are three manifestations of God.
And god is the expression
Of the intelligent Universe.”

At that moment Silence mingled with the rustling of invisible wings and trembling of ethereal bodies; and it prevailed.
I closed my eyes and listened to the echoes of the sayings which I had just heard, and when I opened them I saw nothing but the sea wreathed in mist. I walked toward the rock where the three phantoms were sitting, but I saw naught save a column of incense spiralling toward heaven.
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Jalil Gibran: Under the sun



Under the Sun

Jalil Gibran’s Thoughts and Meditations

I have seen all things that are done under the sun, and behold all is vanity and vexation of spirit.

O spirit o Solomon that hovers in the ethereal realm; you, who cast aside the tattered garment of matter, have left behind you these words, born of weakness and misery, which deject those still imprisoned in bodies.

You know there is a meaning in this life which Death does not conceal. But how could humanity attain a knowledge which comes only when the souls is freed from earthly ties?

You realize now that life is not a vexation of spirit; that things done under the sun are not all vanity; that somehow everything has ever marched and shall ever march toward Truth. We miserable creatures have adhered to your earthly sayings as words of great wisdom, but they shutters that darken the mind and obliterate hope.

You now understand that ignorance, evil, and despotism have their causes; and that Beauty is the revelation of wisdom, the product of virtue and the fruit of justice.

You now know that sorrow and poverty purify man’s heart; thought our weak minds see nothing worthy in the universe save ease and happiness.

You can see now that the spirit advances toward the light in spite of worldly hardships. Yet we repeat your words which teach that a man is but a toy in the hands of the unknown.

You have regretted your planting in our hearts a faintness toward life in the world and apprehension toward life in the hereafter. Yet we persist in heeding your earthly words.

O spirit of Solomon who now dwells in Eternity, reveal yourself to the lovers of wisdom and teach them not to walk the path of heresy and misery, Perchance this shall be an atonement for an unintended error.
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