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O Wisdom…

In the silent night, came Wisdom. She stopped by my bed and gave me that loving mother eyes. Then quenching my tears, she said, "I saw the sobs of your spirit and I came to comfort you." Open your heart to me, and I will fill in with light. Ask me the way of truth and I shall show you.

And I answer my guest with these questions:

“O wisdom, who am I, and by what way have I gotten to this frightful place? Tell me what are these expectations, these multiple writings and strange shapes? What are these thoughts that surround the dome of my conscience like pigeons soaring? What is this poetry of passions, this prose of desires? What is this mixture of sad effects and happy reactions that is embracing my soul and caressing my heart? Whose eyes belong to that search my depths and yet run away from my pains? What are these voices explored in memory of my bygone days and sometimes melodious in memory of my childhood? Who is this youth that plays with my desires and laughs at my feelings, careless about yesterday's actions, happy about today's smallness and careless about tomorrow's slowness? What is this world leading me, I don't know where, and who humbles itself like me to the worst ignorance? What is this land with empty jaws eager to swallow our bodies, with spread breasts eager to house greed? Who is this man who is content with the zenith of fortune without being married to his abyss and dares to call a kiss on the cheek of life, while his face is being slapped by death? Who is that man who buys a moment of pleasure against a year of repentance and goes to sleep when dreams call? Who is this man being swept away by the floods of ignorance into the depths of darkness? O Wisdom, tell me, what are all these things? “

And the Wisdom to answer:

“Man loves to behold the world through the eyes of a god, and grasp the secrets of the beyond through human thought, and that is pure foolishness.” Go into the fields and watch the bee fly over the flowers and later the eagle melt on its prey. Enter your neighbor's house and admire the child marveled at the fire of the land while his mother is taking care of the house. Be like the bee and don't waste your spring days staring at the eagle's come and go. Be like the child who enjoys the flames and leaves his mother to burn.

Everything you see is always yours. Those countless books and strange pictures and beautiful thoughts are just ghosts of spirits that lived long before you. These words you weave are as many threads of the web that connects you to someone else. These happy or sad events are the seeds sown in the past in your soul's field so that the future will reap them. Isn't this youth that juggles with your desires the one that will open the door of your heart for light to enter?

Is this voracious land that will deliver your soul from the bondage of the body? Is this world that advances in concert with you not your heart? Isn't your heart the universe? Did that man you see so mediocre and ignorant not come from the bosom of God to teach you happiness in pain and knowledge through ignorance?

Thus speaks the Wisdom.

Then she put her hand on my burning forehead and said, "Go ahead and don't stop." Because moving forward is moving towards perfection Walk without fear of thorns or sharp stones whose path of life is scattered, for they reject only impure blood

Khalil Gibran

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