To love according to an established order, to entertain one’s best self in a preconceived manner, to worship the gods becomingly, to intrigue the devils artfully– and then forget all as though all as though memory were dead.
To fancy with a motive, to contemplate with consideration, to be happy sweetly, to suffer nobly — and then to empty the cup so that tomorrow may fill it again.
All these things, O God, are conceived with forethought, born with determination, nursed with exactness, governed by rules, directed by reason, and then slain and buried after a prescribed method. And even their silent graves that lie within human soul are marked and numbered.
It is a perfect world, a world of consummate excellence, a world of supreme wonders, the ripest fruit in God’s garden, the master-thought of the universe.
BUT WHY SHOULD I BE HERE, o God, I a green seed of unfulfilled passion, a man tempest that seeketh neither east nor west, a bewildered fragment from a burnt planet?
WHY AM I HERE O God of lost souls?
though who art lost amongst the gods?
—an excerpt from Lost Amongst The Gods – Kahlil Gibran
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