My friend, I am not what I seem. My appearance is but a garment I wear, a carefully woven garment that protects me from your questioning and it protects you from my negligence.
The "I" in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and there in it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.
You should not believe in what I say nor trust in what I do, for my words are your own thoughts, made sound, and my actions, your own hopes made actions.
When you say: "The wind blows eastward", I say: “Aye it does blow eastward"; because I do not want you to know that my mind does not dwell upon the wind but upon the sea.
You can not understand my seafaring thoughts, and I do not want it to happen. I prefer to be alone at the sea.
When it is day for you, my friend, it is night for me; yet even then I speak of the noontide that dances upon the hills and of the purple shadow that steals its way across the valley; because you can not hear the songs of my darkness nor see my wings beating against the stars and I am not interested that you hear or see what happens in me. I prefer to be alone with night.
When you ascend to your heaven, I descend to my hell. Even then you call me across the impassable gulf that separate us: "My companion!, My comrade!", and I answer you: "My companion!, My comrade!" because I do not want you to see my hell: the flames would burn your eyesight and the smoke would suffocate you. I like my hell; I love it until the point that I prevent you to visit it. I prefer to be alone in it.
You love the truth, the beauty and the right, me, so as to please you, I say it is fine and I feign to love these things. But in the bottom of my heart I laugh at your love for these things. However, I do not let you to see my laughter. I prefer to laugh alone.
My friend, you are noble, cautious and wise; even more: you are perfect. In my case, I speak with you wisely and cautiously, but... I am mad. But I mask my madness. I prefer to be mad alone.
My friend, you are not my friend, but how shall I make you understand it? My path is not your path; however, we walk together, with our hands taken.
The "I" in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and there in it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.
You should not believe in what I say nor trust in what I do, for my words are your own thoughts, made sound, and my actions, your own hopes made actions.
When you say: "The wind blows eastward", I say: “Aye it does blow eastward"; because I do not want you to know that my mind does not dwell upon the wind but upon the sea.
You can not understand my seafaring thoughts, and I do not want it to happen. I prefer to be alone at the sea.
When it is day for you, my friend, it is night for me; yet even then I speak of the noontide that dances upon the hills and of the purple shadow that steals its way across the valley; because you can not hear the songs of my darkness nor see my wings beating against the stars and I am not interested that you hear or see what happens in me. I prefer to be alone with night.
When you ascend to your heaven, I descend to my hell. Even then you call me across the impassable gulf that separate us: "My companion!, My comrade!", and I answer you: "My companion!, My comrade!" because I do not want you to see my hell: the flames would burn your eyesight and the smoke would suffocate you. I like my hell; I love it until the point that I prevent you to visit it. I prefer to be alone in it.
You love the truth, the beauty and the right, me, so as to please you, I say it is fine and I feign to love these things. But in the bottom of my heart I laugh at your love for these things. However, I do not let you to see my laughter. I prefer to laugh alone.
My friend, you are noble, cautious and wise; even more: you are perfect. In my case, I speak with you wisely and cautiously, but... I am mad. But I mask my madness. I prefer to be mad alone.
My friend, you are not my friend, but how shall I make you understand it? My path is not your path; however, we walk together, with our hands taken.
.
Kalil Gibran
