Khalil Gibran Explains

“The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind.” -Khalil Gibran

One drop of love in a still pool creates immense ripples. We can be so nourished by simple observations. In some ways, these are more powerful than essays, or books. Hitting someone home with an expression of “I see you” can literally save lives.

So what’s the fucking deal with human connection? Why does it seem so hard to achieve in a way that feels genuine and true? What is “true” anyway? Sometimes I think “truth” is vulnerability—that as a human species, as much as we reject vulnerability, we also somehow value what it (generations’ worth of focus on wedding “virgins” to young men as a sign of prowess and worth) unabashedly, naively gives.

In some ways, wow, but I really identify with this. Everything about the way I choose to love feels raw, unabashed, and naïve. And that’s something I truly like about myself. Though, I do continually hear whispers which beckon me to a “darker” path, and force me to question whether I’ve truly reckoned with my power…

While I cannot answer those whispers articulately yet, I feel somewhere deep inside that I have a golden light capable of scourging those foul whispers from the face of my reality. Somewhere inside me exists a power so strong, and so pure, that I can wipe darkness from the face of my reality. Am I witch? Sometimes I truly believe so.

It is good to feel powerful. But it is not good to feel vengeful (though it is very, very human). We are discussing The Odyssey in class and (while I shamefully try and fail not to call it Oedipus) we make good headway in discussing light/dark, masculine/feminine, moral/amoral, divine/mortal…

We’ve had very open discussion so far, and I relish every moment of it. And while I similarly fall to the habit of critiquing my reality, I also fall into the trap of plucking at my split ends, and slowly, incrementally, increasingly telling myself I am not ok in the skin I’m in…this is kind of how I am approaching, with simultaneous love and compassion, The Odyssey.

I mean, I get why my teacher assigned it: it’s old as hell, it’s one of the earliest, primary examples we have of the “hero’s journey” especially as it relates to mythology and whatnot. She has taken care to stress, too, the importance of all that Homer doesn’t say. And while I admittedly find this quite intriguing at first, upon later inspection I almost find it dull—

Though this of course, is coming from a girl who has weighed heavily the benefits of “being” versus “saying”—

And frankly all I have that is compelling about Odysseus’ version of himself when recounting stories of his hero’s ballad is how lucky he was to encounter strong woman after strong woman who helped give him the release/way home he needed? Like must one be a woman be a virgin, a wife, a prophet, a witch, and a queen? Just let us fuckin’ help you! Jesus. And give a little god damn credit to the feminine in your songs, too, while you’re at it. Damn.

On that note, thank god I have friends to keep me on track, y’know? If not for them, I would wander like, so far, down the human recesses of the psyche. And that’s just pretty fuckin’ grizzly and gnarly, right? Like, why do I insist on going there?

I just have this feeling that something about me exudes a sort of perpetual learning, a sort of naivety bound towards perpetual heartbreak. I think this stems from wanting to love everyone, earnestly, borderline desperately. Which stems from wanting to be a sort of halfway house between someone and their honest desires. Which is not exactly a feminist concept, I am forced to reconcile. 

Speaking the fuck of things I have to reconcile, what is up with my adulation for the French language?  Is it the incomprehensively sexy sound it is to my ears—so resonant, so dissonant, so smooth, so indulgent—or is it another colonist lens, come to seed my awareness in nostalgia?

Most unfortunately, I don’t have a simple answer for this (though I do, in fact, have many more rants I could go on) and need to get some rest for tomorrow’s day.

Goodnight, all. Sweet dreams. Don’t trouble your head about social norms. All will be well if you are patient and kind.

Published by Hannah

Just yer average girl next door.

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