ON HOUSES
In 2022 we created a pair of fundraiser oils adapting a chapter from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet into scent. Considering the challenges that await in 2025, we’ve decided to continue this work with a monthly series of fragrances that will gradually complete the entire book.
Proceeds from these scents will be donated to a series of trustworthy charitable organizations, selected month by month; everything above the cost of production will be donated.
First published in 1923, The Prophet (Gutenberg Press link) has been translated into more than 100 languages, continuing to inspire new readers with its lyrical observations of human nature and open-ended spiritual instruction.
The book imagines a series of pronouncements offered by the sage Almustafa (“the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn unto his own day”) to inhabitants of the fictional city Orphalese as a gesture of gratitude for their hospitality during his twelve-year stay. One by one, various citizens step forward and ask for Almustafa’s thoughts on a long list of topics such as love, death, commerce, justice, and religion.
The Prophet responds with wisdom that could be considered non-denominational, though clearly influenced by the Lebanese author’s familiarity with Sufi and Maronite beliefs as well as the work of Transcendentalist poets. After satisfying the Orphalesians’ many queries, at last he boards a ship setting sail for his homeland.
Since Gibran set these events outside of any known time or geographical location, Almustafa’s wisdom can be received today, or in the future, and ring just as true.
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.Then a mason came forth and said, Speak to us of Houses.
And he answered and said:
Build of your imaginings a bower in the wilderness ere you build a house within the city walls.
For even as you have home-comings in your twilight, so has the wanderer in you, the ever distant and alone.
Your house is your larger body.
It grows in the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the night; and it is not dreamless. Does not your house dream? and dreaming, leave the city for a grove or hill-top?
Would that I could gather your houses into my hand, and like a sower scatter them in forest and meadow.
Would the valleys were your streets, and the green paths your alleys, that you might seek one another through vineyards, and come with the fragrance of the earth in your garments.
But these things are not yet to be.
In their fear your forefathers gathered you too near together. And that fear shall endure a little longer. A little longer shall your city walls separate your hearths from your fields.
And tell me, people of Orphalese, what have you in these houses? And what is it you guard with fastened doors?
Have you peace, the quiet urge that reveals your power?
Have you rememberances, the glimmering arches that span the summits of the mind?
Have you beauty, that leads the heart from things fashioned of wood and stone to the holy mountain?
Tell me, have you these in your houses?
Or have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a master?
Ay, and it becomes a tamer, and with hook and scourge makes puppets of your larger desires.
Though its hands are silken, its heart is of iron.
It lulls you to sleep only to stand by your bed and jeer at the dignity of the flesh.
It makes mock of your sound senses, and lays them in thistledown like fragile vessels.
Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.
But you, children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be trapped nor tamed.
Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast.
It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound, but an eyelid that guards the eye.
You shall not fold your wings that you may pass through doors, nor bend your heads that they strike not against a ceiling, nor fear to breathe lest walls should crack and fall down.
You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living.
And though of magnificence and splendour, your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing.
For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.