On Pain, or, Our Wings Are Broken

On Pain
by Kahlil Gibran

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses
your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its
heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the
daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem
less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that
pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the
winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within
you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy
in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by
the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has
been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has
moistened with His own sacred tears.

I taught myself to ignore the countless beggars that flank the entrances to the markets. It was difficult to do at first, but I told myself that I can't support all of them, and I can't favor one over the other. I began by learning how to ignore the men. They are walking around, talking and joking, I thought to myself, they can find some way to fine some form of manual labor. I then had to teach myself to ignore the children. They should be in school anyway, I thought, school is free. Then came the women. This was the most difficult. Most of the women here have no other means of employment. I had to teach myself to ignore them by pointing out their sheer numbers. If I were to give even a dirham to only the women, I would have no money for rent or food. I can't give to just one, because the others will see me, and I will be surrounded. The children and men would then see me as an easy mark for money.

I guess for all of my talks about the ideals of liberalism, I am no less stingy than the average WASP that I rail against. I know the story of The Star Thrower and of How Avalokiteshvara Attained Her 1000 Arms. I understand, at least theoretically, how one dirham can buy a woman a banana here, but my issue is at the fact that I vacillate between feeling that she will use it wisely or not. I also know that regardless of what she buys with the dirham, be it used wisely or not, it is not my place to judge, but my duty to show compassion towards. I have, for a long time, said that regardless of others' actions towards you, it is your actions towards others that determines your character. But I feel at times that simply throwing money at the problem won't help; it is an institutional issue, one that needs to be address not with change in one's pocket, but change in one's heart. Then again, it could simply be the mental gymnastics of someone who wants an extra dirham for a soda.

On Tuesdays, I go to the youth center for my weekly health class that I teach to some English-speaking students. This is part of my project that I am heading, along with someone from the Youth Development and Environment sectors of my organization. I entered the youth center as usual, when I came across A_____, the English teacher, and the man who wanted some English books that I have so he can read in order to learn about lengthy dialogue.

"Hey," I said, "I do have some novels in English for you. I'm not sure if it is what you are interested in, but there are extended dialogues in them."
"Thank you so much," he said, "I love English books."

He told me about Kahlil Gibran, a Lebanese author who immigrated to America and is the author of many poems and a novel. He is widely regarded, I was told, as a major literary figure, and I should know about him.

"Do you know what I love about English novels?" He asked.
"What do you like about them?"
"I love the stories and how I can escape for a while in them. I read these stories as much as I can. It is great to dream about the lives in the stories and leave this place for a while. People here are trapped. They cannot do anything. We have skills and desires, but we are like birds with broken wings who cannot fly."

A_____ noticed a change that took place on my face. I could feel that he knew my eyes began to glaze over, but he continued.

"I know that people in America and Europe cannot bring us back with them. But you come to me with these books and give me this great gift of these books. You let me imagine better things. You are like angels to me."

I stood back for a moment. I noticed how the sun sunk below the horizon, creating more shadows in front of me. The sky slowly turned to black. I kept thinking about the beggars. Maybe that man does walk with a major limp and cannot find work. Maybe those children are turned away from the school due to the number of children with homes who do go. Maybe those women do know how to be responsible with the dirhams they receive.

A_____ went into the library to teach the English class, and I went to the other side of the youth center to teach my health lesson. It was about blood pressure, and how even slight problems with the heart can disrupt the entire body. The students enjoyed themselves. Afterwards, I left the youth center and watched my shadow, so much larger than myself, against the wall of the youth center. A_____ may think of us as angels, I thought to myself, but I don't see the wings yet. I know that one of these days I will truly believe that I am doing good in this world, and that I am making a difference. Maybe when I look back on my life, I will realize that, in my own way, maybe I am throwing at least one starfish back into that ocean.