Disclaimer: Man, I hate these things. Okay, let’s see. Characters based on the MOST AMAZING SHOW IN THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD, Roswell. I do not own rights to the book The Prophet, although it is my fave. It belongs to Kahlil Gibran and Phone Media Publishings.

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Max, the chosen and beloved, who was drawn unto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Roswell for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth.

And in the twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed to the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he beheld his ship coming with the mist.

Then the gates of his heart were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul.

But as he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart:

“How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city.

“Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and aloneness without regret?

“Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among the hills, and I cannot with-draw from them without a burdon and an ache. It is not a garment I cast of this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands.

“Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst.”

Now when he reached the foot of the hill, he turned again towards the sea, and he saw his ship approaching the harbor, and upon her prow the mariners, the men of his own land.

And when he entered the city all the people came to meet him, and they were crying out to him as if with one voice.

And the elders of the city came forth and said: “Go not away from us. At noon tide have you been in our twilight, and your youth has given us dreams to dream. No stranger are you among us, nor a guest, but a son and a dearly beloved. Suffer not yet our eyes hunger for your face.”

And then there came out of the sanctuary a woman whose name was Isabel. And she was a seeress. And he looked upon her with exceeding tenderness, for it was she who first sought and believed in him when he had been but a day in their city.

And she hailed him, golden hair falling in face, saying; “Prophet of God, in quest of the uttermost, long have you searched the distances for your ship. And now your ship has come, and you must needs go. Deep is your longing for the land of your memories and the dwelling place of your greater desires; and our love would not bind you nor our needs hold you. Yet we ask ere you leave us, that you speak to us of your truth.”

And he answered, “People of Roswell, of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving in your souls?”

Then said Liz, the dark haired beauty with doe eyes, Speak to us of Love. And he raised and looked upon her, and the gates of his heart opened once more, and a great stillness fell upon the people.

“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 him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste to the garden.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you to himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast
And all these thing love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”

Then Michael, the angry one, said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.

And Max answered, “Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? Is it not the cup that holds your cup the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirits the very wood that was hollowed with knives? When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.”

And the angry one nodded with thoughtful disdain and Max felt a sudden kinship arise.

And then Maria, the blonde-haired pixie, with her eyes set fiercely upon Michael said, Tell us of Pain.

And Max said, “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 you life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

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

And the pixie’s eyes softened for Michael and they drew closer to each other as the waves grow close to land.

And then Alex, the one with the eyes glistening for Isabel said, Speak to us of Friendship.

And Max answered, saying, “Your friend is your need answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. And he is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace. For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed. In the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures. For the dew of little things in the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.”

And Alex nodded, all the while loking at Isabel. And she flushed.

Then it was evening. And as he descended the steps of the temple, all the people followed him, Liz walking by his side, Isabel behind and the others following her.

And he turned to the people and said, in a grand voice, “People of Roswell, the winds bid me to go. I must go to the place where my memories lay and the dew of my family shines bright. My days among you were short, and my wordss spoken shorter still. But should my voice vanish in your ears and my love fade in your memory, I shall return again.”

Seeing tears build in Liz’s eyes, he silently brushed them away, and took her hand. He wasn’t going to be lonely. Not again.

And these words were spoken to her, without any voice or sound and she followed him to the ship. And Isabel, Alex, Michael, and Maria, being the only ones silent, watched the ship tread slowly into the mist. And they remembered him.

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