Among the Ruins— The Beloved, by Kahlil Gibran
In the stillness of early dawn, I had already been playing my guitar softly— singing what was on my heart, not for an audience, not for an outcome… just to be with the music.
And then… a small bird joined me.
We sang together.
Not in performance, but in presence. Not in perfection, but in harmony.
A quiet reminder that life is always listening… and sometimes, it sings back.
And then… the whisper. The bookshelf was calling me. As always, I did not know what I would discover. By candlelight, I reached for a book—this one tucked in, not so easy to retrieve. For a moment, my hand drifted toward another… but something quietly compelling drew me back. I could feel it—this small hardcover held something that wanted to be heard. I didn’t know what I would find. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. Only that something was waiting. Kahlil Gibran, The Beloved: Reflections on the Path of the Heart. The book fell open to this passage: “Among the Ruins.” And I felt that unmistakable sense of recognition— as if the words were not new, but remembered.
Gibran speaks of temples built in devotion… kingdoms constructed with effort, identity, and pride…
…and how time, nature, and forgetting reduce them to ruins.
All that striving. All that building. All that reaching outward for meaning.
Gone.
Or nearly gone.
And yet…
What remains?
Not the structures. Not the recognition. Not the legacy as the world defines it.
But something far more subtle. Far more enduring.
Love.
“I built a temple within my breast. God sanctified it, and no force can overpower it.”
This line feels like the heart of the passage.
Because it turns everything inside out.
We spend so much of our lives building external temples—
Our work. Our creations. Our identities. Even our relationships, at times, shaped by how we wish to be seen.
And yet…
Life, in its mysterious compassion, slowly loosens our grip on all of it.
Not to punish us. But to reveal something deeper.
There is a temple that cannot be destroyed. A sanctuary untouched by time.
And it is not outside of us.
This passage found me at such a tender and honest moment…
As I’ve been painting—layer upon layer— never fully knowing what will emerge.
Letting go of control. Letting go of outcome. Letting something move through rather than from me.
And wondering, at times…
What will come of all this?
Where is it going?
Does it matter?
And then…
This.
A reminder that perhaps the true creation is not the painting itself.
But the love poured into it. The presence. The devotion. The willingness to show up and create without certainty.
Because in the end—
Even the most beautiful forms may fade. Even the most meaningful work may one day be forgotten.
But…
The love that moved through us while creating?
That remains.
That is the temple.
And then, the final whisper of the passage:
“Only love will last through eternity, for they are alike.”
There is something so deeply comforting here.
Not in a passive way, but in a liberating one.
It frees us from needing our lives to “amount to something” in the way the world measures.
And instead invites us to ask:
✨ Was I present? ✨ Did I love? ✨ Did I allow life to move through me?
This morning, with the bird, the guitar, the unopened day…
I felt the answer.
Not in words.
But in resonance.
May we all remember:
The ruins are not a failure. They are a doorway.
And what they reveal… is what was always real.
With love, Julie Anna / Shanti Ma Treehouse Treasures
