ON INVOLUNTARY BLISS
ON INVOLUNTARY BLISS
WITH SUCH RIDDLES AND bitternesses in his heart Zarathustra sailed over the sea. But when he was four days journey from the Happy Islands and from his friends, he had overcome all his pain—triumphantly and with firm feet he stood on his destiny again. And then Zarathustra spoke thus to his exulting conscience:
I am alone again, and I like to be so, alone with the pure heaven, and the open sea; and again the afternoon is around me.
On an afternoon I found my friends for the first time; on an afternoon, also, I found them a second time:-at the hour when all light becomes stiller.
For whatever happiness is still on its way between heaven and earth, now seeks a luminous soul for its lodging: with happiness all light has now become stiller.
O afternoon of my life! Once my happiness descended also to the valley that it might seek lodging: then it found those open hospitable souls.
O afternoon of my life! What did I not surrender that I might have one thing: this living plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn of my highest hope!
He who creates once sought companions, and children of his hope: and lo, it turned out that he could not find them unless he himself first created them.
Thus I am in the midst of my work, going to my children and turning from them: for the sake of his children Zarathustra must perfect himself.
For in one’s heart one loves only one’s child and one’s work; and where there is great love of oneself, then is it the sign of pregnancy: thus have I discovered.
My children are still verdant in their first spring, standing near one another and shaken in common by the winds, the trees of my garden and of my best soil.
And truly! Where such trees stand beside one another, there are Happy Islands!
But one day I will uproot them and stand each by itself alone: that it may learn loneliness and defiance and foresight.
Gnarled and crooked and with flexible hardness it shall then stand by the sea, a living lighthouse of unconquerable life.
There where the storms rush down into the sea, and the snout of the mountain drinks water, each shall have its day and night watches, for its testing and recognition.
It shall be tested and recognized, to see whether it is my kind and race-whether it is master of a long will, silent even when it speaks, and giving such that it takes in giving:—
—that it may one day become my companion and a fellow-creator and a fellow-rejoicer with Zarathustra:—such a one as writes my will on my tablets: for the fuller perfection of all things.
And for its sake and for those like it, I must perfect myself. therefore I now avoid my happiness and present myself to every unhappiness-for my final testing and recognition.
And truly, it is time that I went away; and the wanderer’s shadow and the longest sojourn and the stillest hour—have all said to me: “It is high time!”
The wind blew to me through the keyhole and said “Come!” The door sprang cunningly open and said “Go!”
But I lay chained to my love for my children: desire spread this snare for me, the desire for love, that I should become the plunder of my children and lose myself to them.
To desire-for me now that means to have lost myself. I possess you, my children! In this possessing all should be security and nothing desire.
But the sun of my love brooded upon me, Zarathustra stewed in his own juice—then shadows and doubts flew past me.
I longed for frost and winter: “Oh, that frost and winter would again make me crack and crunch!” I sighed:-then icy mist arose out of me.
My past burst from its tomb, many pains buried alive woke up—: they had only been sleeping, concealed in burial shrouds.
Thus everything called to me in signs: “It is time!” But I—heard not: until at last my abyss stirred and my thought bit me.
Ah, abysmal thought, which is my thought! When shall I find strength to hear you burrowing and no longer tremble?
My heart rises to my throat when I hear you burrowing! Even your silence wants to choke me, you abysmal silent one!
As yet I have never dared to summon you up: it has been enough that I—have carried you about with me! As yet have I not been strong enough for my final lion’s arrogance and playfulness.
Your weight was always terrible enough for me: but one day I shall find the strength and the lion’s voice to summon you up!
When I have overcome myself in that, then I will overcome myself in that which is greater; and a victory shall be the seal of my perfection!—
Meanwhile I still travel on uncertain seas; chance flatters me, the smooth-tongued; I gaze forward and backward—still I see no end.
As yet the hour of my final struggle has not come to me—or does it come to me perhaps just now? Truly, sea and life gaze around me gaze at me with insidious beauty:
O afternoon of my life! O happiness before evening! O haven on high seas! O peace in uncertainty! How I mistrust you all!
Truly, I am mistrustful of your insidious beauty! I am like the lover who mistrusts the all-too-velvety smile.
As he thrusts the most beloved before him, tender even in his hardness, the jealous one-, thus I thrust this blissful hour before me.
Away with you, you blissful hour! With you there came to me an involuntary bliss! I stand here ready for my deepest pain:—you came at the wrong time!
Away with you, you blissful hour! Rather seek shelter there—with my children! Hurry! and bless them before evening with my happiness!
There evening already approaches: the sun sinks. Away—my happiness!—
Thus spoke Zarathustra. And he waited for his misfortune the whole night: but he waited in vain. The night remained clear and calm and happiness itself came closer and closer to him. But towards morning Zarathustra laughed in his heart and said mockingly: “Happiness runs after me. That is because I do not run after women. But happiness is a woman.”