Message #33015

[VoraX]

 53. The Return Home

  O LONESOMENESS! My home, lonesomeness! Too long have I lived
wildly in wild remoteness, to return to thee without tears!
  Now threaten me with the finger as mothers threaten; now smile
upon me as mothers smile; now say just: "Who was it that like a
whirlwind once rushed away from me?-
  -Who when departing called out: 'Too long have I sat with
lonesomeness; there have I unlearned silence!' That hast thou
learned now- surely?
  O Zarathustra, everything do I know; and that thou wert more
forsaken amongst the many, thou unique one, than thou ever wert with
me!
  One thing is forsakenness, another matter is lonesomeness: that hast
thou now learned! And that amongst men thou wilt ever be wild and
strange:
  -Wild and strange even when they love thee: for above all they
want to be treated indulgently!
  Here, however, art thou at home and house with thyself; here canst
thou utter everything, and unbosom all motives; nothing is here
ashamed of concealed, congealed feelings.
  Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee:
for they want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here
ride to every truth.
  Uprightly and openly mayest thou here talk to all things: and
verily, it soundeth as praise in their ears, for one to talk to all
things- directly!
  Another matter, however, is forsakenness. For, dost thou remember, O
Zarathustra? When thy bird screamed overhead, when thou stoodest in
the forest, irresolute, ignorant where to go, beside a corpse:-
  -When thou spakest: 'Let mine animals lead me! More dangerous have I
found it among men than among animals:'- That was forsakenness!
  And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thou sattest in thine
isle, a well of wine giving and granting amongst empty buckets,
bestowing and distributing amongst the thirsty:
  -Until at last thou alone sattest thirsty amongst the drunken
ones, and wailedst nightly: 'Is taking not more blessed than giving?
And stealing yet more blessed than taking?'- That was forsakenness!
  And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thy stillest hour came
and drove thee forth from thyself, when with wicked whispering it
said: 'Speak and succumb!'-
  -When it disgusted thee with all thy waiting and silence, and
discouraged thy humble courage: That was forsakenness!"-
  O lonesomeness! My home, lonesomeness! How blessedly and tenderly
speaketh thy voice unto me!
  We do not question each other, we do not complain to each other;
we go together openly through open doors.
  For all is open with thee and clear; and even the hours run here
on lighter feet. For in the dark, time weigheth heavier upon one
than in the light.
  Here fly open unto me all beings' words and word-cabinets: here
all being wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to
learn of me how to talk.
  Down there, however- all talking is in vain! There, forgetting and
passing-by are the best wisdom: that have I learned now!
  He who would understand everything in man must handle everything.
But for that I have too clean hands.
  I do not like even to inhale their breath; alas! that I have lived
so long among their noise and bad breaths!
  O blessed stillness around me! O pure odours around me! How from a
deep breast this stillness fetcheth pure breath! How it hearkeneth,
this blessed stillness!
  But down there- there speaketh everything, there is everything
misheard. If one announce one's wisdom with bells, the shopmen in
the market-place will out-jingle it with pennies!
  Everything among them talketh; no one knoweth any longer how to
understand. Everything falleth into the water; nothing falleth any
longer into deep wells.
  Everything among them talketh, nothing succeedeth any longer and
accomplisheth itself. Everything cackleth, but who will still sit
quietly on the nest and hatch eggs?
  Everything among them talketh, everything is out-talked. And that
which yesterday was still too hard for time itself and its tooth,
hangeth today, outchamped and outchewed, from the mouths of the men of
today.
  Everything among them talketh, everything is betrayed. And what
was once called the secret and secrecy of profound souls, belongeth
to-day to the street-trumpeters and other butterflies.
  O human hubbub, thou wonderful thing! Thou noise in dark streets!
Now art thou again behind me:- my greatest danger lieth behind me!
  In indulging and pitying lay ever my greatest danger; and all
human hubbub wisheth to be indulged and tolerated.
  With suppressed truths, with fool's hand and befooled heart, and
rich in petty lies of pity:- thus have I ever lived among men.
  Disguised did I sit amongst them, ready to misjudge myself that I
might endure them, and willingly saying to myself: "Thou fool, thou
dost not know men!"
  One unlearneth men when one liveth amongst them: there is too much
foreground in all men- what can far-seeing, far-longing eyes do there!
  And, fool that I was, when they misjudged me, I indulged them on
that account more than myself, being habitually hard on myself, and
often even taking revenge on myself for the indulgence.
  Stung all over by poisonous flies, and hollowed like the stone by
many drops of wickedness: thus did I sit among them, and still said to
myself: "Innocent is everything petty of its pettiness!"
  Especially did I find those who call themselves "the good," the most
poisonous flies; they sting in all innocence, they lie in all
innocence; how could they- be just towards me!
  He who liveth amongst the good- pity teacheth him to lie. Pity
maketh stifling air for all free souls. For the stupidity of the
good is unfathomable.
  To conceal myself and my riches- that did I learn down there: for
every one did I still find poor in spirit. It was the lie of my
pity, that I knew in every one.
  -That I saw and scented in every one, what was enough of spirit
for him, and what was too much!
  Their stiff wise men: I call them wise, not stiff- thus did I
learn to slur over words.
  The grave-diggers dig for themselves diseases. Under old rubbish
rest bad vapours. One should not stir up the marsh. One should live on
mountains.
  With blessed nostrils do I again breathe mountain-freedom. Freed
at last is my nose from the smell of all human hubbub!
  With sharp breezes tickled, as with sparkling wine, sneezeth my
soul- sneezeth, and shouteth self-congratulatingly: "Health to thee!"

  Thus spake Zarathustra.