The Great Longing

O my soul, I have taught thee to say “to-day” as “once on a time” and “formerly,” and to dance thy measure over every Here and There and Yonder.

O my soul, I have taught you to say “today” as you say “once upon a time” and “formerly.” I have also taught you to dance your dance over every Here, There, and Far Away.

O my soul, I delivered thee from all by-places, I brushed down from thee dust and spiders and twilight.

Oh, my soul, I freed you from all the out-of-the-way places. I brushed the dust, spiders, and twilight off you.

O my soul, I washed the petty shame and the by-place virtue from thee, and persuaded thee to stand naked before the eyes of the sun.

Oh my soul, I washed away your petty shame and your hidden virtue. I persuaded you to stand naked before the sun.

With the storm that is called “spirit” did I blow over thy surging sea; all clouds did I blow away from it; I strangled even the strangler called “sin.”

With the storm called “spirit,” I blew over your surging sea. I blew all the clouds away from it. I even strangled the strangler called “sin.”

O my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like the storm, and to say Yea as the open heaven saith Yea: calm as the light remainest thou, and now walkest through denying storms.

Oh, my soul, I gave you the right to say no like the storm and yes like the open sky. You remain as calm as the light, and now you walk through storms of denial.

O my soul, I restored to thee liberty over the created and the uncreated; and who knoweth, as thou knowest, the voluptuousness of the future?

O my soul, I restored your freedom over what has been created and what has not. And who knows the sensual pleasure of the future as you do?

O my soul, I taught thee the contempt which doth not come like worm-eating, the great, the loving contempt, which loveth most where it contemneth most.

Oh, my soul, I taught you a contempt that does not gnaw like a worm. It is a great, loving contempt that loves most where it feels the most contempt.

O my soul, I taught thee so to persuade that thou persuadest even the grounds themselves to thee: like the sun, which persuadeth even the sea to its height.

Oh, my soul, I taught you to persuade so well that you persuade even the ground itself to come to you. You are like the sun, which persuades even the sea to rise toward it.

O my soul, I have taken from thee all obeying and knee-bending and homage-paying; I have myself given thee the names, “Change of need” and “Fate.”

O my soul, I have freed you from all obedience, kneeling, and paying homage. I myself have given you the names “Change of need” and “Fate.”

O my soul, I have given thee new names and gay-coloured playthings, I have called thee “Fate” and “the Circuit of circuits” and “the Navel-string of time” and “the Azure bell.”

Oh, my soul, I have given you new names and brightly colored toys. I have called you “Fate” and “the Circuit of circuits” and “the Navel-string of time” and “the Azure bell.”

O my soul, to thy domain gave I all wisdom to drink, all new wines, and also all immemorially old strong wines of wisdom.

O my soul, I gave your realm all wisdom to drink: all the new wines and all the ancient, strong wines of wisdom.

O my soul, every sun shed I upon thee, and every night and every silence and every longing:—then grewest thou up for me as a vine.

O my soul, I poured every sun upon you, and every night, every silence, and every longing. Then you grew for me like a vine.

O my soul, exuberant and heavy dost thou now stand forth, a vine with swelling udders and full clusters of brown golden grapes:—

O my soul, you now stand exuberant and heavy, a vine with swelling udders and full clusters of brown-gold grapes:

—Filled and weighted by thy happiness, waiting from superabundance, and yet ashamed of thy waiting.

Full and weighed down by your happiness, waiting because you have so much, yet ashamed of waiting.

O my soul, there is nowhere a soul which could be more loving and more comprehensive and more extensive! Where could future and past be closer together than with thee?

Oh, my soul, there is no soul more loving, more understanding, or more expansive than you! Where could the future and the past be closer together than in you?

O my soul, I have given thee everything, and all my hands have become empty by thee:—and now! Now sayest thou to me, smiling and full of melancholy: “Which of us oweth thanks?—

O my soul, I have given you everything, and all my hands are empty because of you. And now! Now you say to me, smiling and full of sorrow: “Which of us owes thanks?”

—Doth the giver not owe thanks because the receiver received? Is bestowing not a necessity? Is receiving not—pitying?”—

Doesn't the giver owe thanks because the receiver accepted the gift? Isn't giving a necessity? Isn't receiving an act of pity?”

O my soul, I understand the smiling of thy melancholy: thine over-abundance itself now stretcheth out longing hands!

Oh, my soul, I understand the smile of your sadness: your very abundance now reaches out with longing hands!

Thy fulness looketh forth over raging seas, and seeketh and waiteth: the longing of over-fulness looketh forth from the smiling heaven of thine eyes!

Your fullness looks out over raging seas, searching and waiting. The longing of overflowing fullness looks out from the smiling heaven of your eyes!

And verily, O my soul! Who could see thy smiling and not melt into tears? The angels themselves melt into tears through the over-graciousness of thy smiling.

And truly, my soul, who could see you smile and not burst into tears? Even the angels burst into tears because your smile is so deeply gracious.

Thy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will not complain and weep: and yet, O my soul, longeth thy smiling for tears, and thy trembling mouth for sobs.

Your graciousness, your excessive graciousness, keeps you from complaining and weeping. And yet, my soul, your smile longs for tears, and your trembling mouth longs to sob.

“Is not all weeping complaining? And all complaining, accusing?” Thus speakest thou to thyself; and therefore, O my soul, wilt thou rather smile than pour forth thy grief—

“Isn't all weeping a form of complaining? And isn't all complaining an accusation?” You say this to yourself. So, my soul, you would rather smile than pour out your grief.

—Than in gushing tears pour forth all thy grief concerning thy fulness, and concerning the craving of the vine for the vintager and vintage-knife!

Than pour out all your grief in flowing tears, grieving your fullness and the vine’s longing for the grape harvester and the harvest knife!

But wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth thy purple melancholy, then wilt thou have to SING, O my soul!—Behold, I smile myself, who foretell thee this:

But if you will not weep, if you will not weep out your purple melancholy, then you must SING, O my soul! Look, I smile as I foretell this to you:

—Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn calm to hearken unto thy longing,—

You will have to sing passionately until all the seas grow calm and listen to your longing.

—Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth, the golden marvel, around the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:—

Until the boat, a golden marvel, glides over calm, longing seas. Around its gold, all good, bad, and marvelous things frolic.

—Also many large and small animals, and everything that hath light marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,—

Also, many large and small animals, and everything with light, marvelous feet that can run on violet-blue paths,

—Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master: he, however, is the vintager who waiteth with the diamond vintage-knife,—

Toward the golden marvel, the self-moving boat, and its master. The master, however, is the grape harvester who waits with the diamond harvesting knife.

—Thy great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one—for whom future songs only will find names! And verily, already hath thy breath the fragrance of future songs,—

Your great deliverer, my soul, is the nameless one. Only future songs will find names for him! And truly, your breath already carries the fragrance of future songs.

—Already glowest thou and dreamest, already drinkest thou thirstily at all deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposeth thy melancholy in the bliss of future songs!—

Already you glow and dream. Already you drink thirstily from all the deep, echoing wells of comfort. Already your sadness rests in the joy of songs yet to come!

O my soul, now have I given thee all, and even my last possession, and all my hands have become empty by thee:—THAT I BADE THEE SING, behold, that was my last thing to give!

O my soul, now I have given you everything, even my last possession. My hands are empty because of you. LOOK, ASKING YOU TO SING was the last thing I had to give!

That I bade thee sing,—say now, say: WHICH of us now—oweth thanks?— Better still, however: sing unto me, sing, O my soul! And let me thank thee!—

I asked you to sing. Now tell me, WHICH of us owes thanks? Better yet, sing to me, sing, O my soul! And let me thank you!

Thus spake Zarathustra.

This is what Zarathustra said.