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(1883 - 1931) |
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On
Death
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Then Almitra spoke, saying, |
We
would ask now of Death. |
And
he said: |
You
would know the secret of death. |
But
how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? |
The
owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day |
cannot
unveil the mystery of light. |
If
you would behold the spirit of death, |
open
your heart wide unto the body of life. |
For
life and death are one, |
even
as the river and the sea are one.
|
In the depth of your hopes and desires |
lies
your silent knowledge of the beyond; |
And
like seeds dreaming beneath the snow |
your
heart dreams of spring. |
Trust
the dreams, |
for
in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
|
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd |
when
he stands before the king |
whose
hand is to be laid upon him in honour. |
Is
the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, |
that
he shall wear the mark of the king? |
Yet
is he not more mindful of his trembling?
|
For what is it to die |
but
to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? |
And
what is it to cease breathing, |
but
to free the breath from its restless tides, |
that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
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Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. |
And
when you have reached the mountain top, |
then
you shall begin to climb. |
And
when the earth shall claim your limbs, |
then
shall you truly dance.
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