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37 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche · The Philosophy Insights Collection

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  Part two, Chapter thirty seven, immaculate perception. When yester eve the moon
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  arose, Then did I fancied about to bear a sun so broad and teeming?
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  Did it lie on the horizon? But it was a liar with its
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  pregnancy. And sooner will I believe in the man in the moon than in
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  the woman? To be sure, little of a man is he? Also,
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  that timid night reveler, verily with a bad conscience. Doth he stalk
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  over the roofs free is covetous and jealous the monk and the moon, covetous
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  of the earth and all the joys of lovers. Nay, I like him,
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  not that tom cat of the roofs hateful unto me are all that slink
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  around half closed windows piously and silently? Doth he stalk along in the star
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  carpets. But I like no light treading human feet, on which not even
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  a spur jingleth every honest one step speaketh cat, however, stealeth along over
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  the ground, low catalk. Doth the moon come along? And dishonestly this
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  parable speake unto you sentimental dissemblers, unto you, the pure discerners. You
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  do I call covetous ones. Also, ye love the earth and the earthly.
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  I have divined you well. But shame is in your love and a
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  bad conscience. You are like the moon to despise the earthly. Hath your
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  spirit been persuaded, but not your bowels, These, however, are the
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  strongest in you. And now is your spirit a shame to be at the
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  service of your bowels, and goeth by ways and lying ways to escape its
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  own shame. That would be the highest thing for me. So saith your
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  lying spirit unto itself, to gaze upon life without desire, and not like
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  the dog with hanging out tongue, to be happy, and gazing with dead
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  will, free from the grip and greed of selfishness, cold and ashy,
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  gray all over, though with intoxicated moon eyes. That would be the dearest
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  thing to me. Thus doth the seduced one seduce himself to love the earth
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  as the moon loveth it, and with the eye only to feel its beauty.
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  And this do I call immaculate perception of all things, to want nothing
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  else from them, but to be allowed to lie before them as a mirror
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  with a hundred facets. Oh, Ye, sentimental dissemblers, Ye covetous ones,
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  Ye lack innocence in your desire. And now do ye defame desiring on
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  that account? Verily, not as creators, as procreators, or as jubilators.
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  Do ye love the earth where is innocence, where there is will to
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  procreation. And he who seeketh to create beyond himself hath for me the purest
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  will. Where is beauty, where I must will with my whole ill,
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  where I will love and perish, that an image may not remain merely an
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  image. Loving and perishing, These have rhymed for eternity, will to love,
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  that is to be ready also for death. Thus do I speak unto
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  you cowards. But now doth your emasculated oggling profess to be contemplation? And
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  that which can be examined with cowardly eyes is to be christ and beautiful?
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  Oh, ye violators of noble names. But it shall be your curse,
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  ye immaculate ones, ye pure discerners, that ye shall never bring forth,
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  even though ye lie broad and teeming on the horizon. Verily, ye fill
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  your mouth with noble words, and we are to believe that your heart overfloweth,
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  ye cousiners. But my words are poor, contemptible, stammering words.
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  Gladly do I pick up what falleth from the table at your repasts? It
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  still can I say therewith the truth to dissemblers. Yea, my fishbone,
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  shells and prickly leaves shall tickle the noses of dissemblers. Bad air is always
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  about you and your repasts. Your lascivious thoughts, your lies and secrets are
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  indeed in the air. Dare only to believe in yourselves, in yourselves and
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  in your inward parts. He who doth not believe in himself always lieth a
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  god's mask. Have ye hung in front of you, ye pure ones?
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  Into a god's mask? Hath your execrable coiling snake crawled verily? Ye deceive,
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  ye contemplative ones. Even Zarathustra was once the dupe of your godlike exterior.
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  He did not divine the serpent's coil with which it was stuffed a god's
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  soul. I once thought I saw playing in your games. See pure discerners.
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  No better arts that I once dream of than your arts. Serpents,
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  filth and evil odor. The distance concealed from me, and that a lizard's
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  craft prowled thereabouts lasciviously. But I came nigh unto you, then came to
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  me the day, and now cometh it to you. At the end is
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  the Moon's love affair. See there, surprised and pale, doth it stand
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  before the rosy dawn. For already she cometh the glowing one. Her love
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  to the earth cometh innocence and creative desire is all soular love. See there,
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  how she cometh impatiently over the sea. Do ye not feel the thirst
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  and the hot breath of her love? At the sea? Would she suck
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  and drink its depths to her height? Now riseth the desire of the sea,
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  with its thousand breasts kissed and sucked. Would it be by the thirst
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  of the sun vapor? Would it become in height and path of light,
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  and light itself verily like the sun? Do I love life all deep seas?
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  And this meaneth to me knowledge All that is deep shall ascend to my
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  height. Thus beke Zarathustra. End of Chapter thirty seven.