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23 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche · Logic Library

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  Part two, Chapter twenty three, The Child with the mirror. After this,
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  Zarathustra returned again into the mountains, to the solitude of his cave,
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  and withdrew himself from men waiting, like a sewer who hath scattered his seed.
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  His soul, however, became impatient and full of longing for those whom
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  he loved, because he had still much to give them. For this is
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  hardest of all to close the open hand out of love and keep modest as
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  a giver. Thus passed with the lonesome one months and years. His wisdom
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  meanwhile increased and caused him pain by its abundance. One morning, however,
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  he awoke here the rosy dawned, and, having meditated long on his couch,
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  at last spake thus to his heart, Why did I startle in my
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  dream so that I awoke? Did not a child come to me carrying a
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  mirror? Oh, Zarathustra said the child unto me, look at thyself in
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  the mirror. But when I looked into the mirror, I shrieked, and
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  my heart throbbed, For not myself did I see therein but a devil's grimace
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  and derision. Verily, all too well do I understand the dreams, portent
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  and monition. My doctrine is in danger. Tears wont to be called wheat.
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  Mine enemies have grown powerful and have disfigured the likeness of my doctrine,
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  so that my dearest ones have to blush for the gifts that I gave them.
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  Lost are my friends? The hourreth come for me to seek my lost
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  ones. With these words, Zarathustra started up, not however, like a
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  person in anguish seeking relief, but rather like a seer and a singer whom
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  the spirit inspireth with amazement. Did his eagle and serpent gaze upon him for
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  a coming bliss overspread his countenance like the rosy dawn? What hath happened to
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  me? Mine animals, said Zarathustra, Am I not transformed? Hath not
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  bliss come unto me like a whirlwind? Foolish is my happiness, and foolish
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  things? Will it speak? It is still too young, so half patience
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  with it? Wounded? Am I by my happiness? All sufferers shall be
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  physicians unto me? To my friends? Can I again go down? And
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  also to mine enemies? Zarathustra can again speak and bestow and show his best
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  love to his loved ones. My impatient love overfloweth in streams down towards sunrise
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  and sunset, out of silent mountains, and storms of affliction, rusheth my
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  soul into the valleys. Too long have I longed and looked into the distance?
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  Too long? Hath solitude possessed me? Thus I have unlearned to keep
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  silence utterance? Have I become altogether and the brawling of a brook from high
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  rocks downward into the valleys? Will I hurl my speech and let the stream
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  of my love sweep into unfrequented channels? How should a stream not finally find
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  its way to the sea? Forsooth there is a lake in me, sequestered
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  in self sufficing. But the stream of my love beareth this all along with
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  it down to the sea. New paths do I tread? A new speech
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  cometh unto me? Tired? Have I become like all creators of the old
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  tongues? No longer? Will my spirit walk on? Worn out souls too
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  slowly runneth all speaking for me into thy chariot? Oh storm, do I
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  leap? And even thee will I whip with my spite like a cry and
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  a Huszah, Will I traverse the wide seas till I find the happy isles
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  where my friends sojourn, and my enemies amongst them. How now I love
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  every one unto whom I may but speak. Even mine enemies pertain to my
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  bliss. And when I want to mount my wildest horse, then my spear
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  always help me up best. It is my foot's ever ready servant, the
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  spear which I hurl at mine enemies. How grateful am I to mine enemies,
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  that I may at last hurl it? Too? Great? Hath been
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  the tension of my cloud TwixT laughters of lightning? Will I cast hail showers
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  into the depths violently? Will my breast then heave violently? Will it blow
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  its storm over the mountains? Thus cometh its assuagement? Verily, like a
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  storm cometh my happiness and my freedom. But mine enemies shall think that the
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  evil one roareth over their heads. Yea ye, Also my friends will be
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  alarmed by my wild wisdom, and perhaps ye will flee therefrom along with mine
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  enemies. Ah that I knew how to lure you back with shepherd's flutes,
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  Ah, that my lioness wisdom would learn to roar softly, And much have
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  we already learned with one another. My wild wisdom became pregnant on them lonesome
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  mountains, on the rough stones did she bear the youngest of her young.
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  Now runneth she foolishly in the arid wilderness, and seeketh, and seeketh the
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  soft sword, mine old wild wisdom. On the soft sword of your hearts,
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  my friends, on your love, would she fain couch her dearest one.
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  Thus spake Zarathustra, end of chapter twenty three.