Don't sit with indifferent people, whose breath
comes cold out of their mouths.
Not these visible forms, your work is deeper.
A chunk of dirt thrown in the air breaks to pieces.
If you don't try to fly,
and so break yourself apart,
you will be broken open by death,
when it's too late for all you could become.
Leaves get yellow. The tree puts out fresh roots
and makes them green.
Why are you so content with a love that turns you yellow?
Even though in anger you depart a hundred thousand years from me, in the end you will come to me, for I am your goal.
Did I not say to you, “Be not content with worldly forms, for I am the fashioner of the tabernacle of your contentment?”
Did I not say to you, “I am the sea and you are a single fish;
Did I not say to you, “ Go not like birds to the snare; come, for I am the power of flight and your wings and feet?”
Did I not say to you, “ They will waylay you and make you cold, for I am the fire and warmth and heat of your desire?”
Did I not say to you, “ They will implant in you ugly qualities
so that you will forget that I am the source of purity to you?”
Did I not say to you, “Do not say from what direction the servant’s affairs come into order?”
If you are the lamp of the heart, know where the road is to the house;
It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow
a thousand times
Come, yet again, come, come.