Thou dost not ask much of me, O my Love. Behold, men ask more.
I am wrapped in a thick wrapping of non-being, which seals shut the eyes of my soul. Thou askest only that my soul strip off its misty wrapping and open its eyes toward Thee, O my Strength and my Truth. Men ask that my soul wrap itself in ever denser and ever heavier wrappings.
O help me, help me! Help my soul to come to freedom and lightness; to come to lightness and wings of air; to come to wings of air and a chariot of fire.
Long are the stories, too long; short is the moral — a single word. Stories flow over into stories, as the smooth face of my lake from color into color. Where is the end of the colored flowing of the water beneath the sun, and where the end of the flowing of stories into stories?
Long are the stories, too long; short is the moral — a single word. Thou art that word, O God of the Word. Thou art the moral of all stories.
What the stars write across the heavens, the grass whispers upon the earth. What the water streams upon the sea, the fire seethes beneath the sea. What the angel speaks with his eyes, the imam cries out from the tower. What the past said and sped away, the Now says and flees.
One is the essence of all things; one is the moral of all stories. Things are fairy tales about heaven. Thou art the meaning of all the tales. Stories are Thy length and breadth. Thou art the brevity of all stories. Thou art a nugget of gold in a hill of stone.
When I utter Thy name, I have uttered everything, and more
than everything:
O my Love, have mercy on me! O my Strength and my Truth, have mercy on me!