Thou hast poured out light upon the darkness, O Lord, and colors and forms have come forth. Thou hast bent Thy face over the abyss, whose name is Nothing, and the abyss travails to express in shadows the beauty of Thy face. As the abyss dreams Thee, so all things tell of Thee.
Beautiful too is my lake, while the calm face of the sun stands bent over it. And all the passersby praise the beauty of my lake. But as soon as the sun turns away its face, my lake becomes darkness and abyss. And no passerby gives praise to the lake except in the presence of the sun and the sun's radiant companions.
The face of the abyss intoxicates those who do not see the sun bent over the abyss. The beauty of things begins from the moment a beholder bends his face over them. There is no mirror if there is no face before the mirror. But even the face before the mirror is in vain, if there is no light.
In the light of Thy face, do I not behold myself in every thing? Without Thee, I and things would not be mirrors to one another, but darkness and abyss, and a murky shudder.
Things distort Thy beauty as a dream distorts reality. As dreams torment me, so things torment me also. For what are things but dreams of Thine ineffable Reality?
My neighbors say: we have dreamed beautiful dreams. The universe is my witness that you are more beautiful than your dreams. The universe too dreams, and cannot dream its fill of its own beauty. O my drowsy universe: while dream dreams dream, they frighten one another, though each seeks an interpreter and a comforter in the other. Which is prophet to which: the dream to reality, or reality to the dream?
O my beautiful universe: dream of Reality, and Reality will tell you all. Acknowledge the Reality whose dream you are, and you will awaken, and you will no longer divine about beauty but will be Beauty. One is the Reality and one is the Beauty, and it is the cause of your dream.
Do not speak to me, children, of the beauty of the stars. If the Lord draws Himself out of the stars, your mouths will fall mute. Stand in the thick darkness beside my lake and try to sing to it. Truly you will fall mute, and you will keep silence until the sunlit dawn, until the sun pours its beauty over the lake and makes your voiceless throat voiced.
From Thy face all things are bathed with beauty. Upon Thy beauty the universe floats like a skiff upon the sea.
And when Thou bendest over cold ashes, the ashes are transfigured and receive a face.
Give understanding to my heart, O my Lord, that it be not carried away with mortal beauty but with Thee, O my Immortal Beauty.
O my only Beauty!
Give me of Thy Face; only still more, and more — of Thy Face.