The Return Home

O lonesomeness! My home, lonesomeness! Too long have I lived wildly in wild remoteness, to return to thee without tears!

Now threaten me with the finger as mothers threaten; now smile upon me as mothers smile; now say just: ‘Who was it that like a whirlwind once rushed away from me?

Who when departing called out: ‘Too long have I sat with lonesomeness; there have I unlearned silence!’ That hast thou learned now — surely?

O Zarathustra, everything do I know; and that thou wert more forsaken amongst the many, thou unique one, than thou ever wert with me!

One thing is forsakenness, another matter is lonesomeness: that hast thou now learned! And that amongst men thou wilt ever be wild and strange —

Wild and strange even when they love thee; for above all they want to be treated indulgently!

Here, however, art thou at home and house with thyself; here canst thou utter everything, and unbosom all motives; nothing is here ashamed of concealed, congealed feelings.

Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee; for they want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to every truth.

Uprightly and openly mayest thou here talk to all things; and verily, it soundeth as praise in their ears, for one to talk to all things — directly!

Another matter, however, is forsakenness. For, dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thy bird screamed overhead, when thou stoodest in the forest irresolute, ignorant where to go, beside a corpse —

When thou spakest: ‘Let mine animals lead me! More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals’ — that was forsakenness!

And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thou sattest in thine isle, a well of wine-giving and granting amongst empty buckets, bestowing and distributing amongst the thirsty —

Until at last thou alone sattest thirsty amongst the drunken ones, and wailedst nightly: ‘Is taking not more blessed than giving? And stealing yet more blessed than taking?’ — That was forsakenness!

And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thy stillest hour came and drove thee forth from thyself, when with wicked whispering it said: ‘Speak and succumb!’ —

When it disgusted thee with all thy waiting and silence, and discouraged thy humble courage: that was forsakenness!

O lonesomeness! My home, lonesomeness! How blessedly and tenderly speaketh thy voice unto me!

We do not question each other, we do not complain to each other; we go together openly through open doors.

For all is open with thee and clear; and even the hours run here on lighter feet. For in the dark time weigheth heavier upon one than in the light.

Here fly open unto me all being’s words and word-cabinets; here all being wanteth to become words; here all becoming wanteth to learn of me how to talk.