O my soul, I have taught you to say “today” as “once on a time” and “formerly,” and to dance your measure over every Here and There and Yonder.
O my soul, I delivered you from all by-places, I brushed down from you dust and spiders and twilight.
O my soul, I washed the petty shame and the by-place virtue from you, and persuaded you to stand naked before the eyes of the sun.
With the storm that is called “spirit” did I blow over your surging sea; all clouds did I blow away from it; I strangled even the strangler called “sin.”
O my soul, I gave you the right to say No like the storm, and to say Yes as the open heaven says Yes: calm as the light remain you, and now walk through denying storms.
O my soul, I restored to you liberty over the created and the uncreated; and who knows, as you know, the voluptuousness of the future?
O my soul, I taught you the contempt which does not come like wormeating, the great, the loving contempt, which loves most where it contemns most.
O my soul, I taught you so to persuade that you persuade even the grounds themselves to you: like the sun, which persuades even the sea to its height.
O my soul, I have taken from you all obeying and knee-bending and homage-paying; I have myself given you the names, “Change of need” and “Fate.”
O my soul, I have given you new names and gay-colored playthings, I have called you “Fate” and “the Circuit of circuits” and “the Navel-string of time” and “the Azure bell.”
O my soul, to your domain gave I all wisdom to drink all new wines, and also all immemorially old strong wines of wisdom.
O my soul, every sun shed I upon you, and every night and every silence and every longing:- then grew you up for me as a vine.
O my soul, exuberant and heavy do you now stand forth, a vine with swelling udders and full clusters of brown golden grapes:-
-Filled and weighted by your happiness, waiting from superabundance, and yet ashamed of your waiting.
O my soul, there is nowhere a soul which could be more loving and more comprehensive and more extensive! Where could future and past be closer together than with you?
O my soul, I have given you everything, and all my hands have become empty by you:- and now! Now say you to me, smiling and full of melancholy: “Which of us owes thanks?-
-Do the giver not owe thanks because the receiver received? Is giving not a necessity? Is receiving not- pitying?”
O my soul, I understand the smiling of your melancholy: your overabundance itself now stretches out longing hands!
Your fulness looks forth over raging seas, and seeks and waits: the longing of over-fulness looks forth from the smiling heaven of your eyes!
And verily, O my soul! Who could see your smiling and not melt into tears? The angels themselves melt into tears through the over-graciousness of your smiling.
Your graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will not complain and weep: and yet, O my soul, longs your smiling for tears, and your trembling mouth for sobs.
“Is not all weeping complaining? And all complaining, accusing?” Thus speak you to yourself; and therefore, O my soul, will you rather smile than pour forth your grief-
-Than in gushing tears pour forth all your grief concerning your fulness, and concerning the craving of the vine for the vintager and vintageknife!
But will you not weep, will you not weep forth your purple melancholy, then will you have to sing, O my soul!- Behold, I smile myself, who foretell you this:
-You will have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn calm to hearken to your longing,-
-Until over calm longing seas the bark glides, the golden marvel, around the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:-
-Also many large and small animals, and everything that has light marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,-
-Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master: he, however, is the vintager who waits with the diamond vintage-knife,-
-Your great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one- for whom future songs only will find names! And verily, already has your breath the fragrance of future songs,-
-Already glow you and dream, already drink you thirstily at all deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposes your melancholy in the bliss of future songs!- -
O my soul, now have I given you all, and even my last possession, and all my hands have become empty by you:- that I bade you sing, behold, that was my last thing to give!
That I bade you sing,- say now, say: which of us now- owes thanks?Better still, however: sing to me, sing, O my soul! And let me thank you!-
Thus spoke Zarathustra.