LVIII. The Great Longing

O my soul, I have taught thee to say “to-day” as “once on a time” and “formerly,” and to dance thy measure over every Here and There and Yonder. O my soul, I delivered thee from all by-places, I brushed down from thee…

Zarathustra addresses his soul and lists what he has done for it: he taught it to dance over every Here and There, stripped away shame and sin, and gave it its freedom and new names.

O my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like the storm, and to say Yea as the open heaven saith Yea: calm as the light remainest thou, and now walkest through denying storms.

The soul may deny like a storm and affirm like open heaven, and it remains calm as light while it passes through denying storms.

O my soul, to thy 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 thee, and every night and every silence and every longing:—then…

The soul has grown into a vine heavy with grapes, waiting from superabundance and ashamed of waiting. Zarathustra's hands are empty from giving, and the soul asks smilingly who owes thanks.

O my soul, I understand the smiling of thy melancholy: thine over-abundance itself now stretcheth out longing hands! Thy fulness looketh forth over raging seas, and seeketh and waiteth: the longing of over-fulness…

Zarathustra reads the smile of melancholy as the longing of over-fulness. The soul will not weep, because all weeping seems to it complaint and accusation.

But wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth thy purple melancholy, then wilt thou have to SING, O my soul!—Behold, I smile myself, who foretell thee this: —Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all…

If the soul will not weep it must sing, until the seas grow calm and the golden bark comes with its master, the vintager with the diamond knife. The soul already breathes the fragrance of future songs.

That I bade thee sing,—say now, say: WHICH of us now—oweth thanks?— Better still, however: sing unto me, sing, O my soul! And let me thank thee!—

Zarathustra says he has given everything, down to his last possession, which is the bidding to sing. He asks who now owes thanks, and asks the soul to sing so that he may thank it.