We don’t know anything about silent sages, buried knowledge, the eye of the mute poet, serene seers, yet how many talkative destroyers, prophets and ideologues, teachers and beautifiers there are on the other side.
They are both spectacular, Life and death.
Long ago an uncalled rain fell and a called-upon God stayed equally distant.
Wherever I go, I run into myself.
One hand I extend into myself, the other toward others.
I travel, always arriving in the same place.
My mathematics is simple: one plus one = one.
I enjoy it when the world smiles; the more smiles, the warmer I am.
Through everything I have passed but nowhere I have been.
And this that you call solitude is in fact a big crowd.
With me: one minus one = one; with you: it’s zero. Here lies the only difference.
Mathematics doesn’t care about those beyond the numbers.
From one bell all the bells toll.
In a myriad of ways you tell one truth.
Instead of imitating me, you simply loiter.
You ask how it is possible to be your own father and son. You should seek answers, although it is better to anticipate some, to be the light and dream.
In the biggest and the smallest I sleep but at the same place I stay.
Say No! Accept the burdens of revenge.
Darkness does not age; nothing is always nothing
How alive is thought, invisible, yet without thought there is no sight.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
