Frogs and Bears

Of three metamorphoses of the spirit I tell you: how the spirit becomes a camel; and the camel, a lion; and the lion, finally, a child.

There is much that is difficult for the spirit, the strong reverent spirit that would bear much (karma through initiation): but the difficult and the most difficult are what his strength demands.

What is difficult? asks the spirit (of the neophyte) that would bear much, and kneels down like a camel (ushtra in Old Iranian, גמל Gamal in Hebrew ) wanting to be well loaded (to take upon itself the bitter path of initiation). What is most difficult, O (solar) heroes, asks the spirit that would bear much, that I may take it upon myself and exult in my (sexual) strength (און aun)? Is it not humbling oneself to wound one's haughtiness? Letting one's folly shine to mock one's (false) wisdom?

Or is it this: parting from our cause when it triumphs (Sattvic action mentioned in the Bhagavad-Gita)? Climbing high mountains (of initiation) to tempt the tempter (Christus-Lucifer)?

Or is it this: feeding on the acorns and grass of knowledge (דעת da'ath, Gnosis) and, for the sake of the truth, suffering hunger in one's soul (like Tantalus awaiting the solemn banquet of the Pascal Lamb)?

Or is it this: being (psychologically) sick and sending home the comforters (by not seeking spiritual advice from others, but delving into profound Meditation in order to receive wisdom within) and making friends with the (spiritually) deaf, who never hear what you want?

Or is it this: stepping into filthy waters (in transmutation) when they are the waters of truth (poisoned by fornication as mentioned in "On the Rabble" in Part Two of Thus Spoke Zarathustra), and not repulsing cold frogs and hot toads? (This signifies not running away from our own internal, psychological ugliness that we begin to perceive when working with the "hot" and "cold" synpathetic cords of our spinal column, the solar and lunar energetic channels known as Ida and Pingala, which come from our waters, wherein reside the frogs and toads, symbolic of the fertility of Yesod).

Zarathustra went down the mountain alone, no one meeting him. When he entered the forest, however, there suddenly stood before him an old man, who had left his holy hut to seek roots in the forest. And thus spoke the old man to Zarathustra:

"No stranger to me is this wanderer: many years ago he passed by. Zarathustra he was called, but he has changed.

Then you carried your ashes up to the mountains: will you now carry your fire into the valleys? Do you not fear the arsonist's punishment?

Yes, I recognize Zarathustra. Pure are his eyes, and no loathing lurks around his mouth. Does he not move like a dancer?

Transformed is Zarathustra; Zarathustra has become a child; an awakened one is Zarathustra: what will you do in the land of the sleepers?

As in the sea have you lived in solitude, and it has supported you. Alas, will you now go ashore? Alas, will you again haul your body by yourself?"

Zarathustra answered: "I love mankind."

"Why," said the saint, "did I go into the forest and the desert? Was it not because I loved men far too well? Now I love God; men I do not love. Man is a thing too imperfect for me. Love of man would be fatal to me."

Zarathustra answered: "Did I talk of love? I am bringing a gift to men."

"Give them nothing," said the saint. "Instead, take part of their load, and carry it with them - that will be most agreeable to them: if only it is agreeable to you!

If, however, you want to give something to them, give them no more than alms, and let them also beg for it!"

"No," replied Zarathustra, "I give no alms. I am not poor enough for that."

The saint laughed at Zarathustra, and spoke thus: "Then see to it that they accept your treasures! They are distrustful of hermits, and do not believe that we come with gifts. Our footsteps sound too lonely through the streets. And at night, when they are in bed and hear a man walking nearby long before sunrise, they may ask themselves: Where is this thief going? Do not go to men, but stay in the forest! Go rather to the animals! Why not be like me - A BEAR AMONG BEARS, a bird among birds?"

"And what does the saint do in the forest?" asked Zarathustra.

The saint answered: "I make songs and sing them; and in making songs I laugh and weep and growl and hum: thus do I praise God. With singing, weeping, laughing, growling and humming do I praise the God who is my God. But what do you bring us as a gift?"

When Zarathustra had heard these words, he bowed to the saint and said: "What should I have to give you? Let me rather hurry away lest I take something away from you!" - And thus they parted from one another, the old man and Zarathustra, just like two laughing boys. When Zarathustra was alone, however, he said to his heart: "Could it be possible? This old saint in the forest has not yet heard of it, that God is dead!"