FOURTH AND LAST PART.
61. LXI. THE HONEY SACRIFICE. (continued)
Thus may men now come UP to me; for as yet do I await the signs that it is
time for my down-going; as yet do I not myself go down, as I must do,
amongst men.
Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful upon high mountains, no
impatient one, no patient one; rather one who hath even unlearnt patience,
--because he no longer "suffereth."
For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten me perhaps? Or doth it sit
behind a big stone and catch flies?
And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal fate, because it doth not
hound and hurry me, but leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so that
I have to-day ascended this high mountain to catch fish.
Did ever any one catch fish upon high mountains? And though it be a folly
what I here seek and do, it is better so than that down below I should
become solemn with waiting, and green and yellow--
--A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy howl-storm from the
mountains, an impatient one that shouteth down into the valleys: "Hearken,
else I will scourge you with the scourge of God!"
Not that I would have a grudge against such wrathful ones on that account:
they are well enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they now be, those
big alarm-drums, which find a voice now or never!
Myself, however, and my fate--we do not talk to the Present, neither do we
talk to the Never: for talking we have patience and time and more than
time. For one day must it yet come, and may not pass by.
What must one day come and may not pass by? Our great Hazar, that is to
say, our great, remote human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a thousand
years--
How remote may such "remoteness" be? What doth it concern me? But on that
account it is none the less sure unto me--, with both feet stand I secure
on this ground;
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