Chapter 93 The third noon

Zarathustra ran on again, but he found no one, he was still alone, and found only himself forever; enjoying and leaving his solitude, thinking good thoughts, hour by hour passed.But at noon, when the sun shone on Zarathustra's head, he passed an ancient tangled tree, and hid himself in the loving embrace of the vine, facing the wanderer, Ripe grapes are hanging high.He suddenly felt thirsty and wanted to pick grapes.Just as he stretched out his hand, he thought of something else—he wanted to lie down and sleep by the tree at noon. Thereupon Zarathustra lay down; and in the peace and mystery of the colorful green grass he forgot his thirst and fell into a deep sleep.For as Zarathustra's proverb says, "This one thing is more necessary than the other." But his eyes are still open:—they do not tire of looking and admiring the old tree, the love of the vine: but in Thus said Zarathustra to himself in his sleep:

Notice!Be quiet!Isn't the world a beauty now?What happened to me? Sleep dances on me, like a gust of smoke, dancing invisible on the rippling sea, light, light as a feather. It does not close my eyes, it clears my soul.Really, as light as a feather. It persuades me, I don't know how, it soothes me lovingly and oppresses me.Yes!It oppresses me so my soul burns out. How my strange soul became weary and relieved!Did not the evening of the seventh day come at the noon of the day?Hasn't it been too long now to enjoy between good and mature things? It stretches more and stretches your waist even more!It lies still, O my strange soul, which has tasted too many good things; the sorrow of gold oppresses it, and it twists its mouth.

Like a ship at anchor in a still harbour;—weary of the long distance and the rough sea, it is now coming in.Isn't land more trustworthy? Such a ship draws near to the shore, draws near to the shore:—so that a spider weaves its silk from the ship to the land, and that is enough, no stronger rope is needed. I believe, trust, and expect so much now, just like a tired boat in Jinggang, close to the earth, connected with the earth with the thinnest gossamer. Oh happiness!Yo, happy!O my soul, will you sing?You lie on the grass.But this is the hour of mystical dignity, and no shepherd boy is playing on his flute.

Well, pay attention!In the hot afternoon, sleeping soundly in the field.don't sing!Be quiet!The world is perfect. You pine bird, oh my soul, don't sing!Even you don't whisper!Behold, be still: the old day sleeps soundly at noon, it chatters its lips; now, at this moment, is it not drinking the nectar of happiness? Drinking the golden wine, the brown nectar of golden happiness, his countenance changes, his happiness laughs.Laugh like a god.Be quiet! For happiness, how little happiness!That's it!I have said so before, and take myself as wisdom, but that is blasphemy.I have learned it now.A fool speaks wiser.

No, it's the little things, the gentlest, the slightest things, a lizard's wriggle, a breath, a flick, a blink of an eye--tinyness makes the best happiness.Be quiet! What happened; listen!Has time passed?Didn't I fall?listen!Didn't I fall into the face of the fountain of eternity? What happened?Look, did it stab me—oh—in the heart?Stabbed to the heart!O, shattered, shattered, my heart, after such a bliss, after such a prick! What?Isn't the world perfect just now?Is it round and ripe?O golden round and ripe - where does it fly?let me chase it!hurry up! Be quiet! (Here Zarathus stretches himself, and thinks he is fast asleep.)

"You sleeper, you sleeper of the noonday, wake up!" he said to himself. "Stand up, you old legs! This is the time, the more urgent time; Lots of flat avenues await you! You sleep now in your overflow; how long will you sleep?Half an eternity!Well, rise up now, my old heart!How long after such a deep sleep can you wake up? " (But he is fast asleep again, and his soul opposes him, and defends itself, but lies down again.) "Oh, let me rest, be still! Isn't the world perfect now? O, the golden ball! " "Arise!" said Zarathustra, "you little thief of time, you idler! What? Will you stretch, and yawn, and sigh, and fall under the blanket of deep springs? O my soul, then Who are you!" (Here, he becomes frightened as a ray of sunlight hits his face from the sky.)

"O heaven above me," he sighed and sat up, "do you look at me? Do you hear my strange spirit? When will you drink the nectar of all that falls on earth—when will you Will drink this strange soul? O fountain of eternity, abyss of the noon of joy and horror, when did you suck my soul back into you? " Thus spake Zarathustra, and arose from where he had rested by the tree, as if awakened from a strange drunkenness.And behold!There the sun still shone on his head.Hence one would think that Zarathustra did not sleep very long.