The Joy of Solitude at Night

Night returns, the key that unlocks the secret; the singing rooster bursts into song. It said: throw away these pages, what business have you with the book of lovers? Again the gathering of oneness stirred my passion; from my mind the very notion of separation vanished. How happy I am in this solitude; in this moment I don't even know where my heart is. Where are you, my heart, so defenseless? For the sake of our old companionship, carry me with you. You left and abandoned me empty-handed; how neatly you packed up reason and carried it off with you. My solitude is sweet, a solitude with no pretender; here there is no stranger and no kin. No reason here to grant permission, no heart of mine to recount its suffering. No thought finds a way to any place; in fact, the self itself knows nothing of itself. In this madness I keep saying gladly, at every moment: if only my people knew. These are the gardens of Eden, so enter; these are their delights, so hurry. These are the meadows of holiness, so seek them; these are the cups of intimacy, so drink. Hasten, my people, for the field has grown narrow; rush toward your desire before it fades. You will not grasp my state, my son; how well they put it: I am mute and you are deaf. This talk needs a veil, and that is all; let me return to the tale of that boy.