Either this divine beginning emanates from you or from some one else.
If from you, I bring it to you as an offering. I offer you the ripe
fruit of my life, the flame of the spark of your own kindling! See,
son of Cronos, I preserved, my gift; in my deepest heart grew the seed
that you sowed. It is the very fire of my soul. It burned in those
crises when with my own hand I tore the thread of life. Why will you
not accept it? Would you have me regard you as a poor master whose age
prevents him from seeing that his own pupil obediently follows out his
commands? Who are you that would command me to stifle the flame that
has illuminated my whole life, ever since it was penetrated by the
first ray of sacred thought? The sun says not to the stars: 'Be
extinguished that I may rise.' The sun rises and the weak glimmer of
the stars is quenched by its far, far stronger light. The day says not
to the torch: 'Be extinguished; you interfere with me.' The day
breaks, and the torch smokes, but no longer shines. The divinity that
I am questing is not you who are afraid of doubt. That divinity is
like the day, like the sun, and shines without extinguishing other
lights.
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