You are your own forerunner, and
the towers you have builded are but the foundation of your giant-self.
And that self too shall be a foundation.
And I too am my own forerunner, for the long shadow stretching before
me at sunrise shall gather under my feet at the noon hour. Yet another
sunrise shall lay another shadow before me, and that also shall be
gathered at another noon.
Always have we been our own forerunners, and always shall we be. And
all that we have gathered and shall gather shall be but seeds for
fields yet unploughed. We are the fields and the ploughmen, the
gatherers and the gathered.
When you were a wandering desire in the mist, I too was therem a
wandering desire. Then we sought one another, and out of our eagerness
dreams were born. And dreams were time limitless, and dreams were
space without measure.
And when you were a silent word upon life's quivering lips, I too was
there, another silent word. Then life uttered us and we came down the
years throbbing with memories of yesterday and with longing for
tomorrow, for yesterday was death conquered and tomorrow was birth
pursued.
And now we are in God's hands. You are a sun in His right hand and I
an earth in His left hand. Yet you are not more, shining, than I,
shone upon.
And we, sun and earth, are but the beginning of a greater sun and a
greater earth. And always shall we be the beginning.
You are your own forerunner, you the stranger passing by the gate of
my garden.
And I too am my own forerunner, though I sit in the shadows of my
trees and seem motionless.
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