CONY SHARKBITE

Effort is a cruelty, existence through effort is a cruelty. Rising from his repose and extending himself into being, Brahma suffers, with a suffering that yields joyous harmonics perhaps, but which at the ultimate extremity of the curve can only be expressed by a terrible crushing and grinding.

There is in life's flame, life's appetite, life's irrational impulsion, a kind of initial perversity: the desire characteristic of Eros is cruelty since it feeds upon contingencies; death is cruelty, resurrection is cruelty, transfiguration is cruelty, since nowhere in a circular and closed world is there room for true death, since ascension is a rending, since closed space is fed with lives, and each stronger life tramples down the others, consuming them in a massacre which is a transfiguration and a bliss. In the manifested world, metaphysically speaking, evil is a permanent law, and what is good is an effort and already one more cruelty added to the other.

...It is cruelty that cements matter together, cruelty that molds the features of the created world. Good is always upon the outer face, but the face within is evil. Evil which will eventually be reduced, but at the supreme instant when everything that was form will be on the point of returning to chaos.

Yo vuelvo por mis alas. ¡Dejadme volver! ¡Quiero morirme siendo amanecer! ¡Quiero morirme siendo ayer!

Yo vuelvo por mis alas. ¡Dejadme retornar! Quiero morirme siendo manantial. Quiero morirme fuera de la mar.

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I’ve come back for my wings, But I don’t want to stay. I want to die as I was yesterday! I want to die at the dawning of day!

I’ve come back for my wings, Oh, please release me. I want to die Back home in my spring! I want to die Away from the sea!