Without the sensible and true avouch.

Of mine own eyes.

Marcellus. Is it not like the king?

Horatio. As thou art to thysel£

Such was the very armour he had on.

First of all, from even up to this point, I did not realize the English language could sound so lyrical, so like song.

But more than that, "as thou art to thyself, such ws the very armour he had on" really struck me! wow! ive done dmt, and yes, the only thing real is the yourself feeling, but where was i, how many of me there were -- there was another me sitting on the couch just staring at space or something, while a lucid me engaged like nothing before with such insane things, so lucid it was unbelievable, I felt things go through my body like energies I have never felt before, and I thought I was me, in my body. But later I learned I was just spaced out, and probably unresponsive mostly. I thought I was looking around, and answering questions, but apparently it was not so at all! So to connect all that with the ghost, and his armour, is profound reading for me. What is real, you know? This is going to be MUCH deeper than I imagined, and give me the kind of reading of English I have never imagined possible.

I read Romeo and Juliet and maybe Merchant of Venice in grade 10, but I did not know what I was reading, I didn't have my current methed out, adult mind. I can appreciate these homework assignments more now as profound forms of art that speak to my soul -- sorry, but no other way to put it.

For example, I have been reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra for the first time, and it is so much more than what I imagined, and exactly like that. It is a mirror maybe, sometimes more than I could imagine writing could be.

Some passages I must share:

"You have made your way from worm to man, and much in you is still worm. Once you were apes, and even now, too, man is more ape than any ape. "Whoever is the wisest among you is also a mere conflict and cross between plant and ghost. But do I bid you become ghosts or plants?"

[Ghost is the spirit that moves the body, plants have no ghosts, for they do not die, they wither and dissolve, us animals that move the body forward, with our spirits, or "ghosts", have a debt to pay for such motion, and it is to become a ghost. That is my take on this passage. Zarathustra is ready for something beyond that, beyond animal. Beyond man, who is much still as worm. Also, mocks the spirit calling it a ghost. Nothing but a ghost dwells in us, moving us about, not that big of a deal animal is, neither is man, so much more is to come from mother nature!

By the way, I feel he mocks religion by putting all this in the mouth of "Zarathustra", for Zarathustra was a prophet from ancient Iran who spoke of similar, very similar things as Jesus Christ did, and who had a similar story. You get the point. He predated him by several centuries, if you get my drift.

He also uses a lot of phrases from the bible, like Verily, which in the bible is supposed to mean, trust me, for verily I tell you such is truth. Well, so does Zarathustra of Thus Spoke...he says verily, hence, he means it is true beyond doubt!

And the lows, oh Jesus, the hell of things is touched, indeed, and then some, just as I expected to find -- but much more so, so much closer to the Devil than I thought.]

"But you, too, my brothers, tell me: what does your body proclaim of your soul? Is not your soul poverty and filth and wretched contentment?

Verily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea to be able to receive a polluted stream without becoming unclean. Behold, I teach you the overman: he is this sea; in him your great contempt can go under.

'What is the greatest experience you can have? It is the hour of the great contempt. The hour in which your happiness, too, arouses your disgust, and even your reason and your virtue. "The hour when you say, 'What matters my happiness? It is poverty and filth and wretched contentment.

"The hour when you say, What matters my reason? Does it crave knowledge as the lion his roar. It is poverty and filth and wretched contentment.'

"The hour when you say, 'What matters my virtue? As yet it has not made me rage. How weary I am of my good and my evil. All that is poverty and filth and wretched contentment.'

"The hour when you say, 'What matters my justice? I do not see that I am flames and fuel. But the just are flames and fuel. [wow, the just are flames and fuel -- as in they burn in hell of life, just because]

"The hour when you say, 'What matters my pity? Is not pity the cross on which he is nailed who loves man? But my pity is no crucifixion.' [ouch, what a hard turn on christianity, one of the hardest ive ever felt]

[and here comes the sick part, but so poetically sick its insane, truly vile stuff in my humble opinion, its a long set up for man's suicide because the devil overtook him, its one of the saddest things i have ever read. it is worth the crescendos of utter vileness in this passage, heights ive never dreamed of being led to. and dont worry about the supposed hit of the abyss, thats a set-up, not a crescendo. thats nothing. it just gets quoted a lot, but that is pennies for what is to come, leading to treasures]:

When Zarathustra had spoken thus, one of the people cried: "Now we have heard enough about the tightrope walker; now let us see him tool" And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the tightrope walker, believing that the word concerned him, began his performance.

"Man is a rope, tied between beast and overman-a rope over an abyss. A dangerous across, a dangerous on-the-way, a dangerous looking-back, a dangerous shuddering and stopping. 'What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end: what can be loved in man is that he is an overture and a going under.

'What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not

an end: what can be loved in man is that he is an overture and a going under.

'I love those who do not know how to live, except by going under, for they are those who cross over.

'I love the great despisers because they are the great

reverers and arrows of longing for the other shore.

'I love those who do not first seek behind the stars

for a reason to go under and be a sacrifice, but who

sacrifice themselves for the earth, that the earth may

some day become the overman s.

"I love him who lives to know, and who wants to

know so that the overman may live some day. And

thus he wants to go under.

'I love him who works and invents to build a house

for the overman and to prepare earth, animal, and

plant for him: for thus he wants to go under.

"I love him who loves his virtue, for virtue is the

will to go under and an arrow of longing.

'I love him who does not hold back one drop of spirit for himself, but wants to be entirely the spirit of his virtue: thus he strides over the bridge as spirit.

'I love him who makes his virtue his addiction and

his catastrophe: for his virtue's sake he wants to live

on and to live no longer.

'I love him who does not want to have too many

virtues. One virtue is more virtue than two, because it

is more of a noose on which his catastrophe may hang.

"I love him whose soul squanders itself, who wants

no thanks and returns none: for he always gives away

and does not want to preserve himself.

"I love him who is abashed when the dice fall to

make his fortune, and asks, 'Am I then a crooked

gambler? For he wants to perish.

"I love him who casts golden words before his deeds

and always does even more than he promises: for he

wants to go under.

"I love him who justifies future and redeems past

generations: for he wants to perish of the present.

"I love him who chastens his god because he loves

his god: for he must perish of the wrath of his god.

"I love him whose soul is deep, even in being

wounded, and who can perish of a small experience:

thus he goes gladly over the bridge.

"I love him whose soul is overfull so that he forgets

himself, and all things are in him: thus all things spell

his going under.

'I love him who has a free spirit and a free heart:

thus his head is only the entrails of his heart, but his

heart drives him to go under.

'I love all those who are as heavy drops, falling one

by one out of the dark cloud that hangs over men: they

herald the advent of lightning, and, as heralds, they

perish.

"Behold, I am a herald of the lightning and a heavy

drop from the cloud; but this lightning is called overman.

[here it comes. the best part for me thus far, man's going under and what it truly entails...SAD stuff]:

Then something happened that made every mouth dumb and every eye rigid. For meanwhile the tightrope walker had begun his performance: he had stepped out of a small door and was walking over the rope, stretched between two towers and suspended over the market place and the people. When he had reached the exact middle of his course the small door opened once more and a fellow in motley clothes, looking like a jester, jumped out and followed the first one with quick steps.

"Forward, lamefootl" he shouted in an awe-inspiring

voice. "Forward, lazybones, smuggler, pale-face, or I

shall tickle you with my heel! What are you doing here

between towers? The tower is where you belong. You

ought to be locked up; you block the way for one better

than yourself." And with every word he came

closer and closer; but when he was but one step behind,

the dreadful thing happened which made every

mouth dumb and every eye rigid: he uttered a devilish

cry and jumped over the man who stood in his way.

This man, however, seeing his rival win, lost his head

and the rope, tossed away his pole, and plunged into

the depth even faster [suicide because the devil won -- how sad!], a whirlpool of arms and legs. The market place became as the sea when a tempest pierces it: the people rushed apart and over one another, especially at the place where the body must hit the ground.

Zarathustra, however, did not move; and it was right

next to him that the body fell, badly maimed and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a while the shattered

man recovered consciousness and saw Zarathustra

kneeling beside him. 'What are you doing here?" he

asked at last. "I have long known that the devil would

trip me. Now he will drag me to hell. Would you prevent

him?"

"By my honor, friend," answered Zarathustra, "all

that of which you speak does not exist: there is no

devil and no hell. Your soul will be dead even before

your body: fear nothing further."

The man looked up suspiciously. "If you speak the

truth," he said, "I lose nothing when I lose my life. I

am not much more than a beast that has been taught to

dance by blows and a few meager morsels."

"By no means," said Zarathustra. "You have made

danger your vocation; there is nothing contemptible in

that. Now you perish of your vocation: for that I will

bury you with my own hands."

When Zarathustra had said this, the dying man answered

no more; but he moved his hand as if he sought

Zarathustra's hand in thanks."

[THE END. of that little thing. this is just one among a sea of these. this shit goes deep as fuck. this is merely the beginning of it, a sorts. it begins like this, the very beginning of the book (or as it says, a book for all, and for none)]:

When Zarathustra was thirty years old he left his

home and the lake of his home and went into the

mountains. Here he enjoyed his spirit and his solitude,

and for ten years did not tire of it. But at last a change

came over his heart, and one morning he rose with the

dawn, stepped before the sun, and spoke to it thus:

"You great star, what would your happiness be had

you not those for whom you shine?

"For ten years you have climbed to my cave: you

would have tired of your light and of the journey had

it not been for me and my eagle and my serpent.

"But we waited for you every morning, took your

overflow from you, and blessed you for it.

"Behold, I am weary of my wisdom, like a bee that

has gathered too much honey; I need hands outstretched

to receive it.

"I would give away and distribute, until the wise

among men find joy once again in their folly, and the

poor in their riches.

"For that I must descend to the depths, as you do

in the evening when you go behind the sea and still

bring light to the underworld, you overrich star.

"Like you, I must go under-go down, as is said by

man, to whom I want to descend.

"So bless me then, you quiet eye that can look even

upon an all-too-great happiness without envy

"Bless the cup that wants to overflow, that the water

may flow from it golden and carry everywhere the reflection

of your delight.

"Behold, this cup wants to become empty again, and

Zarathustra wants to become man again."

Thus Zarathustra began to go under.

[i MEAN, holy shit, or HOLY SHIT!? i cant wait to read more, im only 30 or so pages in, and every page is full of huge stuff, just to the brim, but then again, could be working like a reflecting mirror, i take away so much new stuff every time, ive read these 30 pages like six, seven times now and it keeps revealing more, AND MORE, and more, its insane!]

btw, my takeaway from thus spoke zarathustra is that it is a poem sung to the hurt of mankind, to the hell we are witnessing by being born. the lowest among us is the one who counts. the most lost one is a testament to the earth's wretchedness, and the highest hope from the lowest depths is a testament to the hurt, to the pain, to the sadness. unless im confused, and things are alright overall, i do not know. i hope so.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=4897563&forum_id=2...id#42932776)