What might I confess, O Lord, when on this morning my village lies buried in the snows? Do You see it bowed low in prayer? Were it not for the crowding of my soul, I would have made my silence a prayer, and become one with my village, and together we would have risen to You as incense. I see the words coming to me, and I want them simple and white, still as the snows. Vast like You, O Lord, feeling neither pain nor joy.

I wanted them simple like You,

O Lord,

soft like lilies and smoke,

that they might reach You,

but my words fail and return to me...

Here is my soul setting forth, its cells widening; it grows vast, as though it filled the breadth of the heavens and the earth... And the words come brimming, and I try to carve them out of Your nature so that they may reach the open sky, but they will be nothing except of the nature of the earth, and they fall back flawed, because they are of the color of dust and of perishing.

I wanted them simple like You,

O Lord,

soft like lilies and smoke,

that they might reach You,

but my words fail and return to me...

The forests are laden and weary, my village is in its shroud, the water has frozen into clusters, the river has drawn near, and the fog has swallowed everything. Do You see it lost, all of it — happy because it is lost? Or because it has gathered itself upon itself, to leap in one bound to You? You spoke, and existence burst forth; and existence yearns toward You, O Lord. Will it return to You? But my words:

I wanted them simple like You,

O Lord,

soft like lilies and smoke,

that they might reach You,

but my words fail and return to me...

Am I then of You? Then why do You not take me back to You? I have worn my body threadbare, and killed in it every appetite except my longing and my striving toward You. I have poured out all the perfumes and been intoxicated with all the narcotics, yet I have tasted no food, nor has my throat been cooled by any drink, nor have I felt pain or sacrifice. I went out of my body, and time turned into an everlasting present — no yesterday, no tomorrow — and I no longer see the passing of things. And behold, my words die in my throat and turn into a deep silence that speaks of You, like the silence of earth and sky.

I wanted them simple like You,

O Lord,

and behold, they turn soft as smoke,

and carry me back to You.