The sun over the earth of your image,
your land with its borders, is passing.
And yet, within you all the grasses that have ever grown
are sleeping and waiting just for you to bloom again.
But woe to him, who is running from the vanishing
world of his own image
into foreign images, where no fireflies are there anymore to glow.
An endless world
of beauty and freedom
is waiting for you on the other side of the woods,
which roar in the wind and sprout in the spring,
but only one thing is necessary, to separate
yourself from your own world.
The Spirit of Truth 