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 there
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.
