“You have deceived me, O Lord, and I was deceived” (Jeremiah 20:7). Since the time Your voice appeared within me and You said, ‘Follow Me,’ I sold my hours and my days and burned the remnants of my times, and my garment which I bought with my tears I sold, so that the weight of my body might be lightened and I might run like a gazelle and soar among Your names. And nothing remained of me but my self. But You sold me, and naked You left me to cover my nakedness with my shadow, and to carry my self upon my shoulders, and I went on running like one who carries the shroud over his palms and does not know upon which altar he will end.
You wounded me when Your radiant face looked forth, incarnate among the letters in the pages of the book that became my mirror. So I left my nakedness and took off my shadow like a garment. And when I was about to draw near to immerse myself in Your voice, Your voice vanished, and You spurned me. Ah, would that I could immerse myself in Your voice and be content.
And I carried my self upon my shoulder and went searching for You in time and space, in length and breadth and height, that perhaps You might take pity. But You did not take pity on me, as You bent down to the paralytic. I searched for You in height like Zacchaeus, but You did not raise Your eyes up to the sycamore tree, nor call me to You to enter my house. I opened my door wide and spread my table lengthwise, because You said, ‘Behold, I stand at the door and knock; whoever opens, I shall dine with him.’ But cold and thunder and wind and fire entered and spoiled my dinner, and You were still knocking, and I had no door except a door that time had shut. I took it off, but You did not enter, nor did I eat, and the dinner was scattered like leaves struck by the wind. And I still hear Your hand bending tenderly over my door and knocking. Upon which door, O Lord, do You knock? For there are no doors left in my house; I have become without a door, and Your voice rings as though it were an illusion, I do not know. Or do You remind me that the time has come for me to knock?
I went out carrying my self, following Your voice which I know, and I followed You to the depths of my depths, to my darknesses, to my deep cloud, to an abyss that has no bottom. And there You left me and lost me, and in the darknesses my shadow vanished. How then, O Lord, shall I cover my nakedness? Will You not take pity on me as You did on Adam, who hid from You in Paradise, whose nakedness You covered with the leaves of the Torah? Ah, would that I were like Adam, hiding so that You would follow me. That one who rejected You and ate of the forbidden love — You went seeking him. But I who followed You, You flee from me. Do You make Your self heavy upon me in order to enflame love in me all the more?
I have become, O Jesus, alone: I have no shadow and no self within me, and I wandered astray in the labyrinths of Your dark light, and I am naked.
And there, my self was lost in my depths and wandered away from me, and my I became empty, a desolate void, and there was darkness within me, and the wind fluttered over my waters. Shall I search for You? Or shall I search for my self that was lost?
My whole wandered away from me, and my parts vanished, and my pieces that I had gathered were scattered, and I became nothingness. And You still run; I hear Your alluring voice drawing me, but, O Lord, weariness has exhausted me.
What is the matter with You, O Lord? I followed You in time, and whenever I am about to grasp the hem of Your garment, You vanish. And I search for You in space, and whenever I draw near to You, I encounter from You nothing but the great mirage. And when I embraced it, it vanished, and I embrace myself. And in the end I drew near to You, and You did not flee, and I found You hanging upon the wood, crucified, without breath. I came to You to give me life, so who will give You life and give me life? And when I touched the cross, it blossomed in my palm.
You have exhausted me, O God, and nothing remains of me but my I and a little of Your image which You created in me. My self fled from me, and my parts melted, and part of me the wind winnowed, the wind that fluttered within me. You have exhausted me, O God, and annihilated me; You annihilated me when You loved me.
Give me rest, and annihilate from me what remains; annihilate my alif, my lam, my ain, my zai, and my ra, and leave my heart, for You are in me, the whole heart.
O Lord, draw me near to You, and increase me in union with You, that perhaps if I draw near to You You draw me near, and if I approach You You dwell in me, and I become like Mary, giving birth to You as You gave birth to me.