Wanderer, come closer, I must say some words, namely, that everything you do is for naught. Nothing matters, not one bit, and is not worth the slightest effort to pursue. Why do I say this? I speak from knowledge. I have been a pauper, a prince, a king, an artist, a priest,
(more) a father, a gigolo, a builder, a general, a horseman, a farmer, a shopkeeper, a thief, a killer. But enough, you have the picture. I have lived the full circle of human experience and can speak with complete wisdom. None of it matters.
I would have rather been a cow in the field, or a tiny crab scouring the sands at the bottom of the sea. Theirs is a state of complete satisfaction. They have no spiritual pain. The agonies they feel are borne of an empty stomach or come only briefly with the final pang of death. These are the beasts. But man feels pain at its roots, or even deeper. The source is obscure.
None of it is worth the struggle. The agony is incomprehensible. When you love someone, why must it bring such pain? Only the dead know. Success brings dissatisfaction. Acquisition brings dissatisfaction. Accomplishment brings dissatisfaction. My children have forgotten my name. My subjects revolted. The ill gotten gains turned to ashes in my hands. The benedictions I said over my parishioners brought malaise and imperiled their souls.
When I was desperately poor, I did terrible things. When I was desperately rich, I did terrible things. The structures I erected stand as cenotaphs inside which the dead are stacked. When I was very old, I walked into the desert in the hope of dying.
Now, as I lay here in the sand, I thought I would tell you: everything you do is for naught.(less)
