I have never known the top of the world. Yet, I look at it from the foothills, certain that it knows me; it has captured me, that is, with its last glance. Here I recount what her eyes see.
I was inside a cloud / At that moment I was committing suicide / Now I can no longer turn back / Now I am dead / Three times I handed over the knife with my hands, three / And I kissed his hand three times.
What do I want now as the dead man writes? / Now I can no longer turn back / Why do I want to live again? / My elder, my killer. The poem from which I copy has the title "The Labor." I met the poet, Elder Moses of Athos, years ago on Mount Athos. He was a suicide and a killer, an amazing man.
So I give him the knife, I kiss his hand three times, I ask him to kill me too – and you. And I wait, I wait. The heights in the lows.
