The sound rises, rises like the skylark, and the ear rises with it. And
then comes a moment when the sound still rises and the hearing stops,
like those birds that do not frequent the loftiest altitudes.
Tell me, are they lost truly and forever, those sounds that hold sway
at the gates of your soul, those sounds to which your senses are not
equal?
Wait! Hope! Some day perhaps we shall know.
You will say to me: “The light is so beautiful, so beautiful! It adds
luster to so many things that are dear to me. Have I any need to dream
of other rays than these? My eyes have already so much to do that
they are overcome by their delight. The beauty of sound and silence
ceaselessly intoxicates my ear.”
True! Your soul has active purveyors. They do not leave it idle. They
come and heap at its feet riches that demand its enthusiasm and its
solicitude.
But often there is in your soul something your senses have not brought
there, an exquisite joy, an inexpressible sadness. Do not forget that
you live bathed in a multitude of rays to only some of which you
are sensible. The others are perhaps not quite strange to you. What
is passing, in contraband, across the frontiers of your being? Do
not obstinately try to bring it under control. Submit, experience,
be merely attentive and respectful to everything. Some day we shall
perhaps know more things than we are able to divine now.