They want meadows greener than these!
They want flowers more beautiful than these which I see!
For me this sun, these meadows and these flowers are enough.
But if they weren't enough,
What I would want is a sun more sun than the sun,
Meadows more meadows than these meadows,
Flowers more flowers than these flowers --
Everything more ideal than what it is, in the same way and same manner!
That thing over there more there than it is!
Yes, sometimes I weep for the perfect body that doesn't exist.
But the perfect body is the body that's the most body of all,
And the rest is the dreams of men,
The myopia of those who see little,
And the desire to sit felt by those who don't know how to stand.
All of Christianity is a dream of chairs.
And the soul is what doesn't appear,
The perfect soul is the one that never appears:
The soul that is made out of body,
The absolute body of things,
Existing -- absolutely real -- without shadows or errors,
The exact and entire coincidence of a thing with itself.