A little story...
There was once a youth who had fallen in love with the moon.
He longed for the night. He dwelt in the high places of the world so as to be closer to it. His body burned with desire for the moon, and he stretched out his arms and prayed to it. The moon occupied all his thoughts and dreams.
But he knew - or he thought he knew - that the heavenly body could not be embraced by a human being. So he considered it his fate to love the moon without any hope of fulfillment, and on this conception he founded a poetic philosophy of renunciation, torment and silent suffering that would refine and cleanse him. But yet, all his dreams were directed to the moon.
Once, he stood on a high cliff above the sea at night and gazed at the moon, his body burning with love for it. In a moment of ecstatic longing, he leapt into the emptiness towards the moon. But just as he leapt, the thought flashed through him, "this is impossible". There he lay on the shore, shattered. He had not understood how to love.
If he had had a doubtless faith in his dream, he would surely have soared through the night and been united with the moon?
