Moths gathered in a fluttering throng one nightTo learn the truth about the candle light,And they decided one of them should goTo gather news of the elusive glow.One flew till in the distance he discernedA palace window where a candle burned --And went no nearer: back again he flewTo tell the others what he thought he knew.The mentor of the moths dismissed his claim,Remarking: "He knows nothing of the flame."A moth more eager than the one beforeSet out and passed beyond the palace door.He hovered in the aura of the fire,A trembling blur of timorous desire,Then headed back to say how far he'd been,And how much he had undergone and seen.The mentor said: "You do not bear the signsOf one who's fathomed how the candle shines."Another moth flew out -- his dizzy flightTurned to an ardent wooing of the light;He dipped and soared, and in his frenzied tranceBoth self and fire were mingled by his dance --The flame engulfed his wing-tips, body, head,His being glowed a fierce translucent red;And when the mentor saw that sudden blaze,The moth's form lost within the glowing rays,He said: "He knows, he knows the truth we seek,That hidden truth of which we cannot speak."To go beyond all knowledge is to findThat comprehension which eludes the mind,And you can never gain the longed-for goalUntil you first outsoar both flesh and soul;But should one part remain, a single hairWill drag you back and plunge you in despair --No creature's self can be admitted here,Where all identity must disappear.
-- from The Conference of the Birds, Translated by Afkham Darbandi / Translated by Dick Davis