Writing with Blood and Dancing with Life — Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Zarathustra says he loves only writing done with blood. That means words paid for with real risk and lived experience. He hates lazy readers who skim and forget. When everyone learns to read, he says, writing and thinking both get weaker. True proverbs should be mountain peaks. Only people with long legs can jump from peak to peak.

He wants danger nearby and a spirit full of joyful mischief. Courage should scare ghosts away, not hide from them. He would believe only in a God who knows how to dance. He fights the spirit of gravity that drags everything down with heavy seriousness.

Life is hard, he admits, but that is why he loves it. He learned to fly because he was pushed, not because life grew easy. He ends with a dancing star inside himself. For Zarathustra, deep truth and lightness belong together. You do not have to choose grimness to be serious. He scorns writers who know their readers too well and soften everything for them. Another century of readers, he says, and spirit itself will stink. He wants goblins around him because he is brave enough for mischief, not because he fears the dark. Truth should be learned by heart, not merely read once.