Like Moses he sought a theophany until his mind, in quest of light, unveiled its mystery.

A moment’s flight from heaven’s height to the observer’s eye – such is the unimaginable speed of its fast-beating wings, indeed.

Sequestered, it lies at the core of black coal in a pit. When manifest in its full glory, it burns up like straw a bush on Mount Sinai.

Unchanging in this magic world of more or less, of high and low, of far and near, of to and fro, its make-up has in it two sets.

Of qualities, engaged in mutual strife, like brightness, darkness, soothing, burning, life and death, one of which sets begets the angels and the houris, while the other shows in Ahriman the vile.

What can I say about this subtle-minded sage except that from the race of Moses and of Aaron there has come a Zarathustra in our age?