Yesterday—and how remote yesterday is, yet how near—I went with my soul to the great ocean, to wash away with its waters the dust and mire of the earth that had clung to us.

When we reached the shore we searched for a vacant spot that would shield us from prying eyes. While we two were walking along we looked up and, behold, a man was sitting on a dusty rock. He grasped in his hand a bag, from which he took fistful after fistful of salt which he cast into the ocean.

My soul said to me, “That man is a cynic, who sees nothing of life but its shadow. A cynic is not worthy to lay eyes upon our naked bodies. Let us leave this place, since there is no way we can bathe here.”

We departed from that spot and walked on until we arrived at an inlet. There we discovered a man standing on a white stone, holding in his hand a jewel-studded box. He was taking from it cubes of sugar and tossing them into the ocean.

My soul said to me, “This man is an optimist, who sees good omens where none exist. Beware lest an optimist see our naked bodies.”

We began walking once more, until we happened upon a man standing near the shore, picking up dead fish and tenderly returning them to the ocean.

My soul said to me, “This is a compassionate person, who attempts to resuscitate those already in their graves. Let us avoid him.”

We finally arrived at a place where we saw a man drawing his fantasies in the sand. The waves came and erased his sketches, but he kept on doing what he was doing, time and again.

My soul said to me, “Here is a mystic who has set up in his imagination an idol to worship. Let us leave him and his affairs.”

We strolled on until we espied, near a placid bay, a man scooping the foam from the surface of the water and shaking it into a carnelian bowl.

My soul said to me, “This is a dreamer, who weaves a robe from spider webs that he might array himself in it. He has no right to see our naked bodies.”

We resumed our trek, and abruptly we heard a voice shouting, “This is the deep sea, this is the mighty, terrifying ocean.” We searched for the speaker and beheld a man standing with his back to the ocean. He had placed a seashell over his ear and was listening to its rumbling.

My soul said to me, “Let us go, for this is a materialist, who has turned his back on everything he cannot fathom and busies his essence with particulars that accord with his own premises.”

We walked on until we saw a man in a grassy place between the stones who had buried his head in the sand. I said to my soul, “Come, my soul, let us bathe here. For that man cannot see us.”

My soul shook her head, saying, “No, a thousand times no. The one you see is the worst of all people. He is pious and pure and veils himself from the tragedy of life, so that life has hidden its joys from his soul.”

Then a profound sorrow appeared on the face of my soul. In a voice broken with bitterness, she said, “Let us get away from this shore, for there is no sheltered, concealed spot here where we can bathe. And I will never agree to loose my golden tresses in this wind, or to bare my tender breasts to this void, or to disrobe and stand naked before this light.”

My soul and I departed from that great ocean, and began to seek for the most great ocean.