In the orbits of the soul
circles my true star.
That is where I wander at dawn,
there I park my tired caravan.
My mysterious and faithful star
awaits me always
at the turnings of time
on the slopes of the storm.
My true star
circles the orbits of the soul,
in its presence I kneel,
I murmur,
read the canticle of quintessence,
plunge into the entity,
the heart of supreme tenderness,
embrace the illusions of freedom,
wash them with my soft tears till they gleam pure,
May they save me,
may they raise me
on the headlights of the certainty.

Translated by the authoress and John Wilmot