In this chapter, Zarathustra embarks on a midnight journey over the mountain ridge of an island. His aim is to reach the opposite shore by dawn to board a ship from a harbor frequented by vessels that carry travelers across the sea from the “happy isles.”

As he ascends the mountain, Zarathustra reflects on his lifelong penchant for solitary wandering and mountain climbing. He acknowledges to his heart that he is a wanderer and a climber, uncomfortable with the plains and unable to remain still for long periods. He anticipates that whatever fate or experiences await him will involve further wandering and ascent, noting that ultimately, one experiences only oneself.

He realizes that chance encounters no longer occur for him; anything that could happen is already inherent within him. His true self, once scattered among all things and accidents, is finally returning home. Standing before his final summit and the hardest path he must climb, he recognizes that he is about to undertake his loneliest journey yet.

Speaking internally, Zarathustra observes that those of his kind cannot avoid this pivotal moment—the hour that tells him he is now treading his path of greatness, where “summit and abyss are united”. What was once his greatest danger has now become his last refuge.

He praises what makes one hard, eschewing lands where “butter and honey flow.” He emphasizes the necessity of looking away from oneself to see much—a hardness required by every mountain climber. Those who are overly inquisitive perceive only the surfaces of things.

Zarathustra aspires to see the ground and background of all things. To achieve this, he must ascend over himself, climbing higher until even his stars lie beneath him. Gazing down upon himself and his stars would represent his ultimate summit, the final peak that remains for him to conquer.

Upon reaching the top of the mountain ridge, he encounters the other sea spread out before him. He stands silently for a long time under the cold, clear, starry night. Eventually, he acknowledges his fate with sorrow, declaring himself ready. He recognizes that his final solitude has begun.

Looking down at the dark, melancholy sea below, Zarathustra accepts that he must descend into it—into its darkest depths—deeper into pain than ever before, as his destiny dictates.

As he approaches the sea and stands alone among the cliffs, Zarathustra grows weary and more filled with longing than ever before. Observing that everything still sleeps, including the sea—which gazes at him sleepily and strangely—he feels the warmth of its breath and senses that it dreams, possibly groaning from evil memories or forebodings.

Sharing in the sea’s sadness and feeling anger with himself on its behalf, he wishes his hand had the strength to free it from its evil dreams. He laughs at himself with melancholy and bitterness for wanting to comfort the sea, recognizing his own foolishness and excessive trustfulness. He notes his tendency to approach all that is terrifying with affection, ready to love and entice every monster at the slightest sign of warmth or softness.

Acknowledging that love is the danger for the loneliest—the love for all that lives—he admits that his foolishness and humility in love are laughable. As he thinks of his forsaken friends, he feels he has wronged them in his thoughts and becomes angry with himself. Suddenly, the laughing Zarathustra weeps bitterly out of anger and longing.