Sun, Light and Flame name the days of other spheres, and wandering on from day to day man may at last reach the end of his journey.  You would pass from rapidly revolving day and night to where the mystical sunlight streams.  The way lies through yourself and the portals open as the inner day expands.  Who is there who has not felt in some way or other the rhythmic recurrence of light within?  We were weary of life, baffled, ready to forswear endeavor, when half insensibly a change comes over us; we doubt no more but do joyfully our work; we renew the sweet magical affinities with nature:  out of a heart more laden with love we think and act; our meditations prolong themselves into the shining wonderful life of soul; we tremble on the verge of the vast halls of the gods where their mighty speech may be heard, their message of radiant will be seen.  They speak a universal language not for themselves only but for all.  What is poetry but a mingling of some tone of theirs with the sounds that below we utter?  What is love but a breath of their very being?  Their every mood has colors beyond the rainbow; every thought rings in far-heard melody.  So the gods speak to each other across the expanses of ethereal light, breaking the divine silences with words which are deeds.  So, too, they speak to the soul.  Mystics of all time have tried to express it, likening it to peals of faery bells, the singing of enchanted birds, the clanging of silver cymbals, the organ voices of wind and water bent together—­but in vain, in vain.  Perhaps in this there is a danger, for the true is realized in being and not in perception.  The gods are ourselves beyond the changes of time which harass and vex us here.  They do not demand adoration but an equal will to bind us consciously in unity with themselves.  The heresy of separateness cuts us asunder in these enraptured moments; but when thrilled by the deepest breath, when the silent, unseen, uncomprehended takes possession of thee, think “Thou art That,” and something of thee will abide for ever in It.  All thought not based on this is a weaving of new bonds, of illusions more difficult to break; it begets only more passionate longing and pain.

Still we must learn to know the hidden ways, to use the luminous rivers for the commerce of thought.  Our Druid forefathers began their magical operations on the sixth day of the new moon, taking the Bright Fortnight at its flood-time.  In these hours of expansion what we think has more force, more freedom, more electric and penetrating power.  We find too, if we have co-workers, that we draw from a common fountain, the same impulse visits us and them.  What one possess all become possessed of; and something of the same unity and harmony arises between us here as exists for all time between us in the worlds above.  While the currents circulate we are to see to it that they part from us no less pure than they came.  To this dawn of an inner day may in some measure be