"I cannot tell. That is for you, not me.

"What do I perceive tonight?"

"The Present as it is in the Eternal. Say no more. Come with me."

She stretched her hand and took mine with the assurance of a
goddess, and we went up the hall where the night had been deepest
between the great pillars.

Now it is very clear to me that in every land men, when the doors
of perception are opened, will see what we call the Supernatural
clothed in the image in which that country has accepted it.
Blake, the mighty mystic, will see the Angels of the Revelation,
driving their terrible way above Lambeth - it is not common nor
unclean. The fisherman, plying his coracle on the Thames will
behold the consecration of the great new Abbey of Westminster
celebrated with mass and chant and awful lights in the dead
mid-noon of night by that Apostle who is the Rock of the Church.
Before him who wanders in Thessaly Pan will brush the dewy lawns
and slim-girt Artemis pursue the flying hart. In the pale gold of
Egyptian sands the heavy brows of Osiris crowned with the pshent
will brood above the seer and the veil of Isis tremble to the
lifting. For all this is the rhythm to which the souls of men are
attuned and in that vibration they will see, and no other, since
in this the very mountains and trees of the land are rooted. So
here, where our remote ancestors worshipped the Gods of Nature,
we must needs stand before the Mystic Mother of India, the divine
daughter of the Himalaya.