The Sun’s Handmaidens

Are you a builder through hyperspace, artists in the hidden deep of time, the merge of ancient and future dreams, the revolutions of light? Your weave of rainbows brightens and fades. Each of your waves launches a congress of celestial ships, sacred spheres of precise destiny. It is pattern, purpose, so carefully laid, poured out and shaped of your own luminous garments. Your devices are intertwined with Master workers. With them you bring revelation, new colors of the rich manifold life, new rainbows brought close to the eyes; painful in resplendency, the gifts without names. You partner with invisible lords to make gleaming crowns.

For she who guarded and sustained the sanctuaries, for she who became visible, greatest reverence. At high point, all luminous, she greets us. In the celestial air we see crystal clearly. The Sun's handmaidens, all arrayed in light, restore the failing links, make perfect sound--their healing fountains are all colored of mysterious fires.

I wield thought but by your color and sound. I think in your geometry. I feel your scattering stars, the breathing of souls into space. The source of commands disappears behind galaxies, to me only faint points of light in deep.

How do you implement nations and destinies so skillfully, spin the wheels of time, relate cause and effect, unfold the flower? You must love the sun, the instructions. Will you tell what geometric hyperspace stores memory and music? To you, the patterning is natural, I strain to catch a few notes of the commands. Along the hem of your garments, the notes of synchronicity flash like diamonds.

These angels, the living dimensions of spaces, the faces of God, the facets of love's creations--they have become personal--these impersonal deities of light, these supplanters of the one life, they arrest thought with pure meaning. There are days when the fiery spaces feels as intimate as our own eyes.