Nothing that is beautiful is lost, though in the sight of the
unwise it seems to die. Death is in the eyes we look through -
when they are cleansed we see Life only. Now take my hand and
come. Delay no more."
She caught my hand and we entered the dim magnificence of the
great hall. The moon entered with us.
Instantly I had the feeling of supernatural presence. Yet I only
write this in deference to common use, for it was absolutely
natural - more so than any I have met in the state called daily
life. It was a thing in which I had a part, and if this was
supernatural so also was I.
Again I saw the Dark One, the Beloved, the young Krishna, above
the women who loved him. He motioned with his hand as we passed,
as though he waved us smiling on our way. Again the dancers moved
in a rhythmic tread to the feet of the mountain Goddess - again
we followed to where she bent to hear. But now, solemn listening
faces crowded in the shadows about her, grave eyes fixed
immovably upon what lay at her feet - a man, submerged in the
pure light that fell from her presence, his dark face stark and
fine, lips locked, eyes shut, arms flung out cross-wise in utter
abandonment, like a figure of grief invisibly crucified upon his
shame.
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