Meeting of Saints and Angels

We quickly passed through the entrance and hallway of the mountain, which seemed to be well enough lit but we were moving so fast that I had no time to look out for any kind of décor or other details. However, it was clear even from fleeting glimpses that the interior of this place was awesome in the true sense of this word, appearing to be of huge proportions for one thing.

Although it was ‘natural’ – ie, of the mountain – it looked as if it had been hewn out by hand and was clearly magnificent. There were various colours on the walls, presumably from paintings.

The further into the mountain we went, the darker it became and, though we still moved very swiftly indeed, I was increasingly struck by the totally unique surroundings I’d found myself in. This helped to assuage the mounting unease I felt, because it was evident that an occasion of some import was taking place therein.

I noticed that the further we went inside, the more people there seemed to be, until we stopped at an immense cavern that was so large it did not even appear to be deep underground. There was a sombre and powerfully sanctified air.

I must have been asking questions because I was told numerous times by my guide that an assembly meeting of the saints with the angels was taking place. One can scarcely imagine this spectacle.

Filling the cavern/hall, forming a winding line hundreds strong that moved up the passage/path running around and through it, were people dressed identically who I assumed to be the Saints. Each was dressed in classic ‘hermit’ garb in dark sackcloth-type, belted, hooded robes and holding up a lantern in one hand. All had their backs to me and I saw none of their faces.

Although I was specifically told the angels were present (maybe further up towards the front of the line?) I do not recall seeing any, being totally absorbed in the sight of all these saints/hermits. The sight of the hermits’ lamps lighting the way prevented any further fear from entering my mind.

It was an awesome sight. I am not sure what the subject of the meeting was but I ascertained that those standing in line were waitig to meet some hugely powerful figure who was located out of sight at the apex of the stairs.

Bowl of Earth

Speaking next, a bearded poet,
Stroked his chin and touched the symbols
Woven on his woollen long-coat:
Winged heart, the moon and lone star.

“Heights are reached by native mystics,
Yet the greatest peak of learning
Is our own, and few have reached it;
Sufi spinners rise by turning.”

“Here upon our cloud, unknowing,”
Sighed the mystic Christian fathers,
“We see how all souls are growing,
Ever upward, past the dawn-star.

“Darkest night will never capture
Those who walk beneath the lantern
That was set by Christ. In raptures
Have our Saints recovered phantoms.”

“Mani of the Moon, the Mirror,”
Spoke his priest. “A silver sliver
Of the lamp which lovers worship;
Shines the light on true believers.”

“Brings to mind the Bodhisatva,”
Spoke the Buddhist, “of compassion.”
“From the Eastern land of ancients,
Where the bowl of Earth was fashioned.”