I feel that a benign but wholly irresistible force is holding me still upon the stool, commanding my mind to empty as the shimmering golden snake slides around the left side of my face and cups my chin.
In the next split moment there is no face at all that I can see, simply the image of a lyre, clear as the glass itself; defined and unmistakable.
A single note – a perfectly pitched string from the middle of the octave – sounds in the centre of my mind. It radiates outwards so it inhabits every space around me, clear as light and purer than the purest gold, the herald of God’s presence.
The the snake bites its tail and the form of another inhabits my own entirely. Then comes music