We come now to the end of these accounts, the fallen leaves drifting on the waters of our mind, the angel’s letters that have come—and are gone as instantly—like whispers. Were they really there? How is it we have nothing now to show for them except a sense of grace, a fragile hope, the knowledge of our unity, and a sweet shiver passing over us, all because these letters, beckoning us to higher states, carry the signature of God?
Pearls of the Spirit 