Let the magician stand in watery mist, free of the running stream. Some outlines dim appear. He sees a little distance on the path. Flickers of light break through the clouds of mist and fog. He hears his voice; its note is clearer and more true. The forms of other pilgrims can be seen. Behind him is the sea. Beneath is feet is seen the stream. Around him mist and fog. Above his head no sky is seen nor sun. Let the magician stand on higher ground, but in the rain. The drops pour down upon him; the thunder breaks; the lightning flashes in the sky. But as the rain pours down, it dissipates the mist; it washes clean the form and clears the atmosphere. Thus forms are seen and sounds are heard, though dim as yet, for loud the thunder roars and heavy is the sound of falling rain. But now the sky is seen; the sun breaks forth and in between the drifting clouds, expanses of the blue of heaven cheer the tired eyes of the initiate.
Let the magician stand upon the mountain top. Beneath him in the valleys and the plains, water and streams and clouds are seen. Above him is the blue of heave; the radiance of the rising sun, the pureness of the mountain air. Each sound is clear. The silence speaks with sound. Let the magician stand within the sun, looking from thence upon the ball of earth. From that high point of peace serene let him sound forth the words that will create the forms, builds worlds and universes and give his life to that which he has made. Let him project the forms created on the mountain top in such a way that they can cleave the clouds which circle round the ball of earth, and carry light and power. These shall dispel the veil of forms which hide the true abode of earth from the eye of the beholder ...
Taken from "A Treatise Of White Magic" by Alice A Bailey P616-P617
