Madness

She is awake in the predawn and the rainbow comes through the door of dark to pulse behind her eyes, expands to engulf, thrumming to rise, root to crown. Colors stream in the electric of body and beyond, in dimensions to the very edges of the horizon. "You become, thus, the prism to the pure light of being." This voice, familiar, often opens the door. And then She arrives and the light goes mad. When the channels open and energy permits, there is nothing to hold the mind in material except for the ecstasy they bring through the material, but that doesn't confine itself to the border of flesh. It, rather, explodes the boundaries of existence. Venus rises, morning star.