so that, from the pleasure and joy of the sight, your spirit runs together and rises. Standing, then, at once draw the spirit in from the divine, gazing into yourself; and when your soul is restored, say: 'Come, lord, archandara phōtaza pyriphōta zabythix etimenmero phorathēn eri prothri phorathi.'

The vision is not passive; it does something to the body. The pleasure and joy of the sight (hēdonê kaì chará) make the spirit “run together and rise” — an involuntary lift, the breath drawn upward by delight. And the rite meets it with technique: stand, and draw the spirit back in, gazing not outward now but into yourself, until the soul is restored to its place (apokatastathêi, set back). Rapture, then self-collection: the initiate must not simply dissolve into the joy but gather it, breathe it back in, steady the soul. Only then does he dare the summons. After all the silence and self-defense, the second imperative of the whole rite toward the god is a single word: próselthe, 'come forward.' Having been remade, hallowed, and shown the open world, the mortal now calls the deity to approach him — and seals the call with names, archandara, pyriphōta ('fire-light'), the sound doing what the plain verb cannot.