The tabernacle is your own body, the moving tent where God dwells, and the cloud that covers it is your consciousness, the garment of awareness that settles over you and lifts you from one state to the next. The day it is reared up is the moment you take your body as the temple and stop looking for God anywhere outside it. At once the cloud rests on it, meaning your attention gathers and holds a single assumption.
By evening that same cloud shows as fire, the quiet burning of conviction that stays lit through the dark. The state you assume in drowsy stillness keeps its hold from night until morning, and while it holds, the world remolds to match it. What settles over a person is his own consciousness choosing a state, and where that settles, there he is carried. The body is the tent; the cloud is you, moving it.