The white robes are purified bodies of light, the refined vesture a consciousness puts on when its lower coarseness has been burned away. These are the parts of the self already cleansed, clothed in brightness and told to wait. The rest for a little season is the pause in the inner work, the interval where the purified centers hold still while the rest of the nature is brought through the same fire. Nothing is finished until every faculty has passed through that death of the old self.
Inside a person the awakening does not complete all at once; the cleansed powers are robed and quieted while the remaining ones undergo their own dying, and only when the whole is transformed does the season of waiting end.