Ringing the Bell

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Let us take leave of our desire
To fill our minds
With the entire history of thought
With words and teachings that at best
Can only talk about it
In someone else’s voice
May we take this day to look within
The Sacredness of Life
Look to the indwelling of Divinity
Already sitting at the right hand of our heart.
Let us Love the person or pet
Whose simple act of being here,
Of being here with us
Every day removes
Something from our mind
And drops it into the silent well of our being

Together.
Let us Love the ones who move through us
Like a comb through hair
Loosening the windings
Of tangled thoughts
Until they fall like seeds
Straight to the fertile ground

Free from the circuitous weaving of chaos
The cinching up and tightening of knots
Into the constricting aftermath of analysis.
Our words are a mere echo, after the experience

Afterthoughts we mistake for truth
Thudding around in our books
Like cracked bells that have lost their resonance
As we work so diligently to riddle the Sacred tension of experience
With yet one more explanation
With yet one more demand for resolution
From our gurus and prophets

The experience of which
Might break the fragile shell of our soul
That holds within, the burning flame of the Divine
And the breath in which it burns.
Resolution is an elusive spirit
It is the lightest and thinnest
Oil of the olives
Floating on water
Our journey through it leaves in our wake
Only the trailing absence of it
Filled back in later when we are no longer there.
But if we slowly lift ourselves slightly
In our silence
From the swirling waters of chaos

It will cover us almost invisibly
In a clear garment made
Of every color
Bending and breaking the spectrum of light
Into the continuously infinite hues of meaning
Reflecting off the skin of our being.
It is the boundary beneath which
We long to be touched
In a moment, parted and passed through
In the next, flowing into the withdrawal
Clothing the body, of the one we love most
Who has just moved through us

Singular and alone in her own journey
In a way that hurts us with bliss
In the beauty of it
But our words can’t speak of it
Because it is too near
A shadow made of light moving
Where she has just walked
Leaving in her wake
Ourselves closing inward back around her absence
Like the lightest and thinnest oil of the olives
Floating on the water
Knowing only that she has stirred within us
And for a moment wore
The longing in our heart for her

Like a raiment of all colors
In the garment of Life


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