And Each Morning You Take the Sounding of the Bell

She had been sitting silent for the past two hours, her mind and her body still, her attention on nothing but the sound of her breathing and the tension she was slowly building inside of her, passionately, day by day, folding the immaterial of her being upon itself layer by layer. With her eyes closed, she was unable to distinguish the sounding of the bell meant to pull her from her meditation, for when it was struck its clear note swelled in harmony with another already risen inside her, and it was this sound precisely which she sought within herself, each morning when she took the time to listen. Some mornings the sound within her was louder; some mornings she didn’t hear it at all. Some mornings it sounded off, and let her know that one of the layers upon which her life and identity was built was not sitting quite right upon the others, and if she noticed this, then, well, she quietly congratulated herself on being something like the princess discovering the pea.

Again the bell was struck, the hammer like the world asserting itself upon the silence—oh, but listen to the bell’s clear response! It was resonant through her frame, radiating in the room, her heart, her mind; she had done well. Thus the day begins.

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