Somewhere there is a temple,
Buddhist or Christian,
on a hillside
overlooking the persistent
crashing ocean waves.

And in that temple is a bell.
It rings before the morning prayer.
It rings before vespers.
The monks put away their brooms,
The nuns file away their papers,
and they make their way to the chapel
to chant and to pray.

The sound of the bell
is the breaking through of eternity
in the everyday chores of life.

The sound of the bell
has lived on this hillside
for generations,
during the floods,
and when food was scarce,
and when the wars came.

The bell knows its work.
To signal the coming of the next thing.
To call the ones gathered to mindfulness.
To remind each one of their beat and beating heart.
To sing a song of hope and remembrance and gratitude.
To bring them back to their deepest selves.

You are the temple and the bell,
you help me to see the way home.

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