James of the Security Insurance Conglomeration felt bored. The day was long, his beat was short, the town a freakfest; violations within what he called the compound were rare, and usually only concerned drunken behavior or the occassional noise violation. Why they even paid for that law was a mystery to James. It seemed a nagging contradiction to expect the residents to maintain what amounted to a vow of silence when several times a day they rang those bells.
Those bells... a monk had shown him the view of the grounds as seen from their belltower - the single largest piece of architecture for miles, excluding the church itself. The view had been breathtaking and enlightening, until the monk had smiled and coerced a pair of uncomfortable yellow sound dampeners on his head. Then he had turned and casually pulled a central red cord without warning or preface of any kind. The pure energy and power of that two ton bell resonating from the tongue's beating penetrated him to the center of his being. He felt his entire feeble organic frame vibrate to that bell's frequency, each organ, tendon, and bone aligned by the force of that unrelenting sound.
Later, in the quiet dawn, the monk agreed to speak to him in hushed tones: he had harbored the fancy that a bellringer's task was one of the greatest blessings any person could be asked to perform. He explained that standing before the ringing bell gave the stander the smallest taste of what it must feel like to be exposed to raw truth; every fibrous stretch of one's being reverberating to match the unalterable and undeniable truth, whether it could stand its power or not.
"Such physical power is how the Lord manifests truth," the monk concluded. "Whether it be storm or a quake, whether it be a bell or a soft snow, God's language is all around us. So the question is this: when all things come to an end and you must stand in God's belltower, will you be able to withstand His resonance?"
Those bells... a monk had shown him the view of the grounds as seen from their belltower - the single largest piece of architecture for miles, excluding the church itself. The view had been breathtaking and enlightening, until the monk had smiled and coerced a pair of uncomfortable yellow sound dampeners on his head. Then he had turned and casually pulled a central red cord without warning or preface of any kind. The pure energy and power of that two ton bell resonating from the tongue's beating penetrated him to the center of his being. He felt his entire feeble organic frame vibrate to that bell's frequency, each organ, tendon, and bone aligned by the force of that unrelenting sound.
Later, in the quiet dawn, the monk agreed to speak to him in hushed tones: he had harbored the fancy that a bellringer's task was one of the greatest blessings any person could be asked to perform. He explained that standing before the ringing bell gave the stander the smallest taste of what it must feel like to be exposed to raw truth; every fibrous stretch of one's being reverberating to match the unalterable and undeniable truth, whether it could stand its power or not.
"Such physical power is how the Lord manifests truth," the monk concluded. "Whether it be storm or a quake, whether it be a bell or a soft snow, God's language is all around us. So the question is this: when all things come to an end and you must stand in God's belltower, will you be able to withstand His resonance?"
1 comment:
"He explained that standing before the ringing bell gave the stander..." perhaps a different word instead of repeating the root of "stand" All in all....very powerful. Love the imagery. I feel as if I were in that belltower looking out for miles... nice language too! :)
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