I find, not for the first time, that I have little to say, and even less that seems or feels worth saying, or that I haven’t already said before. I could, of course, go into the far, dark side of personal minutiae, and record how many glasses of water I drink and what I eat each day; how many pages I read in books and online and their artists and authors; and a whole list of private details, chores, and concerns. Instead, I think I’ll just carry on and enjoy the quiet, and see how deep and profound it might be. Maybe something will surface from some dark corner or dimension. Maybe not. Either way, I have no expectation. A bell is rung; it rings until it ceases to ring, then it goes on being a bell.
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Categories: Sweet Sleep and Bare Feet
Tags: Bells, Minutiae, Peace, Reading, Silence, Writing
William Michaelian 
I enjoy your writing so much but this one especially.
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Thank you, Kevin, and thanks very much for letting me know.
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Your presence is a writing.
Your writing is a presence.
Your heart pours out into your words.
Our hearts align in the beyond.
Thanks dear William.
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And thank you, Béatrice, for sounding this old bell. What you say rings true — not just for me, and you, but for all.
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There is nothing but no thing… so we come here where through your words we can be together in that space ~
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word bath, bird bath — the water’s fine
feathers wet, mine is yours, yours are mine
eyes are dotted with bright sunshine
hours, ours to divine,
said no one, line by line ~
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Just like that…thank you ~ ~ ~
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Oh quotidian dreamer, we visit this wellspring and must drink from the silence.
Alas, even it tastes sweet ~
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~ ~ ~ hail, fellow ding-a-ling! ~ ~ ~
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