Greetings creators of sacred spaces,

Special to join with those who share an affinity with this calling...

I can remember, I think,
In mists of nostalgia,
When their were Temples
That were always open
and as prevalent as
Starbucks in cities

You could kneel
into the Earth
lighting a candle
for the moment
On an altar
to the Now
whose leaves move the wind

and then
prayer break was sung
to a close
with a bell

and you returned to your work—
centered and attuned with the sacred

Bells like these saved my life once…
Gut wrenching
Feverish delirium
Alone in hotel
Muslim Sulawesi
Just back from living with the Boat People
In floating village
Where sewage and cooking water were one and the same

On hotel bed—
Unable to move
Hallucinating on ceiling
Pissing through sheets
my body witnessing its death,
dying


Merging
surrendered sweetness and terrifying completion

The bells…the bells…
The bells of prayer
Rung five times daily through
City speakers
With her singing
And his loud preaching,
low sun through white window
Easy moon in my belly
The bells
Ringing
They were…
nudging a nostalgic memory

that brought me back
to this, to life, to myself
and to my Raven's claws, reaching for the sun,
planting it closer to humanity
through sounds of chimes on the hour
i will build bells, I declared,
to refurnish city lives
with stillness.

i will build
until humanity becomes a species of bellerians,
drinking in and fed
through the resonance of prayer.