Restful and Wakeful
The bells that now enliven me
reverberate each hour
with a different melodic phrase.
They make me a repeating memo,
like a Buddhist gong in my Mexican town
telling me to be.
Chiming in the air,
the melodies rest on my ears
invisible and clear,
singing me the hours of my days.
When I listen to the bells,
my feet touch the ground of my being
and my body goes so quiet.
The bells bring me present to perception,
with nary a thought in sight.
Restful, oh restful this
perceiving with gratitude alone.
I look out of unclouded eyes
clear as my beloved dog’s.
How grateful I am to live
near the church with its hourly bells.
And when the priest is informed of a death,
the bells ring out “clamores”,
a pattern of three,
rung slowly. Slowly.
In farewell and in well-wishing,
the bells connect the village.
How I relish the ringing of the bells.
©Susa Silvermarie 2025
I remember hearing church bells in my childhood and how beautiful that was. This poem jarred that memory and I am envious that you live in a place where you have the comfort of the bells. I especially liked the ending, about the bells code announcing a death. Do they announce a birth too?
Love,
Jennie