Resounding through the fog of the mind chimes the singular moment tolling, calling, heralding the action as it happens. There is only stillness in the snapshot of the now and the illusion of movement onward with a simultaneous descent into the past, each instance a birth of the whole anew; a moment of creation, a moment of death.
Across the span of our sacred landsacpe arcs the tones of the bell. By our own hand the division is cast down and the holy is anointed. As the oil touches brow our focus casts illumination upon the star, a gate unto the joining of sun and moon within, throughout, and about.
"Lost in a thicket bare-foot upon a thorned path."