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The tiny chimes tinkle the magic of pixie dust in my ears. It centers
the mind as I listen to the concert of nature/civilization noises that
play non-stop as I sit silently on the patio. The waves of wind rise
and fall, and car noises cut through the surf sound of the restless
air. The big chimes make clunker sounds, not crystaline like the
small ones, and I notice it with prejudice, or is it discrimination...but
wait, that can't be right, they are not supposed to clunk. I wake up
from wherever it was I'd been and see something amiss in the way
the big chimes look. Then I remember the stormy night when they
sounded like a monastery under attack, like serenity being raped. It
woke me up, and I went out into the gale and wrapped the striker
over the top to mute them, and I forgot all about it. All they could do
now was bump into the fence to achieve their purpose (their prime
directive of providing tranquility), and the result was the sound of a
starving hobo eating out of a can with a big metal spoon. How
asleep I must have been all this time to have missed that! I was
awakened again, so I untangled the strings, and the lower tones now
chime once more in clear counterpoint to the high pitched ones; as
fine a sensearound meditation inducement as there is, and a fertile
ground for awakenings of all sorts.
Namaste from the awakening space we all share.