Sunday RISING ONCE AGAIN

Days evaporate like rain water-

most sink, some rise up into the aether.  Clouds drifting,

changing shape with each chance wind,

the ground you tread upon from here to there-

tangible and material today,

random pulsing through your brain tomorrow.

Every thing that ever was, still is. 

Nothing that ever existed has been lost.

-Incarnation by Ms.-

".....In the boom of the big bell there is a quaintness of tone
which wakens feelings, so strangely far-away
from all the nineteenth-century part of me,
that the faint blind stirrings of them make me afraid,
- deliciously afraid.

Never do I hear that billowing peal but I become aware
of a striving and a fluttering in the abyssal part of my ghost,
- a sensation as of memories

struggling to reach the light beyond the obscurations

of a million million deaths and births.

I hope to remain within hearing of that bell...

and, considering the possibility of being doomed

to the state of a jiki-ketsu-geki,

I want to have my chance of being reborn
in some bamboo flower-cup, or mizutame,

whence I might issue softly,

singing my thin and pungent song,

to bite some people that I know.”

-Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things-
by Lafcadio Hearn

Ring Them Bells