The First Stone. Where we created
ourselves. Where the songs were first sung. Where the first of us
came into being. Where those who are now the Chord stand and think
and sing on what we are and what we will be.
I find the water hard to leave behind.
My light, as I sing my way over to the First Stone, seems... damp,
somehow. Submerged, perhaps, yet also as if falling from a great
height. I have never noticed such things before. My lessness seems
more to me, now. I think I was right. By being less, I see more,
and more clearly. Notice that which I have long taken for granted.
How many bells have I walked these
stones? How many thousands of bells? Tens of thousands? Hundreds?
I don't know, I'm not sure there's any way to find out, not sure it
matters, even. What thoughts are these, that I should wonder such
things. We are sung, we sing, what else is there?
I think, maybe, that I should sing the
Song of Another again. And again. And again, until all that I think
I am is made less, until I am nothing but seeing and hearing and the
simplest of songs. Maybe then I could see what things really are,
things as only an empty eye could see them. Maybe then that
unnameable thing that I have lost will be made clear.
As the glow of the First Stone appears,
I let my damp little light fade, and approach in silence. For me to
be summoned is strange. For the Chord to wish to speak to me,
something serious must have happened. Or something new.
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