the bell

i hold all the good things in my hand... metal solid green with flowers painted on it.  it has a bell inside it.   i hold it in my right hand,  fingers extended out, cradled in the my palm and find my rhythm... back and forth slowly and i close my eyes.   i focus on the sound and  the rocking motion.  i try to anchor myself to the here and now.  the rhythm centers in the middle of my body.  i sit within life's uncomfortableness, (not a place i prefer to be) breathing deep into my lungs and then letting go, expelling the stress, guilt, sadness, frustration, mourning, aching, the heartaches that life just seems to throw at us all to see who can duck fast enough.  again and again,  i breathe in, shocked at how much more is waiting inside to be gathered up and released.  i have become able to keep my eyes closed for an hour.  it surprises me how in tune i am becoming to the time passing, the rhythm, to the sound of the bell and my intentional breathing.

i move my bell to my left hand and it is a struggle to find a pleasing rhythm.  it sounds different.  my breathing is not rhythmic, i can't catch my breath and i struggle to understand what it means.  (and i don't mean, duh, you're right handed stupid)   it seems to be telling me there may be a different rhythm for it. or a different reason for it.  i can literally feel the bell and my palm get frustrated with my inability to understand, to connect, to concentrate. my left hand is wanting something different from what it wants from in my right.  i don't know what it is.

perhaps my left hand needs to grip it.  remain silent and just remind me that it is there.  that it is solid, permanent like my heart and my soul, that i am here,  i am now.