We all know what Leonard Cohen wrote:
“Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in.”
We all come into the world with a set of bells. I know I do. Sometimes I play them at random, not knowing what will happen. I ring the joy bell and then the sorrow bell. Ultimately people feel tears and laughter inside and that may unlock a mystery. I have no idea.
There is a tiny, tiny bell I ring for my little girl. She left so soon. This one is very special and I always hesitate before picking it up. And yet what happens brings her back to life. And her bell is telling me to be happy. I am not usually up to that assignment.
My husband’s bell has a deep and solemn tone. Like him, it is a sturdy base note. It speaks of the impossible task of going on no matter how hard the rain is coming down.
My own bell is struck whenever I write. Its music cannot be reproduced by anyone else. That is the wonder of the human being; we are each unique and our music is original to us. When we die, our bell continues to resonate in the heart of love. It joins the eternal music of the spheres.
One bell always remains un-rung. It represents the power of silence. All the bells in the world cannot achieve that exalted state. It is one you feel instead of hear. And yet it has a sound, perhaps the most perfect of all.