I’m beginning to sense the rhythm and sway of a stone that on the surface shows no movement. I come without a sense of time, no clock ticking it away, but respond to the sound of the bells almost without awareness.
No one says, “Stand up.” No one says, “Take your seat.” Still, I move in time to the hollow notes without a Protestant hiccup. Though I couldn’t tell you later the order of the liturgical process, my spirit remembers the rhythm in its practice.
And this is good.