Bells for me symbolize commitment and celebration.

In small towns in the Philippines where the church is pretty much centered, when the bells are rung, everyone knows it is time for praise. Here in Adelaide, the catholic church in the city rings its bell to let the churchgoers know that the mass is about to start and is also heard at some point in the Liturgy of the Eucharist part of the mass.

In weddings, the bells ring to let everyone know that two people successfully united that day in love and commitment of a lifetime.

Bells are also rung to celebrate new year, commemorate an event or it serves a reminder to contemplate on our lives.

Love your explanation Savita Vega,about the association with lingham and yomi! Never thought on this association before in that context!

Love,
Mirela(the woman in elevator)

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

I also remember the Hemingway’s novel!
I associate bells with the mysteries..
Wedding joyful sounds and the sad sounds of a funeral..
Santa Claus’s bells ..
The old bell – before electricity took its place – that was announcing at school the beginning and end of lessons ..
Oh those ..ringings for the intervals.. in the school-yard, meaning playing with our friends or .. flirting with the .. boys in the opposite yard and in between the .. fence!! Romantic times..
LOVE,
Thelma.

He gipsy woman,
put on your bracelets
and dance.
Let the waves of you skirt
hypnotize the crowd.
Stamp your feet.
Let your bells
pass the message of the universe.
Dance.
So we can follow.

Christmas the same church goers would use hand bells for a beautiful melody..

then the single bell
for a memorial service, a funeral..

the poem by John Donne
For whom the bell tolls..
“No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promonotory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.”
(1624, J. Donne)

Who put her in?
Little Johnny Green.

Who pulled her out?
Little Tommy Stout.

What a naughty boy was that,
To try to drown poor pussy cat,

Who never did him any harm,
And killed the mice in his father’s barn.

A number of years ago, probably about ten years ago now, a friend of mine told me, “Oh, there is this little shop, this home decor boutique that I just love, and it is going out of business. Everything is on clearance – would you like to join me?” So, I went with her to have a look around at what was in this store. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just out to pass the afternoon in good company, more than anything else. She was right – the store was interesting, rather eclectic in nature: it held furnishings and objects from many different cultures and styles. Everything, though, was quite pricey, even the items on “clearance.” The place was also in something of a shambles. This was their last day in business – they were selling what they could at discounted prices, planning to move what was left to their other location across town.

So, I was walking around, gazing at this and that, not paying much attention to where I was stepping, when suddenly I banged my foot against an object that was sitting right in the middle of the aisle. It hurt terribly, and even bled a little, as I was wearing nothing but open-toed sandals, and the object I had stumbled over – I couldn’t guess what it was – was made of rough hewn stone. It was actually a large bell, or so that’s what I interpreted it to be. That’s what it looked like to me – a big, grey, stone bell, that stood about 18 inches high. I couldn’t imagine what it was for, so I bent down to examine it more carefully. It was actually made in three pieces: The handle was one piece, a stone shaft that could actually be lifted up and removed from the bell itself. Then there was the base, which formed part of the bell itself. But the bell, which was carved in a latticework design, was hollow inside, as could be seen through the holes in the sides. I was supposing that the bell itself could be lifted up from off its base in order that a light of some sort might be placed inside. I was right, as, when the shop owner who saw me examining it came over, she explained that it was meant to be a lamp, a yard lamp actually. With some effort, she lifted up the dome of the bell itself to reveal a hole drilled through the center of the base. “That’s where the cord for the light is supposed to come through,” she explained. “But there were five of them, and the light fixture for this one was broken in shipping.” Another customer had already purchased the other four. This one was left behind. “How much is it?” I asked, as I liked it very much. I didn’t know why, because I couldn’t imagine what I would do with it. I didn’t even have a yard, and in my tiny, modestly furnished apartment, it would look ridiculous. “It isn’t for sale,” she said, “It isn’t any good without the lamp fixture. I’m sorry you stumped you toe on it. I was going to have the guys throw it in the dumpster – that’s why it’s sitting out here like this – I just haven’t had a chance to do it.” “Bill!” she called out to a man across the room, who was bent over, packing up some items to be shipped out. “Would you please come and get this thing out of the way, before someone gets hurt on it.” “Wait!” I said, feeling a sudden sense of desperation, “You mean you’re going to throw it away?” She nodded affirmatively. By now, Bill had already arrived and was bending over, grunting, trying to pick the thing up off the floor where it sat. “I think I better go get the dolly,”he said, “I’ll be right back.” But by the time Bill returned with his dolly, I had convinced the shop owner to give me the bell, although I still wasn’t sure what I would do with it. It was so beautiful, I thought – so crude in a way, and yet so majestic, so magical even. And I couldn’t believe she was giving it to me – for free – just because it lacked a lamp fixture that could so easily be replaced. (I never did replace it – but used candles instead.) I was even more shocked at this when, as we were loading into the trunk of my friend’s tiny sportscar, I noticed the price tag on the base, as it was turned up-side down: $250. A price that I could never have paid, no matter how much I might have wanted it.

So, I arrived home with this big stone bell, and had to get a couple of guys who were neighbors to help me carry it up to my apartment. But what was I going to do with it? When we came in the front door, suddenly it hit me: “Right over there,” I said, “on the altar – put it right there.” “Here?!” said one of the guys, looking rather surprised. “Are you sure you don’t want it out on the patio instead?” asked the other. No, I was sure – that was exactly where it belonged, right below the Thangka depicting Lord Shiva, which also was a sort of anomaly: a painting of Shiva that was obviously not from India, but hinted stylistically, of some other culture or place. Perhaps China? Perhaps Tibet or Nepal? The shopkeeper where I had bought it did not know. Although I had paid a fair price for it, she did not have the answer to its origin – she “just worked there,” and did not know much about it.

So, there sat the bell, the center-point of my altar, though it made no apparent “sense” at all. A yard-lamp as the focal point of a sacred space! In fact, there it still sits to this day, on the same small table, beneath that same Thangka. But since that day, I have learned a thing or two about this strange stone bell, and consequently, it no longer seems so out of place. Which, in fact, it never felt “out of place” to me at all. I knew from the moment I brought it into my house, exactly where it belonged – I just couldn’t explain it.

The explanation, like the bell itself, came as rather a surprise – not in any package in which I might have expected it to arrive. One day, a couple of years later – I was living in a different apartment by then – I came home to find a young man sleeping in the hallway by my door. He was seated in lotus position, leaned back against the wall, with long dark dreadlocks flowing down around his shoulders – looking very much like an incarnation of Lord Shiva himself. His eyes were closed, and his mouth set with a sort of quiet smile. He looked harmless though, so I reached out and gently shook him, “Are you okay?” I said. He was very surprised, and immediately I perceived a certain sense of embarassment in his manner and in his voice. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I live right here,” pointing to the apartment adjacent to my own, “I forgot my key and my roommate locked me out. I’m waiting for him to come home.” After I surmised that he had no real idea when this might be, and in light of the fact that it was already quite late at night, I invited him into my apartment, and offered him my sofa for the night. He hesitated at first, but finally consented to my offer, admitting that otherwise he might be stuck sleeping in the hallway all night.

It turned out that neither of us was actually very sleepy – I suppose he had already gotten his nap – and we stayed up for several more hours just chatting. He was from Indonesia, Java, to be exact. He was in the import business, bringing marketable goods back from Indonesia for sale in the US. He was a very interesting and friendly fellow to talk to, and I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation. Then, when it was finally time to get some sleep, before dawn came, he decided that he would prefer the spare bedroom over the sofa, although there was no bed in there. He would be comfortable enough on the floor, he assured me. So, I gave him a pillow and some blankets and left him to make himself comfortable. It just so happened, however, that the spare bedroom was where my altar was set up. Within seconds of stepping into that room, he came rushing back out, “Are you sure you’ve never been to Java?!” he declared. No, I hadn’t – not even close to Java. I couldn’t imagine what he was so excited about. “But that’s Borobudur in there on your altar!” he said. “It’s what?” I didn’t know what he was talking about.

He explained all about the stone bell – what it really was, a replica of a stupa, and where it had come from – Java. I didn’t really fully understand, however, until the next morning when he went back over to his own apartment, and quickly returned with a handful of photographs he had taken on his last trip home to Java, to a place of pilgrimage called Borobudur. There was the mysterious “bell” alright, but not just one – many, seventy-three, to be exact! Each looking very much like the other, each looking identical to the stone “bell” sitting on my own altar, but huge by comparison.

The photographs he presented to me, some of which he actually let me keep, look very much like the ones in these links:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Borobudur_2008.JPG

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Borobudur-perfect-buddha.jpg

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Borobudur_monks_1.jpg

After this initial introduction, I later did some research on my own, and learned some very interesting facts. There are actually strains of Buddhism in which Lord Shiva (traditionally a Hindu god) is both recognized and worshipped. Java, the location of the Buddhist Borobudur temple, happens to be one of the few places in the world where Buddhism and Hinduism are tightly interwoven and not necessarily seen as being at odds with one another. In other words, my intuition telling me that the stone bell, actually a replica of a Buddhist stupa, belonged on my altar of Shiva, was not at all a mistake. Once I knew more, it all made perfect sense.

So, this is this ends the story of what is probably the most important “bell” in my life.

the sound of big bells put me in a strange sound like trance. must be the resonant vibrational sound. i liiiiiiike…

Last year I went to my sister’s wedding in Maggie Valley, North Carolina and went into a biker shop, just for fun and for remembering those days of riding. At the counter, there was a display with many different guardian bells and out of nostalgia, I suppose, I bought one to bring home with me. On it, there is a spider web that wraps around the outside of the bell with a black widow spider sitting on it. I put my car keys on it as soon as I returned home and I use it everyday.

I love the sound of the bell as I pick up the keys or as I walk with it in my hand to the car. I don’t know if the legend is correct in that it protects me from bad road spirits, but I know that it makes my heart happy just to hear it.

I also remember being in Taxco, Mexico, spending a couple of days there with an acquaintance to wander around the town and to look at all the beautiful silver. I remember that the church bells rang every hour, half hour, and quarter hour and it seemed as if the air around the town itself was full of the bells vibrations.

I also think of one of my favorite movies, “It’s a Wonderful Life” because in it, every time a bell rings an angel gets his/her wings. I love that movie!

Third thought; Blåklokke, Bluebell, a Norwegian spring/summer flower.

I love wind chimes, I have one in my back yard, and when they move and sound propelled by the wind, it is the most relaxing feeling.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AbJ_Jg_CX-c

love,
C.