Chapter 130: The Tolling of the Bell

Once upon a time, there was a practice about the tolling of a bell, a ceremonious custom for notifying the town that someone has died. Black flags fluttered as the bell slowly tolls, while the wind blows coldly and delicately as if sending its well-meaning condolences to those who were left abandoned by a fleeing soul of the dead, possibly returning home safely to where it originally came from.

But this particular chapter may also be committing a fallacy of equivocation by ignoring the technical definition of a toll as it is attributed to the vital premises of what must be elucidated to the many people, both in the realm of fantasy and the domain of reality, that they needed to consider the issues of clarity and the important tools of analysis as the universe continues its solemn business to expand.

However, despite the undeniably fallacious start, it is immediately obligatory to note that these tolls (of whatever kind, the proper definition depending on the attribution) are mandatorily available to be adequately regulated. Whatever it is that needed attention, the vibrations of the motion that are present in the universe seem to rhyme with the music that resides naturally in the substance of all rational souls dwelling comfortably therein.

While those who are consciously living sings all of the songs that are imprinted in their heart as far and as long as they are capable of, many souls are suffering enough to unknowingly block any light to reach the soil of the heart, an unfortunate condition that prevents it to produce any worthwhile fruit that requires the same energy of the light, in order that one might trigger the capacity to dream by igniting the passion of the soul that is totally and endlessly buried within, as much as it is present without.

A dream, more than anything that requires an intricate definition of a paragraph, is a queer call that focuses primarily on the form of something that is hoped for in faith, and the pursuit of its essence develops a channel that fictionally responds to the description of a tunnel, and a path that trailblazes from the physiologic senses and into the depths of the mind, which then creates the highway of the many fantasy, reality of experiences, as well as the repressed form of horrific and illusionary visions.

It is in this special case, then, that the tolling of a bell can be heard quite attentively, when the old one needed to retire, so that the soul can fully become the pure substance of his predestined locality, away from all the challenges of the treacherous past. This pre-defined miraculous process is a well-developed hypothesis encompassing how every music contained in the universe are appreciated, like the sound waves of the strings of a violin that make up the beauty of the notes, which then lends the many songs that give life to a rational soul of its supposed meaning.

Yet, the motion of the universe becomes unproductive when what needed to die was the inherent goodness and obedience in people (only to be replaced by an attempt to follow the pure and class defiance), primarily by employing the first class channel that leads to deceit, fear, and the false sense of security; it is in this manner that many will know that life becomes ultimately destructive rather than being appreciative by heart of its inherent goodness, mainly gathered through the employment of the unfair soulful sense of curiosity, and in his futile attempt to interpret the many stimuli of the environment around him. The Toll cannot simply contain itself to the call of death. Although it is naturally vague in many respects, the presence of any toll must now be regulated, either through the workings of the impetus of love, the resulting involuntary bonds from its pursuit, or the necessity of the commands of the power of magical forestry.

-o0o-

No matter how close we are to another person,

few human relationships are as free from strife,

disagreement, and frustration as is the

relationship you have with a good dog.

Few human beings give of themselves to another

as a dog gives of itself. I also suspect that we

cherish dogs because their unblemished souls

make us wish -- consciously or unconsciously --

that we were as innocent as they are, and

that make us yearn for a place where innocence

is universal and where the meanness, the

betrayals, and the cruelties of

this world are unknown.

Dean Koontz, A Big Little Life:

A Memoir of a Joyful Dog

x---------x

Picture from Pexels.