The abbey chimes assaulted my eardrums. There is something intolerable, unignorable, about church bells at close quarters. They began their clamour just when I approached the building meaning to pass by its right-hand side. As if commanded by them, I mounted the steps and entered the place of worship. The solid walls provided refuge for my still ringing ears. Outside the insistent rhythmic clangour continued and inside another sense was assailed. The thin curling grey waves of incense reminded me of impermanence, the transience of the soul or purification, but the cloying sweetness of spice made my head spin. Rather like flotsam, I was swept along by a greater force to complete my sensual buffeting before a painting on the north wall of the abbey. The sun was painted black and the moon, cr
