"we are not 2, we are 1" Misasa ♨️ sojourn, p.2

Carrying on with personal archeology for biographers who may never emerge, I sit (respectfully of course) at the shrine - from whence hear the bells rattle from my touji bath - and riff about settling in to my lil room at the inn, thoughts about prayers and baths and the with my stumbling fumbling ukulele, share “Strangers" by The Kinks.
Not good good but sincere - with usual montage of snaps of mossy shrine and trees blossoming with paper prayers when song is briefly interrupted by a clumsy page flip and visiting pilgrims. We are not two, we are one after all.
Note: I went to the bath down the path and my heavens, such hotness, holy holy radium hotness.