Sometimes, peace is just peace. And sometimes, it is a whole heap of other things on the way to becoming itself, which, in the end, makes it all the more peaceful.
Peace can be the calm day of a mild summer climate, steady soft breeze, birdsong and grass while you lie on your back looking up at the big, blue sky. The sort of peace you might get after a long run or half an hour in the surf, or just the comfort of being at home with everything where it’s meant to be. Peace, because all is right with the world.
But what happens to peace if all is not right with the world? Does it stop existing? No, I don’t think that’s right.
Sometimes, there is a more hard won, precious peace to be found. The sort of peace that settles after you’ve tackled something really difficult, challenging, confronting, maybe stood up to some injustice or fought harder than usual for what you need. This sort of peace arrives like the hand of a village elder on your back, quietly saying, “ Well done, it’s okay, you did it. Well done.”
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
sings a song without the words
and never stops at all
This peace is always present, inspired by the hope that Emily Dickinson writes about.
And I write this at the end of a year that seems to have been characterised by inclement weather rolling all over life, but still hold firm for peace. I choose to keep believing in it, and love writing it out in big, chunky black letters that look like they could withstand a storm or two, laced with words about hope singing its ceaseless songs.
Whatever the weather, I think it is possible to believe in peace, even if sometimes we have to fight a little harder to find it.
And that’s why I meditate on this inky word today.