I’ve been a weepy mess for days and spent today looking forward to tonight’s hour in the pool. Nothing like some old lady exercises to soothe one’s soul. When it was finally time to leave home, I decided a blessing was in order, so I stirred the tiles and took one. Before I looked, I ran my thumb over the pressed letters, the smooth glaze of the top, the rough texture of the back. What would the bowl send me today? Whatever it was, I vowed to focus my mind on that one word during my hour in the pool. Focus on soothing my soul.
Peace.
How I long for peace. I search for it constantly, checking its usual places, scanning my surroundings. Peace lurks; it does not seek me and I do not see it. I’ve somehow entered into a game of hide and seek with peace, and I’m always “It.”
Before this childhood-game-turned-torture, I thought peace was to be attained and kept; that once I found peace, whatever that meant, I’d be set for a peaceful life. How stupid.
Now I know peace is evanescent–here and then gone. As with all fleeting goodness, peace is to be treasured.
Oh, I find peace, but only occasionally and briefly; it does not stay. It runs away, hides again, never tiring of our game. Peace does not hide in my sleep, in my dreams. Peace is not ready to settle down; maybe I’m not peace relationship material.
I just keep seeking.
Two weeks ago, I found peace on an iced-in boat ramp at Spring Lake. Although the lake was frozen, the sun, air, and cement were warm. I could lie back on the ramp, close my eyes, and feel peace in the form of warm sun on my face. I could lean over the edge of the ramp and watch as the ice peacefully turned to water. The peace I found on that boat ramp lasted a while. I treasured every second.
Saturday, I found momentary peace through my camera lens. The sky wasn’t blue and the breeze wasn’t warm, but simply wanting to use my camera brought me peace; my camera has spent the past almost-seven months in its bag, safe, sound, and neglected. Feeling the heft of my long lens on my thigh as I drove back roads in search of wildlife and hints of spring, reacquainting my hand with the curves and controls as I lifted the camera to my eye–these things brought me peace.
I find peace in the gentle expressions of friends, in their eyes as they meet mine, in the patience and love and acceptance they share. I find peace with family and at the farm. I find it in my hammock swing, when I’m idly swaying in my favorite elm tree.
But this peace is fleeting. Transient.
Hanging from another branch of that elm tree is the second hammock swing–the swing Coop liked to use as he talked to me, smoked, or just relaxed. We spent hours in those swings, sometimes in deep discussion, sometimes in companionable silence. Peace wasn’t always so fleeting.
I seek peace where I’ve found it in the past, but things have changed. Now, the peace I find may well be damp with tears. It hides, I seek. Sometimes I find. Usually I cry. Always it runs and hides. Again.
The search goes on.
I closed my eyes and let myself just float, almost entirely submerged, for the last 10 minutes of tonight’s pool hour. In my mind, I repeated, “Peace, peace, peace, peace . . . ” until all I could hear was the whoosh of the pumps and the steady beat of my heart. “Peace-peace. Peace-peace. Peace-peace.”
Like all peace these days, it’s faded in the two hours since I left the pool, but I had it. For a while, I had it. So, I keep seeking. At least I know some of its hiding spots.
Woods Writes 