Wander With Wild Things

I'm reading the quote from Sunday. Even though I've read it probably 50 times between then and now, it still leaves me thoughtful, even on this somewhat grey day and in my current mood of upset, perturbed (that's just a good word), and something else I can't put my finger on.

What is peace? Where do you find it?

To me, peace is that inner stillness, a quiet calm that feels as if a balm was spread on the tumult within. A slow, soothing breath pulling in a clean slate and letting out the suffocating noise of unrest.

It's as simple as a cliche walk in the woods, feet crunching a leaf or two, a chickadee leading the way with his chick-a-dee-dee-dee call. I will stop and crouch down and just let the space bring me that calm. I will look at leaves, 27 different shapes and sizes, at ferns and flowers on the floor, at fungus in a slow, inexorable procession around a log. Even the business of an ant doing his thing brings me closer to peace: he is so intent on his job and so focused, so in his world that there is reassurance in his resoluteness.

It's five minutes standing with a stream, letting the flow of the water fill me to the brim with the certainty that it will keep going. Knowing the clarity of the lives beneath its surface never falter as they go through their day.

It's standing for a moment on my porch after dark, drinking in the starlight above the trees across the street. Confident that up there, there is perfection because those stars are the one thing I can see that we can't touch, can't sully or claim or kill or dim no matter how hard the effort.

That peace is out there and I think right now, I may go for a little walk down to the lake and remember how to breathe.