In My Search For Peace

I’ve been sitting at my new dining table, working on a puzzle.  I should be going to bed.  As I’ve been piecing together the Geishas in my puzzle, I’ve been thinking, wondering about my life.

The dance poses of Geisha have always stirred something in my soul.  Even as I sit still and silent and stare at the artistic images of them in the quiet of my home, I can feel my soul mimicking and moving in a slow and understated grace.  My soul understands something about them that I do not.  It remembers something that I do not.

I feel for them what an adult might feel for their childhood, if it was a happy one.  An ache in the heart for something that can’t be brought back.  Homesickness for a lost home.

Just me and ghosts of geishas conversing in silence.

I was wondering with them why it’s been so long since I’ve felt truly inspired in my writing.  Why I’ve stopped feeling any satisfaction from it.

It feels like I write to a black void.

I share because it is my nature to.  Even if I was the last human on Earth, I would feel compelled to communicate and share.

I’m not entirely sure how much different it would feel to me if I was the last human on Earth.  As it is, I’ve long since resorted to communing with the trees . . . the wind . . . clouds . . . animals . . . even bugs (if only to respectfully ask them to respect my space and leave . . . which they do).

I know people have tried to hear and understand me.  I don’t mean to dismiss or invalidate others in my life.  They are doing their best, I know.  I love them.

But I’ve felt more seen, and known, and loved by clouds that were passing by, than I have by another human.  The trees have time for me and listen with open hearts.  They are not defensive or caught up in looking good or being right.

The wind is honest in it’s expression.  It has no reason to cover up or hide.

I’m not saying that people don’t care for me, I know that’s not true, they care for me in the only way they know how.  But in comparison with what it’s like to commune with nature, humans are so disconnected from themselves.  How could I possibly expect humans to see me when they aren’t even aware that they can’t see themselves.

They are wrapped in hurt, pain, conditioning and they try to label it as “being themselves” . . . but it is not who they really are.

People seemed to have lost the ability to discern when someone is speaking from the heart and when someone is merely mimicking someone who is speaking from the heart.  They all get thrown into the same cauldron and treated the same.  It’s a shame.

I don’t feel like there is anything I could share of myself that would make any difference in the world or even be heard above all of the noise.

I know I have great value, but I do not feel valuable to this world.

I also know that greater peace comes to me when I am able to accept people and the world just as it is, and stop thinking that I have any role to play in helping others find their way.  People will find their own way without my help, just as they have from the dawn of time.

I am content enough in my connection to life.  Who knows, maybe even more happy than the happiest humans pretend to be.

flower power

Comments

  1. Your writing is so evocative. Your voice is a gift.
    savannah

    Like

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