At the onset of this somewhat awkward and very humble endeavor, I feel I must first admit the following: I’ve tried to write this re-introduction at least a dozen times in the span of three months. (In short: I’m pivoting the purpose of this publication and my life’s work…)
What’s more confronting than a blank page is perhaps an incredibly compelling question — the kind that stretches into maddening abyss, the kind that lines a foreign hallway containing millions of unopened doors with flickering lights that are neither ominous nor auspicious. I would be foolish to imagine that, in relationship to this question, I have any sort of wisdom or mastery. Here — next to three words and a question mark — my intellectualism has been stripped, my cleverness has fallen away, and I am so bare that I have now unearthed more ancient breeds of self-consciousness. This feels big, I feel small, and in holding both of these temporary truths I am edging towards the acceptance that life without a question to attach to is perhaps the definition of meaningless.
I have a question so stark I am embarrassed to even utter it, so deep I have already drowned out my eyes just trying to see while submerged in it. Already this inquiry has wrecked my life into more profundity, perhaps in the manner of a premature pregnancy. In my marathon of obsession I have yet to arrive at any semblance of a useful answer, but here I am, ready to speak it aloud because if I don’t I may die horribly unsatisfied, so…
What is peace?
If you tuned into the collective prayer of our time, you’d undoubtedly hear a resounding plea for peace. But what does peace look like? We have a shared goal but no shared vision. We wax poetic in manicured digital spaces about a wholesome dream for peace and yet we cringe or cancel in the face of actual experimentation. We want the fruits without first surrendering ourselves fully to the soul-deep discomfort of unknown and ongoing labor. And if we’re getting totally honest here, most of the people that might identify as striving peacemakers have completely rejected or eagerly bypassed the thrashing shadow side of this thing we call ‘peace’. It is, however, too apparent now to keep ignoring.
I really believe that at this point in our collective evolution, we must be willing to accept our currently intrinsic violent side. We cannot afford to look away from it, nor can we continue to relentlessly persecute those that embody it. It seems it is here to stay, like a rat that made it inside our lovely cottage and either can’t see the exit or chooses not to.
If peace might be the product of love, I wonder what we must first love in order to create that product? I think we must love what’s in the way — we must love the violence. We must discover and love our own violence.
This is a terrifying thing for me to write, and so I must write it. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to be burned at the stake, to be so misunderstood that my heart gets mistaken for violence itself. You see, I want peace just as much as you do, but more than some undefined fantasy what I want is a world where no organic aspect of the human experience is repressed or oppressed. This, to me, is a critical aspect of living inside of peace, as anything not liberated eventually succumbs to the influence of its own rage (think of a caged animal). I am devastated that we have yet to evolve beyond the impulse to isolate or euthanize the violent animal of our human family, and believe we must aim to liberate the aspects of humanity that are oppressed while simultaneously loving what has endured so much of it already it has become red hot and irreversibly inflamed. There must be spaces in our hearts and communities for this type of disturbance to be welcomed into expression.
What I feel confident I’m seeing is an earnest collective vision clouded by personal apathy, disassociation and, still, so much shame. There will be no peace as a permanent fixture until we have learned to dig through that digital indifference — first to the point of self-remembrance then deeper, to the point of whole-self-awareness. It is not enough to spiritually recall our oneness — we must be willing to temporarily embody aspects of the all as each moment requires until we have purged those rotting bits of victimhood, violence and shame. Perhaps peace is not the absence of these unappealing parts but is instead a place where we regularly take out the trash.
I have decided to dedicate myself to this question, to hitch myself onto it and call it ‘purpose’. In the coming months I will become certified as a mediator, and have designed a broader curriculum for myself that I strongly believe will equip me to move towards the thresholds where peace and violence meet in our shared intimacy. Here in this digital space I will share what I learn and experience as I grow, get blamed, feel victimized, get really fucking angry (this is not foreign to my Cuban blood), and, God willing, support others in moving through conflict and towards states of peace.
I’d love to hear from you, and to allow a shared vision to begin emerging in this public space. What is peace? If you feel compelled to share, please leave a comment.
Thank you for reading. Peace be with you.
I agree. Our violence is part of us. What we see at war in the world is a war within ourselves, which I've come to think of this as survival and death; symbolically (in a vision I had) they are two opposing snakes (one light one dark/yin yang vibes) coiling around one another forming at our feet up to our heads, acting* as two consciousnesses in our mind (the right and the left hemispheres which do literally perceive the world differently). Of course, it's becoming helpful to stop calling this a "war" within, and perhaps it would be helpful (though I don't think we're there yet) to stop calling it "war" altogether. If we are animal and spirit, the "War" within wants coherence and for us to take responsibility for the fact that we are self-protecting and territorial and also all loving. Yes, easier to post in a square on instagram than to live out, but I'm right t/here with you. We must admit our violence as something that belongs, and embrace it so we can liberate it.