Saturday, July 16, 2005
Peace that Passeth All Understanding
Last night, "as I laid me down to sleep", I noticed something curious about my mind, or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say, my heart, maybe my soul. It was at peace. I rummaged back through my recent past and noticed that the seed of peace that appears to have settled into the foundation of my internal life seems to have been sending up shoots to entwirl everything I've felt, thought, said and done in the last few weeks. I drifted into sleep smiling.
Considering my expressed displeasure with my mother's latest physician, my resulting (and expressed) increased skepticism of the medical industrial complex, the repercussions of that expression, my negotiation of those backlashes, and everything else that's happened lately, remarkable or not, I might have been inclined to assume that I am internally unsettled. This doesn't seem to be the case, though.
This morning, while considering my most recent tranquil night and the unbroken string of immediately previous similar nights, I realized something: Peace does not mean lack of activity or lack of thought at odds with reality; the kind of thought that causes one to attempt to manipulate reality. It doesn't mean acceptance beyond reaction nor the inability to be moved into exultation or anger. It means, I think, lack of attachment to possibility. I remember freaking the last time I managed to get my mother dismissed from the active patient roles of a physician. This time, not only did I not freak, I smiled after reading the dismissal letter, which I wasn't expecting. I don't remember suddenly and agitatedly activating in a direction I hadn't anticipated, I remember continued smooth engagement as I noticed an upcoming curve and readjusted my muscles for negotiation.
It's possible that this undercurrent of peace is primarily generated in my physiology, a result of my body settling into post-menopausal calm. Perhaps its psychological/emotional/spiritual, a result of knowing that I'm where I'm "supposed" to be, doing what I'm "supposed" to do. After considering the possibilities for a short while I realized I don't care about its genesis. It's just wonderful to be having this time. "Wish you were here."
Later.
Considering my expressed displeasure with my mother's latest physician, my resulting (and expressed) increased skepticism of the medical industrial complex, the repercussions of that expression, my negotiation of those backlashes, and everything else that's happened lately, remarkable or not, I might have been inclined to assume that I am internally unsettled. This doesn't seem to be the case, though.
This morning, while considering my most recent tranquil night and the unbroken string of immediately previous similar nights, I realized something: Peace does not mean lack of activity or lack of thought at odds with reality; the kind of thought that causes one to attempt to manipulate reality. It doesn't mean acceptance beyond reaction nor the inability to be moved into exultation or anger. It means, I think, lack of attachment to possibility. I remember freaking the last time I managed to get my mother dismissed from the active patient roles of a physician. This time, not only did I not freak, I smiled after reading the dismissal letter, which I wasn't expecting. I don't remember suddenly and agitatedly activating in a direction I hadn't anticipated, I remember continued smooth engagement as I noticed an upcoming curve and readjusted my muscles for negotiation.
It's possible that this undercurrent of peace is primarily generated in my physiology, a result of my body settling into post-menopausal calm. Perhaps its psychological/emotional/spiritual, a result of knowing that I'm where I'm "supposed" to be, doing what I'm "supposed" to do. After considering the possibilities for a short while I realized I don't care about its genesis. It's just wonderful to be having this time. "Wish you were here."
Later.
