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Tuesday, 29 June 2010 02:00

Peace and Me

By  Peter D. Quella

I. Afterward

I don't know what to write. Actually, I do. Fear. There, I wrote it. That's what this is all about - that four-letter word that dominates my life and sometimes really messes things up.

I do know what to write. I saw it, I felt it, I wanted it. Peace. A five-letter word that describes an amazingly beautiful ideology with some very wonderful attributes. I use the word attributes carefully. Notice they can be applied by anyone to anything that describes it. I love Peace's attributes. Peace is...

Or so I think. I find Peace so very appealing and so very enchanting. But the first thing out of my...my what? My brain? Is that where these thoughts and fears are stored? Honestly? In the brain, I don't think so. They are not stored, they appear and they come from everywhere. They are what I am. They are how I am, how I interact with other beings. I can't toss them aside, I am never without them, I am never separate from them.

The only thing one can do I suppose is be aware of them, be honest about them and bring them into the conversation when possible. I love Peace. I fear Peace. I fear myself. I fear what I just did, what I just wrote; and all that it implies.

II. What I Just Did

We went for a walk, Peace and me. She revealed an oncoming illness as we set off and the whole journey was complicated because of it. She was not well throughout, though when she felt involved she would forget her pain. She would breathe and show signs of coming around. Then my effort would lull or a pain would stab her and the campaign would crash again.

I played the role of the doctor seeking information and diagnosing the illness after each new symptom was revealed. Sometimes I used these questions as a trick to get her mind off the pain. Peace has pain and so do I. Intense pain. She is so vulnerable to me, not accustomed to the toils of public life and political weather. I want to protect her from her pain, from her nature. It is in Peace's nature to experience pain; that's what I want to tell her.

What can I do to make her realize that we are always in pain? Or, better, how can I let go of her pain now because it's in her nature? Her pain has radiated through the world and is now affecting me. But is this really pain I feel? I know pain, it's what germinated the first fear. So let me back up. For now, I will call it uncertainty. That's the best I can do.

After our walk it was back to my place, my universe. She limped down the steps into my world and went right for the bed, curled up and closed her eyes. How can one ever imagine having a painful Peace curled up on their bed? Ever the beauty, ever the goal, she lay and simpered quietly while I gathered the best healing energy I had in me.

I sent waves of empathy and passion through her limbs, her spine and temples. Again and again I splashed love over her. She simpered more. Finally I took her foot and began a new approach. I would move up to her painful spot from the lowest extremity, destroying all that was evil along the way. I pressed hard, I made certain to extract the negative energies from every lean foot muscle, every toe found its way through my fingers. I wrestled one then the other. I had discovered too how I could best extract and alleviate my own apprehensive energies. Working her muscles with mine created a sort of synergy of negation. I knew I could heal her.

From the foot to the ankle, then the calf. Such slender calves. I pushed and pulled and squeezed. She would find relief if I had anything to do about it. It was my mission and forward I marched past the kneecap to the thigh. The thighs were the most difficult hurdle because unlike the feet, they were less mobile and attached to her torso at a delicate spot.

I forgot to explain that Peace was wearing a dress when all this began. It was a spaghetti strapped madras sort of thing that women with great figures wear in summer to keep men from staring too long. When standing, the below-the-knee skirt had a seam that ran vertically to about twelve inches beneath her buttocks. Lying now as she was the seam had crept up, had opened like a tabernacle so that one could see the holy host inside. It was a blessed experience. The body and blood of womankind, consecrated and transformed into infinite supremeness. Peace on earth!

To continue describing the events would be vain. I wish I could say I healed Peace, but I can't. We had synergies of another sort, though each in their own way was more self-interested than constructive. A journey that starts along one path can rarely change tracks midway without consequences. The pain resumed as soon as the energies dissipated. And this brings me back to the beginning.

III. Revolution

A mission for Peace became something altogether different. I lost focus, she felt desired and we shared a new zeal. But now I feel guilty for losing my way to healing, to resurrecting Peace in her wholeness. Instead I was overwhelmed with my own empathy for her pain and the passions ignited in my healing touches. Opened channels of emotions made desire all the more irresistible. My ardor for her beauty dissolved her real pains into ideas; ideas are easily forgotten. It's why the sixties revolution never worked. They conflated peace with love and measured them as opposites to war. Love still happens in war.

When Peace finally rose to leave I panicked. My focus lost, my empathy drained, I was in recovery and she was in pain again. I had accomplished nothing. Peace had experienced a bump in the road, a lapse of pain for minutes rather than a complete release from its bind. Failures should not be feared, but in this case, the failure was attached to such a lack of self-control and focus that guilt immediately became fear and the acknowledgment that it was born by such corporeal desires made it worse.

An amazingly beautiful idea walked out my door and drove away. The only attribute I could think of now was her illness. The only feeling that I was capable of was fear; fear, not so much for her life, though that was in the back of my mind too, swirling about with guilt from the momentary pleasure of experiencing her, of seducing Peace to forget her pain and enjoy being in touch with her. You read about people who are alive one moment and die another. We all die. We are all on that inmate's row of fate, but suddenness is an unimaginable fortune. How can one ever prepare every day for the fate of life? Absurdity echoes in the chambers of worry. I know--the existentialists already claimed this supposition. I can hear my college humanities professor cackle with such hilarity when he explained the concept to so many young faces. Did he know already that the question would never leave us? How does one make sense of life? Peace?

Peace. I walked with her tonight. Then I experienced her passionately. Then I begged her not to leave. You see what Peace leaves behind when she exits? She leaves fear that she may never return, that the last experience of her was one of unbridled excitement rather than the confession that your love of her was real. Peace is always fleeting.

Peace. I don't think her presence necessarily means a life of contentment. In fact, I am prepared for emotions so drastically divergent that Peace never lives up to her name. But Peace makes revolutions worth the risk.
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