Peace is not stillness… it is a sense of trust in one’s place in relation to gravity.
This is the other half of “hope is the wild ride between peace and fear,” something I wrote in a sketchbook-journal about 18 years ago. I wasn’t sure how to introduce it to you, until I slipped and fell in the road by my house.
Nothing accentuates “one’s place in relation to gravity” like a quick shift in perspective.
Late at night, just before bed, sleepy me remembered to take out the trash. The second I slipped I knew I would fall all the way down to the ground and probably be unable to walk for days. At the half way point I thought, “there goes my left knee,” and “next comes the ankle,” soon after that “I don’t know how am I going to get by without my knee and ankle,” and “I will get through this.”
I was OK through sheer luck. I untwisted myself carefully and got up relatively unscathed; the angle of my twist was just to the good side of not too bad. I didn’t know I would be able to walk until I was back up on my feet, limping only slightly.
Before I knew how lucky I was I’d already decided that I would figure out how to be OK, despite injury. I didn’t know I’d be that spunky.
Later on I sat and grinned at my 49 year old ankles, almost crooning at them about their lucky existence in my lucky little world. I didn’t have any more or less than I’d had a few hours earlier, but I did see what I have in a brighter light.
We fall, we age, we break. Our lives change, and not always in a good way. Things happen, but that’s not the end. I’m not sure if there even is an end. One thing I know for sure is that the end doesn’t happen when we fall on our tuckus, unless we decide not to get up again. Even then, my money is on an “end” that is farther off and less permanent than what pops into our minds at the time.