Peace and Action

Peace is not lack of activity.  Action is not lack of peace.  I fear that committing to peace will make me soft.  But I know this is not true. 

It's not a new dynamic entirely.  I remember shedding hate years ago in a moment of bright flash, I realized that I was wasting so much energy on hating things and people.  I thought it was justified, righteous even, to hate what was evil.  I dropped it right then and there.  I was walking through Ybor City one afternoon before it was turned into a seedy party spot. (Contrary to popular belief, it was actually safer then...full of people like me and we got along for the most part, but that's another entry.)

But even that wasn't fully dropped.  I found lingering elements of hate locked away deep inside me.  Levels below the first set.  These only surfaced years later.  I probably wrote about it here, but don't remember.

So, I know how this works somewhat. But I'm unsure of how to walk it out.  How do I interact with people when the scripts I know are all strategies and battle plans?  Is there any reference to draw upon?  Sources for new scripts?

There are a few.  The Practice of the Presence is one.  Uncle George has a few too.  But in my own life and time, I have some.  I remember a time when I was all about actions to give a little wonder and joy.  Like an imp spreading good mischief, I was always looking for a way to surprise people with a little Amelie-style goodness, far before that movie, lest anyone think I copied it.  It may be time to resurrect these to some extent.  I'd stand in a crowd and say hi to people then give a dollar to whoever greeted me back.  I'd slip up behind some random acquaintance and slide some jewelry around her neck.  Pay for someone's meal behind me and walk away.  Climb into scenic overlooks and wave frantically back at people, swinging from a tree or some other feature.  (People always cracked up at this.)  Strike up conversations with strangers as if I knew them, never letting them tell me they didn't know me.  Physical clowning was always great.  Run into something, get sprayed in the face, dive into a sand trap on a golf course and then rake out all the prints but the body shape.  One I never did, but saw in an obscure movie years later and wished I had: buy objects at thrift stores with people's names on them and secretly deliver them to people with those names. 

Perhaps I never fully gave them up.  But I have largely lost this sensibility.  I think it's the slow dulling grind of daily routine that wore it away.  But I think these are seeds of a new mode of activity.  One which defuses and brightens, instead of stokes and obscures.