I have searched for peace; searched long enough to know that peace is not attained by seeking.
And still I seek.
Peace is available, peace is here. Now. Peace is found in the silence and stillness. Peace is in the buzz of activity of the morning forest. Peace is in the light reflecting off and through the spiderwebs loosely hanging between leaves and branches. Peace is in the movement of the pen as I write these words.
What, then, when peace is absent? Or, rather, when I have separated myself from what is already present, how do I return? What disturbances of the mind arise to bring distrust and turmoil?
My search for peace deepened. I meditated in sangha and went on retreats in beautiful mountain locations.
I resisted pleasurable desires in a vain attempt of self-purification. I denied myself friendships and relationships, creating separation and isolation.
I wandered from city to city. I walked for hours on end.
I read the words of great masters: Vivekananda, Sivananda, Krishnanda. I wrote.
I woke early. I slept late. I slept early and woke late. I worked sixty plus hours a week, and I quit my job. I traveled to foreign lands and all over the United States, all in search of what remained elusive, seemingly unattainable.
My pursuit of peace has been a desire to understand enlightenment, to connect with my purpose, to be of service.
A buddha, one who is awakened from the world of suffering, lives in peace. And a buddha remains in this world in service to humanity and the world.
This is attainable in this lifetime, according to the teachings of those who have attained. If it is not attained, it is certainly worth striving for. But as soon as you are striving, peace is lost. Peace cannot be caught, or trapped. It is something to be received, like my swaddled baby in my arms.