"peace, like a poem, is not there ahead of itself"

What does peace taste like?

Purse, Mexico, 1800-1820

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Making Peace

by Denise Levertov

A voice from the dark called out,
             ‘The poets must give us
imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
imagination of disaster. Peace, not only
the absence of war.’
                                   But peace, like a poem,
is not there ahead of itself,
can’t be imagined before it is made,
can’t be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.

                                       A feeling towards it,
dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning them as we speak.

                                              A line of peace might appear
if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,
questioned our needs, allowed
long pauses . . .

                        A cadence of peace might balance its weight
on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,
an energy field more intense than war,
might pulse then,
stanza by stanza into the world,
each act of living
one of its words, each word
a vibration of light—facets
of the forming crystal.

Denise Levertov, from Breathing the Water. New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1987.

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Creative Invitation

Ordinary lusty life! Often, now, grafted with scenes of indescribable suffering that we see onscreen or hear described by friends. Popcorn, bath salts, bombs that slice children at prayer. How can it be, dear friend?

The thicket of overlapping realities can bring strange, acute panging or crack our lenses. We must be strong to hold the wild veering truths and untruths of this world. We must be full of love and remain open as a honeycomb, with hearts that do not lose hope and also strive to banish lies.

How intensely we wish we could save, salve, solve the pain created by humans for other humans; created by states, deployed by small lords and military industries.

How fervently we can work to seed peace in ourselves so we can share it with others. Breathe in loss, breathe out love. Refusal. Pushing for a tipping point. How small we seem sometimes; how large we feel other times.

Today, consider Denise Levertov’s invitation to reach for articulation of peace:

                                       A feeling towards it,
dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning them as we speak.

Sit with the idea or feeling of peace.

What rhythm is it beating in?
What metaphors can you find for it?
What does it taste like? Can you describe it to a stranger?
How broad can you build a belief in it?
Can you grow it inside yourself like light,
then bring it outside to share?
Can we teach it to fight the merchants of death? Or can it only grow gently?
What is its fruiting body, its pollen, its pollinator?
What, to peace, are you?

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