I spent the weekend in stillness. Even in the challenges of sesshin, there was a peace.
I came home, and shortly after saw that Osama Bin Laden had been killed.
I saw people celebrate.
I saw people shy away from jubilant expression.
I saw people of both minds be critical of each other.
Then I took my girls out for ice cream.
I went and got some frozen yogurt at a friend's store and the girls got scooped ice cream around the corner. I waited for them in the King's Navy Yard Park. While I waited, I thought about peace.
Sitting on the edge of a beautiful fountain, I was held gently by the cool evening air. The river, a few meters away was as smooth and calm as I have ever seen it. It was utter tranquility. However, the Napoleonic cannons and the various flags in the park reminded me that I was sitting on the site of a great machine of war, some 200 years past its prime.
It is from this location that the British Navy and Provincial Marine staged its efforts in the War of 1812 to defend Upper Canada from American invaders. When the war ended, the borders were restored, the US and Britain quickly resumed cordial trade relations and 1000's of families began picking up the pieces of the lives shattered by the loss of a loved one or the destruction of a home or farm. Even in this place of quiet tranquility there was the memory of war.
On the shores my own town, on the shores of Normandy, at Ypres, and in the deserts of Afghanistan, my countrymen have fought to ensure (among other things) the preservation of a peace in which my children and I have had the fortune to live our lives. Then, as I waited, I took notice of the other people encountering this moment with me.
A young girl out for jog, an old couple strolling in the park. A grey haired man slowly making his way to the Legion, and a mother letting her children run in the grass. They too, along with my family and I were building the very peace that others fight elsewhere to protect.
If you know me, then you my deep affinity for those who put themselves in service of their country, for they do the hard dirty work of preserving peace. But here, at home, in the park, we build it.
We go about our business and are tolerant, if not respectful of others as they go about theirs. We pass masses of people each day. I do not take issue with their congregations, nor that they express their opinions publicly, nor that they worship differently than I, nor that they differ from me in race, gender, and so on. They, in turn, do not take issue with me. Some of this small town cohabitation is based acceptance, some on tolerance, some on begrudging tolerance and some on obliviousness. But regardless of the base it rests upon, it rests there with weight and inertia. It is the repository of peace.
When this peace is disrupted we can feel it. We have created many laws and moral codes (spoken and unspoken) to deter such disruptions. We cherish this balance.
This peace may have been protected in Flanders, Tripoli, Queenston Heights and Iwo Jima, but it was not created there. The difficult, messy actions that may be required to preserve peace can not create it. It may be preserved on the battlefield, but it is built in the town hall, at the ice cream parlour, the breakfast table, and in the kindergarten classroom.
While I don't want the people of my community to ever lose sight of what has been sacrificed to preserve the peace, I would hate to think that we might see violence as a tool for creating it.
All peace, of any true and lasting nature starts in your own heart. Not the general "you" but the INSERT YOUR NAME HERE________________________ you. From there it radiates outward. The only question is "how far?". When communities are built in this way, they know peace. It is a peace that can be bruised and broken, but can also be healed.
May communities that do not know peace come to this great fortune.
Today the world takes note of a man who has been killed. It is not the first time people have set out to kill to protect peace, nor will it be the last.
In the end, I am not entirely sure how I feel about the events of these last days. But I know this: As I set about my daily activities tomorrow, I will be more keenly aware of whether I am making war or peace with others and in my heart.
