The Search for Inner Peace

A friend I just made on the recent suicide-awareness walk Jackson and I did in San Francisco brought up the whole pursuit of inner peace thing after reading my entries thus far, and it has me thinking about what that whole search is about. I told her that I've had bouts of inner peace throughout my life--through yoga, through my saxophone playing, through my bond with Jackson, through the interludes of intense love I shared with Rox--but that it's been elusive for me in general.

Anyone who knows me would laugh if they merely heard me say that I don't have a quiet mind. (That's because I certainly don't have a quiet mouth.) I remember Rox describing her ongoing inner dialog, and understanding it because I have it, too, although hers was admittedly in a whole other terrifying dimension. But like her, I find it difficult-to-impossible to quiet my mind down enough to have peace on a lasting basis. If I find a good meditative state with my yoga, it's only so long before I can't help but think about undone tasks, past mistakes, future plans, Jackson's emotional health, financial stress...you know, the usual stuff that keeps people awake at night.

It would be easy to look upon our pending move as part of a search for inner peace, something to combat the feelings Rox's suicide has left us with. But that's putting too much pressure on our surroundings, wherever they may be. The search for inner peace must be a side process that continues ad nauseum as I conduct the business of trying to rebuild our lives in a new place. The move might bring a blast of peace, but nothing that will last on its own. A great new house that's all mine will bring a modicum of lasting peace, but only for a part of me. Seeing Jackson adjust and settle into life in a new place will bring a sense of parental peace. But there is a deep level on which inner peace must be achieved that will take lots of work on my part--work that has nothing to do with our move. Work that will require me to quiet my mind, forgive my mistakes (past, present and future), and get comfortable with who I've been, who I am, and who I will become. Granted, I know that peace for me can't ever happen in this house, with all of its memories of Rox bouncing off the walls, but I also know I can't expect the mere act of moving to have a lasting healing effect.

No, my move will be like the perverbial gardening analogy--I'll be planting a new seedling, and watching it grow initially will be easy. We'll be in a new place, and all the energy that comes from that will be self-sustaining for a while. Meeting new people, learning new places, building new routines. But once that newness rubs off, I'll have to exert effort to keep the plant alive. I'll have to water it, weed it, prune it, keep an eye on the soil quality, and shield it from frost. And while I'm doing that, the roots will take hold, spreading and forming a solid foundation that will help the plant--my inner peace--prosper amid life's myriad challenges.

Guess I better brush up on my gardening skills, and give my search for inner peace a boost.