Sometimes we don't.
But, don't give up!
I still believe that peace is like a yoga pose. I did my best to try to do 30 days straight of yoga, but alas--I did not do it. I could make up so many excuses, but I wasn't in one place 30 days straight and even though I am glad to know about studios around the country. I don't have an excuse NOT to do yoga (which I'm beginning to love--groan) because I know where the studios are when I'm in Houston, San Francisco, Monterey and Santa Cruz. Other than finding one of two Bikram's open 24-hours a day, I think I did pretty good burning up the highways and airways attempting to do it. Time was not on my side, but my commitment to taking care of my body is.
Which brings me to why I see peace in a myriad of experiences such as yoga. Today we might feel like we're about to fall 'splat' on our faces, that we're hanging on by a thread when it comes to peace and guess what? Sometimes we are. Yet, you have to ask yourself (ourselves), how did I/we get here? When I look at my life, my faith, my physical and mental being, I wonder, and the truth is that I know why. Maybe not all of it because somewhere in the subconscious mind I may be blocking. My reality might not jibe with what I think I know and feel. It gets a little discombobulated. Not only is it our own personal knowledge, but the knowledge of our ancestors--all of us.
When I first drove to Atlanta from Houston, I found out how much the past--even a past we don't understand--can drive you to sorrow or joy. On this trip, though, it was sorrow I felt. I was entering Georgia just as the sun started to crest on the horizon in the East. The scenery was lush, deep green kudzu (didn't understand at the time that these are weeds) and was startlingly beautiful. But, there was something troubling about the site and before I knew what was happening, my body was wracked with sobs. I knew. I just knew, that the beauty I was seeing was marred by the depths of tragedy that lived in those woods. Hanging bodies, burned and unrecognized. Ground sodden with the blood of men and women whose stories I didn't know, but whose souls cried out. I grieved and didn't know why. Then.
Now, I know. Now I understand that sometimes the past calls us to remember. I remember those times that in despair, I wept and ate an entire pie or a couple of bowls of butter-laden pasta. I remember when I slept afterwards, too tired to walk. I remember and I grieve for that other me, for those times when I didn't take care of myself. I think that to be a peacemaker I have to remember those times when I failed. Yes, when we as human beings have caused others to suffer, including ourselves. That we have to pay for it.
By being peacemakers again.