Once again, I have made peace with the world.
What is peace?
Peace, of course, is a concept, a label, a symbol, all of that.
I do not exist, therefore a nonexistent entity making something called “peace” is all imaginary.
The world is easy enough to grasp as both an entity and a concept.
At a multicellular level, I am not at peace, my body always fighting entropy, battling bacteria and viruses floating around in my system, breathed in and pooped out on a regular basis.
So what, then, is peace?
It means I have let go of the parts of me that in my youth wanted to explore the universe off of this planet.
I am no longer 5, 15, 25, 35 or even 50.
To be sure, age is just a number and more than one person my age or older has traveled to the International Space Station orbiting Earth but I am not them.
I am me.
It is in my personal best interest, healthwise, to fold up the circus tent under which I was entertaining people around me and return to the meditation platform in the woods where I can rest during the day whilst quietly spending half of the night shift working alone preparing blood product inventory for delivery to hospitals.
I am contented, not necessarily happy, but able to enjoy myself and no longer fill my thoughts with the lives of others who, although they gave me a level of exuberant happiness, also left me feeling old, unable to keep up with their busy lives, as busy as I was when I was their age 25-30 years ago.
I unattach myself from the surface of others whose lives I mimicked as a chameleon.
I am happiest here, writing, wherever my butt is seated and my hands have a keyboard or pen and paper on which I compose these ditties.
Peace is simplicity and frugality.
Peace is my thought set devoid of a running commentary justifying its existence, shouting for attention, and seeking quick thrills.