Practicing Peace

I’m munching on white chocolate chips straight out of the bag and waiting for the slow heater to warm up the house since I forgot to turn it on when I got home from work and fell asleep. I was surprised to wake up because sleep had never been my intent. I was only lying on the couch listening to my breath and the noise of the refrigerator and the slow trinkle of our only slightly broken toilet. I slept for an hour and only now is it getting dark, a sign of being on the other side of Christmas. I was listening to my breath to recover from the day’s noise. I was seeking cover from the world in silence; trying to regain my humanity, my separation from space. I had begun to blend in too much noise of people around me at the shelter where there’s always a crisis, and definitely too much noise of hearing my own voice. I trained someone today. Hours of explaining every step of what I’m doing, interrupted by youth after youth needing my attention, wanting my help, needing me to look and answer and see and prove and plead and plead and plead. I plead with strangers for these youth. For the girl who’s birth certificate will never be found because she was born on a base in Germany that has since shut down, whose father will not consent to her receiving drug treatment through the Vet Center. I plead for the girl who needs Medicaid before next Tuesday who cannot get an appointment for the life of her. I plead for the boy whose mother has deserted him, the boy who is too old to help and too young to live on his own. I speak relentlessly. The slow pound of treatment, assessment, appointment, advocate, accountable, deadline becomes rhythmic out of my mouth, incessant to my ears. The onslaught of messages thrust at me through the air from eleven fists around me feels assaultive. I return the phone calls. There is a buzz I nearly run from as I walk out the doors to the bus stop. The instant I hit fresh air I am sure there is no other way I would rather have spent my day. The noise follows me in my head, but I can feel it trailing off behind me. I leave some on the bus. I leave some in my tracks up to the mailbox. I leave some behind in my decision not to wipe the snow off of my car, welcoming the echo of the slow swoop of snow over the windshield instead. I leave some in the keyhole as I unlock the door. Inside I wrap up in a thick blanket, holding myself motionless, apart from the rest. I can handle no more rage until I have stilled. I will my thoughts to leave, to quiet, to soften. When I wake up, slightly startled, I am ready to face my words again. I am ready to engage, though not quite ready to respond to my friend’s letter of her disgust with wealth. I have warred enough today. Unless I can learn to pitch fits quietly. Humility will bring me the calm to keep fighting. I will work on it. Slowly. For now, I will practice peace.