Friday, January 27, 2012

Inward peace without outward order

I feel really unsettled when the kitchen isn't completely clean. As in, Mitch says, "I'll finish those dishes later" and I have to walk away and brainwash myself to pretend that I don't know that the dishes are just sitting there, waiting to be washed. Then I can't walk by the kitchen (tough in this one bedroom apartment) because it just feels wrong to see a mess and not do something about it. Outward order leads to inward peace--yes, I'm definitely one of those people. Which explains why the bed has to be made in the morning before I can get my day started ("Are you seriously making the bed with me still in it?" Mitch has asked when he stays in bed longer than I do and I'm ready to get going. Oops.). My inner calm.

That's me--I can't live with the unsettled feeling of dishes in the sink or an unmade bed. But I live with the unsettled feeling of something infinitely harder, something that actually matters, something that--at its essence--can only have a certain level of peace to it, it seems. Oh, my Miles. A mother in the world without one of her children...can there be a "settled" place there, can there be true peace in that soul? The peace, I've found, must be in coming to an understanding of sorts of how it is to not have my family together in this world, to have a sorrow that will be constant, to live with a joy that once was and has to be carried on. Inward peace without outward order--that's the person I have to be now.

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