Pen Peace

Power of the Pen. That’s what it was called when I was elementary, middle school. It’s what the artistic kids did. They wrote poems. With verses and rhymes and words I never tried to write but knew from greedily reading books.

That was before I decided to be a writer. That was when I didn’t believe in myself. I mean, I believed in myself to finish my homework and get up at 6:20 am and never skip swimming practice. But I strongly disbelieved that I am artistic. It wasn’t natural. Nothing was natural. Except following the rules, making others think well of me, hiding my badness.

Power of the pen

And I’m here with my wooden Hiram College Alpha Society pen (obtained by following the rules) writing in my friend-made journal. I drew an identifiable mermaid and wrote my name across two pages and recorded how to become a peaceful person. This pen is POWER, I think, and it takes me back.

Those artistic kids knew it in seventh grade. They knew they were created to create.

I know it now. But the same thing stops me from creating. I live conflict. There’s no peace in my nature. I thrive on the conflict and I forget my purpose, my peace. I chase myself and fall. So that record of what it means to be peaceful is the point. Without it, I’m chasing others’ thoughts of me.

***
Peace

Humility.

Self-control.

Steadfastness.

Patience.

Grace.

***

When I choose peace, I face my ugliness. I give up control. I strive for pure motive. I wait. I look to forgiveness from the all-time-forgiver who gives me more and more and more.

And I can create. I claim that graceful (not the type of movement but the unconditional kindness) power.

I haven’t written for months because I’ve been choosing miserable conflict. In this small moment I choose humility and self-control. Peace. Creation. I hope for more.

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In the Deep

You know that feeling when you push yourself underwater in the deep end and let your air out and sink until your feet loosely hit the cement 12 feet down?

Sky pressure

You blow a few extra bubbles out of your nose so you can tilt your head back and see the aqua-white sun shine through the lapping water. Your arms lift bent at your sides, and you finally can’t hear all of the sounds that come with water.

The noise, light, treading limbs are muffled. The pressure is closer than ever.

I crave that feeling.

For some reason, I don’t panic down there. Why does it quiet me instead of overwhelm me?

I have a theory. It’s because to get down there, I have to give up. I have to let go of my breath, my sight, my hearing, my ability to be heard. And go down there alone with that so-powerful pressure.

I can kick up to the surface if I want to, but I don’t. I need to let go of my power, succumb myself to what’s greater than this body. I need to just be down there.

I can’t do that with the usual distractions. I choose to prioritize comfort, fun, acceptance, money, over my real purpose. But when I place myself under that pressure-power, I realize it’s where I’m meant to thrive.

We live on the surface, though, in the chaos. It’s easy to slip down for some peace, and come up to the powerless pressure when we need air, forgetting that real power. But I don’t have to forget it – that it defines my core, tells me why I’m here. Let’s live the peaceful, real pressure. Acknowledge it always.