Peace Comes in Fireworks
Essay and Poem.
Hillary had an unusual dream where she traveled back in time to experience a teaching about the present:
I found myself in Paris, in a large city park. It was nighttime and the stars were shining across the sky. I was with a group of about fifteen close friends who were young bohemian artists and musicians. It seemed I had only met them recently, and they had invited me to meet them in the park to watch the stars. It was the 1940s, and a big announcement was going to be made whether or not World War II had officially ended and Paris was liberated from German occupation. The announcement would be made in the form of a fireworks show. The park was dotted with groups of friends and families filled with desperate hope for good news.
While everyone waited, one of the women took me on a short stroll to see more of the park. The weather was perfect, and I was intoxicated with the romance of Paris. Upon returning to where her friends were gathered, I noticed they were all lying on their backs looking up at the sky. Strangely, however, the ground beneath them was made of shallow water and they were all floating rather than lying on the ground. It was an otherworldly sight, their bodies glowed slightly as if they were fireflies or magical fish floating on a pond, gazing up at the heavens.
Just then we heard something above us. I looked up at the night sky and saw a small firework explode in a trail of colors. We knew the announcement was coming soon. A few more fireworks appeared, and it seemed as if the explosions were beginning to form words in the sky.
Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the fireworks, waiting to decipher the communication that the war had finally ended, or whether we had longer to wait. More fireworks began to blast over our heads, and everyone started to cheer. The message was clear: the war was over. Peacetime would now return, and the whole park erupted in joyful celebration and revelry.
Lately we have been wondering:
Is there a war coming?
Sides are forming.
Peaceful people we know
Are learning to shoot guns,
“Just in case,” they say.
And “The government has never protected our community, so we have to rely on ourselves.”
That’s true.
But still we would rather it not come to that.
Is the war already here?
The good news is,
Wars end, eventually.
Can we skip to the part where we’re in the park
In Paris under the night sky?
We take solace that there will still be young bohemians
Who pledge allegiance to poetry, music, dance, and art.
Let us fight with explosive rhythms,
And drop melodic bombs charged with complex harmonies,
Sending arms and legs flying in all directions on the dance floor.
We salute the jazz that saves defeated lives,
We bow before the swing that brings us something to live for.
It’s still the same old story
A fight for love and glory
A case of do or die
The world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by.
Play it again, Sam.
The ground beneath us is not as solid as we thought.
It’s made of something more fluid –
The liquidity of feelings.
Buoyed up
By hope?
Or just an abiding love for life,
We float.
Something mysterious makes us glow
And look up at the sky,
Trusting that the fire of joy is returning again,
Surely it will work,
Like it always has,
To spark the multi-colors of peace,
Bringing back the light,
To desperate faces below.
For now, we’re waiting in the dark,
In the park among friends at night,
Suspended in the middle between earth and air,
We prepare for the return of exhilarating delight,
In the City of Light.
-The Keeneys, October 9, 2020.