Peace is not made through theory.
Too many people die in war.
This grief, this pain
can still be felt.
No matter how loud one cries,
this way no peace can be achieved.
The flowers of the meadow,
the small insects have life.
Each life has to be respected;
Where else should peace come from?
I once heard the pianist, Arthur Rubinstein, being interviewed. At one point he was asked to share his experience of playing Chopin's Nocturnes. He said in effect, "I do not know what it is. But over and over again I have had the experience of sitting in a crowded concert hall playing the Nocturnes and I can feel everyone in the room waiting for the next note." In this moment of waiting, all present find their contemplative community in their oneness with one another in the boundless mystery that enraptures them.