Poem: "The Basic Source of Peace"

[ysabetwordsmith]

This poem was written outside the regular prompt calls. It fills the "safety" square in my 10-1-21 card for the Fall Festival Bingo. It has been sponsored by a pool with ng_moonmoth. This poem belongs to the Rutledge thread of the Polychrome Heroics series. It comes after "Fall into Despair," "Leave Behind Their Shadows," and "A Matter of Balance."


"The Basic Source of Peace"

[Monday, May 5, 2014]

Ahzan found Family Business Rest
to be a valuable refuge after
the upheavals in his life.

Hasra still screamed
most of the time, but
here Ahzan could walk
through the halls without
causing trouble, because
the hotel had few guests
other than the refugees.

Besides, he had company
more nights than not.

Yusuf Saeed and others
with young children also
walked to soothe them.

Bazyar Daber Ja'far had
nightmares, and slipped out
of the room to keep from
waking up his son Hadis.

Nafih Khalaf had all sorts
of sleep disturbances, from
insomnia to nightmares, and
also left his suite so as to avoid
bothering his sister Shakila.

So it was no wonder that
Ahzan clung to the hotel and
only went out when he had to
for appointments or other errands.

Finally Yusuf had insisted on taking
Hasra out Ahzan's hands, being
an experienced father himself,
then gently but firmly pushed
Ahzan out of the hotel.

"You need to go outside,"
Yusuf said. "I will watch Hasra
for a few hours. It will be nice
to tend a baby who wants attention."
His own children were glum and
quiet, having lost their mother and
older siblings, not liking his new wife.
"Do not come back until after dark!"

So Ahzan was left to wander
around Rutledge in search
of some other sanctuary.

The parks were pretty
but they felt too exposed.

The library was quiet,
but Ahzan struggled
to focus on reading for
more than a few minutes.

He wasn't hungry enough
to stop at a restaurant, having
eaten before he left the hotel.

Instead he drifted around
downtown, looking in windows
and trying to make sense of shops
that sometimes sold things he
had never even heard of.

Then a cheerful yellow building
caught his eye. The Peace Store,
read the sign over its door, with
a symbol that resembled a rocket.

Curious, Ahzan stopped to take
a closer look at the window display.

There were mannequins dressed
in colorful clothes above a scattering
of unfamiliar statuettes and knickknacks.

A slab of dark wood was inscribed with,
If you're looking for a sign, this is it.

Under that were several small paintings,
one with a necklace hanging on its frame.

Another sign taped to the window had
the word Muslim in it, which snagged
his attention. Reading carefully, Ahzan
figured out it as offering some support.
This sign is how you'll know me.

It had the same rocket-thing as
the store sign, with a safety pin.

Ahzan wasn't sure how a store
could sell peace, but since he
needed it desperately, he went in.

The air smelled like some sort
of incense, a warm spicy scent.

The front room was long and narrow,
filled with racks of clothes and shelves
of strange-looking decorations.

Overhead, looping script covered
part of the wall. Ahzan stared at it
for several minutes before realizing
that he was trying to read it backwards.

With a sigh, he found the English start
of it and read, Imagine all the people
living life in peace ... John Lennon.

The quote made his heart kick in
his chest. He wasn't sure how
to imagine something like that.
It was so alien in his experience.

He wanted it, though, urgently.

Ahzan ventured deeper into
the store and came to a counter.

Behind it stood a young man with
shaggy brown hair falling over
his pleasant face. Tattoos
decorated both of his arms.

He wore a patchwork jacket
and pants. The peace sign was
not a pendant but a T-shirt done
in radiant colors, with a safety pin
threaded through the cloth above it.

"Welcome to the Peace Store,"
he said. "My name is Kshanti."

"I'm Ahzan," he said. "It helps
if you speak slowly. My English
is ... I'm still working on it."

"No problem, man, I'm mellow,"
said Kshanti. "What brings you here?
You don't seem like our usual sort."

"A friend threw me out," Ahzan said.
Kshanti looked alarmed, so Ahzan
hastened to explain, "He told me
I needed go outside, walk around."

"Oh, okay, that makes more sense,"
said Kshanti. "I was worried for a bit."

"Yusuf is a good man. He worries too,"
said Ahzan. "So I walked around town
until I saw your sign. That made me
wonder how a store could sell peace."

Kshanti shook his head. "Nah, we
don't sell peace, we sell tools that
help people make it. Peace isn't
something you can buy, or find.
It's something you have to build."

"I don't understand?" Ahzan said.

"Peace comes from skills. You
have to put the pieces together,"
Kshanti said. "Like how you
could buy wood and hammer
and nails to build a chair."

Once the hotel had pulled in
several porters to help assemble
a set of wooden chairs. They
had come in pieces to be
put together with screws.

"I've made chairs before,"
said Ahzan. "I don't know
if I could make peace too,
but I wish that I could."

He looked around, puzzled
by the unfamiliar objects, and
uncertain how to use them
in constructing peace.

"Would you like a tour?"
Kshanti offered. "There's
nobody else in here now,
so I've got nothing to do."

"Yes, please," said Ahzan.

"The front room has most of
our hippie decorations and
some clothes," said Kshanti.
"Then farther back we have --"

Ahzan stopped, mesmerized
by glass tubes filled with
glowing, moving liquids
in two different colors.

"Oh, those are lava lamps,"
said Kshanti. "They're full of
colored oil and melted wax.
People find them soothing."

Ahzan didn't really have
much room to put things,
but ... maybe someday.

"More clothing back here,"
Kshanti said, beckoning.

Ahzan looked around, then
picked up a pink onesie with
a peace symbol for Hasra.
"This seems nice," he said.

"Oh hey, you got a new baby?"
Kshanti said. "Congratulations."

Grief fell on Ahzan with a sudden,
crushing weight. "Hasra is all I
have left," he whispered. "None
of the others survived the escape."

"Man, that is harsh," Kshanti said,
draping a gentle arm around him.
"Let me know if you wanna talk. I've
come through some pretty rough times,
nothing like a war zone, but I know
what it's like to leave everything
behind because it's killing you."

Ahzan shook himself. Dwelling
on the past did no good at all.

"I'm still looking for peace,"
he said. "Show me more?"

"Yeah, the next room is
good for that," said Kshanti.
"Check out our yoga stuff."

Stylized artwork covered
the walls. Several racks
held loose clothes, cushions,
and mats rolled into cylinders.

Shelves offered a variety of
jewelry, figurines, and books.

Ahzan looked at the pictures
of people bending their bodies
into bizarre shapes and he
wondered what that had
to do with creating peace.

The room after that was
crammed with books and
kits for different kinds of
peacework and activism.

Ahzan didn't think that would
be much help unless there
were picture books. It was
hard for him to read English.

The room of meditation tools
had books all along one wall.

Another held oils and incense
along with their various burners.

Shorter shelves under a window
held statues, bowls, and bells.
Underneath were colorful rugs
and piles of floor cushions.

Ahzan should probably get
a prayer rug, but honestly,
he just hadn't felt much like
praying since his family died.

"Listen," said Kshanti. He
picked up bowl and rubbed it
with a stick until it started humming.

Ahzan's eyes widened. "That's
beautiful," he said. It sounded
like it was coming from everywhere
and nowhere all at the same time.

"Now listen for the point when
sound ends and silence begins,"
Kshanti said as he stopped rubbing.

The hum faded away, slowly, and
Ahzan followed it with his ears
until he lost the last faint traces
under the sound of birds outside.

"It's soothing, but ..." He looked at
the price tag, then shook his head.

"Yeah, they're not cheap," Kshanti said.
"But there are other singing bowl options."
He showed Ahzan his phone. "We have
a website that lists apps you can download
on mindfulness, meditation, and relaxation.
Some of them have singing bowl sounds."

"Thank you," Ahzan said, noting the address.
"You show people things for free? Doesn't
that hurt the business for your store?"

"Nah, man, if people find us useful
then they come back when they've
got money to spend," said Kshanti.

Ahzan could grasp that. He found
the store itself relaxing. Just being
here was unwinding muscles that
had been strung tight for months.

His gaze swept over a row of
wall hangings with quotes on
them. They were short enough
to read easily, even for him.

He was especially fond of
one, True Meaning of Peace.
The last few lines gave him hope:
Since the basic source of peace and
happiness is one's own mental attitude,
it is worthwhile adopting means
to develop it in a positive way.

It wasn't expensive, and it would
hang on the wall so it wouldn't take
too much space in his hotel suite.
Ahzan picked up a boxed one.

"I'm glad that you found something,
bro," Kshanti said, smiling at him.

The Head Room didn't appeal
to Ahzan, since he didn't smoke
anything, and the Art Spot was
of little use as he didn't do crafts.

There was a Craft Room where
people could make things, and
beyond that, a Tea Room with
commercial and local blends.

One wall even had dried herbs
in dozens of jars for mixing up
custom blends, along with tools.

Ahzan wasn't sure why anyone
would want a teapot shaped like
a bear, but it was interesting to see.

"This is the Crane Room," said Kshanti.
He brushed the strings of paper birds
hung all over it. "People can come in
here to sit and talk through things."

"Does that work?" Ahzan wondered.

"If they're regulars, yeah, they have
good peace skills so it works great,"
said Kshanti. "If they're tourists or
whatnot and we shoo them back here
because they're arguing ... eh, maybe."

"Peace skills?" said Ahzan. "Like
not hitting or throwing things?"
Or bombing a city to gravel.

"Glad you asked," Kshanti said,
grinning at him. "The Circle Room
is our space for classes, workshops,
and other group activities. Here's
a copy of our May schedule for you."

He handed Ahzan a page crowded
with text on both sides of the paper.
"This month we're focusing on
peace studies and mindfulness."

Ahzan looked around the room.
It had mismatched couches and
chairs with nature art on the walls.
A piano stood in one corner.

It was ... peaceful, and full
of interesting possibilities.

He peered at the schedule.
Unfortunately, he had missed
Introduction to Peace Studies,
but this weekend would be
The Path to Pacifism, and
he definitely wanted to catch
Peaceful Parenting Skills later.

On the back side of the page,
Introduction to Meditation
was next week. He could
try that and, if it helped him
feel more peaceful, maybe
consider the later classes.

"Thank you," said Ahzan.
"I'd like to try some of these."

"I'm happy I could help, man,
you look like you could use
a break," said Kshanti.

The store still felt good,
but Ahzan had seen it now,
and he really ought to let
Kshanti get back to work.

"Ring up my purchases,
please?" he said, lifting them.

"Sure thing, come on up to
the register," said Kshanti.

There he talked Ahzan
through the process and
counted out the change
slowly enough to follow.

The purchases went
into a paper bag with
a peace symbol on it.

"You want one of these
too?" Kshanti asked,
holding up a card with
a safety pin and pendant.

Ahzan wasn't sure if he
could make a safe space
for others, but he was
sure he wanted peace.

He could always hang
the thing on his wall.

"Yes, please," he said,
and Kshanti dropped
that in the bag as well.

"Peace out, dude,"
said Kshanti. "I hope
to see you again soon."

It wasn't "Ma'aasalaama,"
but Ahzan found he didn't care.

He liked "Peace out, dude," just fine.

* * *

Notes:

This poem is long, so its character, setting, and content notes will appear separately.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

>>With a sigh, he found the English start
of it...<<

I think I once had someone comment that I write Arabic backwards. Technically, I'm copying it, so I could write it upside-down if I wanted!

>>Kshanti looked alarmed, so Ahzan
hastened to explain...<<

Yeah, odd miscommunications like that happen sometimes. I think the funniest I've gotten are accidentally being propositioned, and an instance of my clarifying question freaking out a bystander.

>>"Man, that is harsh," Kshanti said,
draping a gentle arm around him.<<

Is anyone in town having problems with cultural differences in personal space / cuddling? I don't recall it being mentioned much, but I'd expect that to come up occasionally...

>>"Let me know if you wanna talk.<<

I hope they've got EFA training and suppourt for the helpers... you're never really prepared for the first time someone, very calmly sits you down and explains the horrible things they survived. Or very casually mentions a traumatic even as an aside/context in a conversation about something else.

[siliconshaman]

We've got a few shops like that in Leeds, which considering how stressful big cities are, and the number of students attending Leeds Uni, it's kinda necessary.