Peace is in the Pages

“Peace is in the Pages”

Everything is dark as I awake suddenly out of a broken sleep. I am not in my bed and I am definitely not in my room. I can see the outline of an old familiar lamp stand in the corner and the moon is casting reflections off of a nearby mirror. As my eyes adjust to the night, I can see the dark red walls and the familiar family pictures hanging. Seeing the familiar faces in frames brings peace to my anxious heart. The chair I am sitting in is my father’s chair- big, black and leather. Sitting in its strength brings me peace. The fireplace along the wall still has the memory of a fire that burned earlier. Embers are refusing to die and coals still beg to be stirred. The dull light they produce bring my dark heart peace. As I continue to gaze around, my eyes rest on a book on the table besides me. I am drawn to it. Maybe its curiosity, maybe its anxiety but as I pick it up I begin to wonder if this book is what was haunting my dreams. It is familiar in my hands, I have seen this book often. It belongs to my mother. The pages are ripped and tattered and the binding is slowly breaking. I know that this is the book that brings comfort to my mom, but I also know this the book, that in the deepest of the night, screams at me to awaken. I try to ignore its calling, but tonight it seems to have found me.
I remember when I was young, if I would ever wake up early enough, I could find my mom downstairs, reading this book by the fireplace. I remember watching her and wondering why she loved it so much. Why had she read it so many times? Perhaps if she loved that book so much, I should too? I would look at her peaceful face, highlighted by the flames in the fireplace, drinking a warm cup of coffee, lost in a thousand words. I wondered it I would ever be peaceful like she was peaceful, maybe one day I would find that peace, but for now I was content to just sit and watch her.
But today I am in college, and my professor gave me a different book. He pulled it out of his old bookcase behind his desk and thrust it into my hands. It was ripped and tattered and the pages seemed as if they were hanging onto their last thread. It had obviously been used much. Along the side, embossed in gold, it read “The Humanist Manifesto.” And as I fingered it, I knew one thing for sure, this book goes against everything in my moms book. I also know that it is where my professor and many of my peers have found their inner peace. So as I sat there today in his office, with that book in my hand and memories in my heart, I began to wonder whose peace was true, whose peace was real? Could they both be real?
So I grabbed the Manifesto and I walked outside to the college campus’ courtyard. Students were busy ordering coffee, flirting with their boyfriends, listening to their ipods, and studying diligently under the cherry blossoms. I looked at all the wandering students and wondered to myself, which ones had true peace. In the middle of the campus there was a fountain. The water was turned off due to the freezing conditions, but there was a rockery that towered through the middle of the masterpiece. At that moment I resolved to find an answer to my deepest question. I walked over to the rockery and climbed to the very top. I stood, Manifesto in hand, and with all the courage and frustration inside of me, yelled at the top of my lungs “Who knows Peace!?”.
After I yelled this, a hush fell over the student body. A minute went by and then a boy emerged from the staring crowd. He walked over towards me in his dark framed glasses and brown striped polo. He set his backpack on the stone bench in front of the fountain. He unzipped and rummaged through a bunch of, what I assume, were class textbooks. Finally he found what he was looking for and as he pulled out a book, I immediately recognized it. It looked just like my moms book. As I was looking at him, his eyes caught mine and held them steady and seemed to pierce right through me. He broke off the gaze and set the book down in front of me and said “My friend, peace is found in these pages.” And with that he walked away, leaving me, my thoughts and my two books to wonder if what he said was true.
And now I sit, in this big black chair, my anxious dream running through my mind and the silent moon watching me ponder the decision in front of me. Is peace found in my moms favorite book or in my professors Manifesto? A few seconds go by and my mind is now made up. I light the fireplace, brew a fresh batch of coffee and open the pages to the book that is said to have peace in the pages. I begin to read, I read all night, one story after another, I read. And as I read, the anxiety of the night slips away and the peace I have longed for every day is brought with the morning’s magnificent light.