Again and again I return to the subject of peace. (Here’s another text.)
Peace is mysterious. I am not talking about “inner peace” now, but peace on earth. The two are very probably related.
The mystery about peace is that it is a mystery. We don’t what peace is. Small chance that we could find it, establish it and bring it about, without knowing what it is.
How can we have dreamed so much of peace, wished for it, desired it, without understanding what it is?
But wait, what it IS sounds like peace is something definite and delimited, like a piece of coal or a piece of pie or a piece of music. “Peace” is perhaps just a word and a container, and the question is what WE fill it with.
I see peace as a fancy package under a Christmas tree. I open it up and.. it is empty. No, sorry, there is something there. A note, saying “This is not war.”
Hm, I had hoped for more.
Another scenario: I open the fancy package, this time quite heavy. I am sure there is something in it. Yes, a note saying “Balance of power”. And a hand grenade.
