On Peace & Presence May 31, 2014 17:40

“I let myself happen.” — Clarice Lispector

Peace. The word might conjure images of doves, good will, or 1960’s counterculture. More personally, the word could elicit memories of an experience last savored in the second movement of a symphony, in the arms of a loved one, or the sunny haze of a spring day. Gardens. A hot cup of tea.

Peace in this sense is angelic, not fit to endure the harsh reality we share, and its transient nature determines much of its holiness. This mystic and implicit understanding of peace has dual intimations: by nature of our thoughts, dreams, and perspective, we ourselves are not explicitly of this world. So, what of that place within each of us, by right of birth instated? That sacred sword in our mortal stone, to be claimed and wielded at will?

That’s presence.

Of course, this is an ancient concept. To a frequenter of a site such as this, another article about “finding your peace” or “let me inspire you” may seem superfluous, or even self-aggrandizing. But I’ve no self-help program, personal brand, or 12-day cleanse to sell you. I’m just a writer with a story.

I’ve never considered “presence” the preserve of those who lead a certain lifestyle. I think presence is a gift available to us all, simply by nature of being alive, and nothing can change that. Sometimes we just need a reminder.

Have you ever experienced a hypnic jerk? It’s a falling sensation that wakes you from sleep, and my friendly metaphor for the night I believed the man I loved was killing me. By my last slide of conscious film, I could feel my spirit shift in my body, refusing to be strangled apart from it.

Preparing to die, surviving still, is cathartic to say the least.

Rehabilitating, I was a shell of guilt. However somehow inside that shell a concomitant and ecstatic connection to all things was blossoming; I was falling in love with being alive, but I wasn’t quite ready to be present. I needed to cleanse. (Still not the 12-day thing.

I had meditated casually growing up, and decided it was time to reacquaint myself with the practice. A captivating, beloved and familiar sensation began to possess me, that incidentally had nothing to do with my pseudo-mindful past. Despite my musician parents allowing me every opportunity to not follow in their footsteps, by thirteen I was performing in shows with recognized artists.

Connecting with that divine kernel of myself which remained when I was lost in music… that was why I loved to sing, to perform. Something about the high of forgetting a crowd of thousands were just beyond the lights. Liberation in pause, the now and the always. The rush of that submission. Everything still and moving at once. The ultimate act of presence.

It’s never pretty, stepping apart from that high and facing reality. Nine years and two disappointing production deals later, I began to doubt everything I’d ever done. Everything I’d become. I resigned myself to a false solace with the wrong person. I wanted to disappear, tried to. I resented my own presence.

Letting go of that doubt, fear, I was permitted to taste infinity again; to travel apart from my body and own a stillness all my own, again. Still, I hadn’t achieved closure.I had to declare my presence to the world.

On a mild evening, in no make up, baggy jeans, and an old pair of Doc’s, I walked into the middle of Times Square with a video camera. 

I sat down, and began to meditate.

It sounds unreal, but all the chaos of Times Square literally vanished. For eight minutes, although I was sitting in the heart of one of the world’s busiest intersections of commerce and culture, I was nowhere, everywhere, in the haven of my authentic presence.

When I shared a photo of that night on my blog (above), the reception was unforeseeable and astounding. In just a few days, the post had been shared thousands of times, and my inbox was flooded by personal stories from across the world. My frankly ridiculous decision somehow resonated with others, and that is a privilege.

But I am not special.

There is a sacred profundity in being alive… each of us, divine flecks of light in the conscious womb of the cosmos. We are intrinsically aware of it, and this alone should be reason enough for peace to reign.

But if we are to side with Dostoyevsky, perfect and unchanging peace is not only impossible in this mortal realm, it is useless. If we are to learn, if we are to become conscious and empathetic members of society, we must know challenge. Our unfolding must never cease, and new questions must always arise.

The path to presence, consciousness, is lonely for a reason: it can only survive, and thrive, within each of us individually. We must walk the unlit and uncharted path within, claim our swords, face the darkness that belongs to us, and transmute it in our favor.

Thus it is only when we are uniquely present, that we are collectively nearer to a true peace.

I’ve nothing but gratitude for the ability to share my experience, and I’m chuffed to be alive, sharing my story with you. Waking up isn’t always fun, but there’s nothing like the sun.

Here’s to more unfolding together. One Love.

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Ana von Hannover is a poet, composer, singer, and songwriter. Her work has been recognized by The GRAMMY Foundation, The Academy of American Poets, ABRAMS, Howitzer Literary Society, Tumblr, Housing Book Works, and more. She currently teaches at a music academy, heads an online startup company for indie/unsigned musicians, and is writing a trilogy fantasy series.