The Art of Peace
Pain, the reluctantly hopeful song from Philadelphia-based band The War on Drugs is, for me, not just a well-written tune, but also a fantastic source of self-reflection. It’s about acceptance and longing but it is also a contemplation in the stripping bare of what is unessential and transient just to find yourself back again at the crossroads of change. It is a potent lesson in transforming and decomposition into a state that could be considered simultaneously sublime and bleak at once. But merely by its existence alone and not by dissection. I feel obliged to reveal the unfoldment of my thoughts and feelings.
This is a meditation.
As I sit here at my desk thinking about how I got to this state of mind, my Amazon music playlist drones in the background, providing a soundtrack to my daydreams. It’s The War On Drugs and they’re a great band so I put their station on a loop. I have only discovered them in recent years, as an adult. How did I go so long without obsessing over this band? There are so many good bands out there in the world. Some get recognition. Most do not. It really is a shameful joy to realize that art is in such abundance with or without notice. That’s kind of why I’m writing this message. I’m made suddenly aware of the presence of abundant beauty in daily life. I’m here because I am in such a state of ecstasy, completely immersed in this sonic cage. The unintentional power of this lamentation brings me down hard onto purely emotional ground. A ground unwatered and desolate. A foundation that isn’t. I am left displaced and beaten. “I know it’s hard looking in, knowing that tomorrow you’ll be back again,” rips through in the first verse, making a clean cut. And not to be outdone, the chorus cries out, “I want to find what can’t be found,” which rings painfully true. It’s all so visceral; every single line penetrates. This track has so much meaning! It is as though this track is tapping into some unrecounted memories of a life half-lived or telling me that I should live my life such that a realization never surfaces. This all seems quite dark but there is a subtle sweetness to the theme.
Is it my memory that this song is dissecting or is it just some archetype in which I’ve been clothed? Whose pain are these words commanding and when?
As far as I can tell, the pain is my own but feelings are deceptive. After all, we want to feel; we long for feelings and become uncomfortable when they lie. But this is what it means to me. Hopefully tragic. Tragically sweet. For many, pain is what it means to be human; to some, it justifies desire. It’s part of the “why” in their very humanness. Nevertheless, this pain is also growth. It is experience. You see, it’s not really the song itself that made me see. It’s the vision that is created upon listening and the fantasy that ensues.
I began to wonder why the struggles that have befallen me ever manifested and then I savor the fact that my life has, for the most part, been rather fortunate. And while a kernel of guilt follows my feelings of woe, I can’t help imagining that my life — all our lives should be more perfect. Can we do more to better our condition or is it just fate? Why do these things happen to us?
But, as I have mentioned, my life is no Romeo and Juliet. I have enjoyed a somewhat favored existence. Lest I say, I’ve had a good life up to this point. These current moments in my life seem resistant to becoming absolutely what I would imagine them to be and the real tragedy is in the knowing that I and I alone am the sole proprietor of my life’s direction.
I believe that we are the masters of our own power. The architects of our destinies. Whether it be as individuals or as a mass of consciousness, we are the makers of our own proverbial beds. This mass of consciousness can also be referred to as Our Collective Experience. The Source of Our Collective Experience works through us and IS us.
While we may sometimes sense loss and harbor anxieties of uncertainty we should remember that life is made up of a series of choices. We may not have the greatest options available but, nevertheless, we choose. And no matter what or who we believe in or how, there is and will be something that reminds us of the hope that is left at the end of the day.
The year is 2022 and the world braces. Darkness appears as the constant companion. In America, young people are consuming marijuana and psychedelics at an increasing rate according to this August 22 article from the National Institute on Drug-Abuse. What are we to make of all of this: a pandemic, flailing democracies, cultural upheaval, wars, rumors of wars, civil decline, and the continual disgrace against our already fragile Earth Mother?
At the core of my thought is the unbreakable knowing that I brought me here. We bring to ourselves what is needed even if we don’t understand it to be truth. The pain may settle deep within us and it may be unyielding at times but it’s a page amongst many varied pages in the book of life. In time it decays if only a little. In time everything comes back around in the cycle of experience and we soon resign in our attempts to affect this timeless ring. Instead we as one mind, one soul decide that we are the Source. It’s by our design. All of it. We get to choose. Suddenly, it’s no longer about an entity up there or out there, or somewhere else. It’s not about he, she, they, or it. It’s not an us versus them. We are one. We the One must cultivate self-awareness if we are to reform this world. This is the essence of my words.
These and other fragments of mind evolved from the simple and melodic fabric of a song. Hanging my head in quiet torment, considering all at once my course. Here I am back here again. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
And yes, all of this was inspired by a song played on repeat as I thought and fretted and courted regret. This is the first of many glorious rantings spawned from my strange mind, whether they be inspired by music looped for hours or within a fit of silence while I drift away into the far reaches of the intellectual sky.
Peace
Ezra Bradford