Inquiry: It’s my peace

It’s my peace.

Situation: (a) Someone is noisy on the train (playing loud music, talking loudly.)

(b) A neighbor who is noisy (loud talking, music, construction.)



Sure it’s true?


What happens, how do you react, when you have that belief?

I tell myself they are disturbing my peace.

I get agitated. Tense.

I want to be somewhere else.

I put them down in my mind. I tell myself they are crude, uncivilized, disrespectful, unaware, not mindful.

I feel that there is no room for me in this world.

My breath is shallow. My shoulders and calves tense up.

I send them “the look”.

I notice my reactivity, and hold back from talking with them for that reason.

I sometimes ask them to quiet down, and do so with some tension and reactivity.

Who would you be without that thought?

Noticing that a sense of peace comes and goes. It’s not what I am. It’s content of experience.

I am more free to (a) remove myself from the situation and (b) ask them to quiet down.

I am curious to see if there is peace here, even when I tell myself there is not.

I may find enjoyment in the sounds.

I may notice that sounds happen in/as awareness.

I may notice how sounds appear instantaneously in/as awareness, and that any reactivity belongs to a whole set of images that comes later on (an image of a sound, a person creating the sound, a me here, being disturbed by it, reacting to it).


TA: It’s not my peace.

It came on its own accord. It leaves on its own accord. It lives its own life.

I don’t “own” it. I can’t control it.

“Peace” is a label. It’s not what it really is.

TA: It’s my war.

I am the one creating a war in my mind around this.

I believe my images/stories, and there is war.

There is no war/unrest inherent in the situation itself.

– o –

Additional beliefs

They are crude, uncivilized, disrespectful, unaware, not mindful.

There is no room for me in this world.

I am too sensitive for this world.

There is something wrong with me.

I am immature (in how I relate to noise).

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An a favorite comic book story from childhood: Donald’s Raucous Role by Carl Barks.

(I was sound sensitive even back then! And is that true?)

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