Write-For-Peace-2024

Write for

PEACE

Cover goes here

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Write for

PEACE

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Write for Peace is published by the SLCC Community Writing Center.

All inquires should be directed to: CWC Director 210 East 400 South, Suite 8, Salt Lake City, UT 84111 Salt Lake Community College (SLCC) and the SLCC Comunity Writing Center (CWC) are not responsible for opinions expressed in Write for Peace, nor does the writing represent any official position at SLCC of the CWC. The authors are solely responsible for the opinions expressed herein.

The authors retain copyright. Reprinting of this publication is permitted only with prior consultation and approval from the SLCC Community Writing Center. www.slcc.edu/cwc Cover art and design by Nash Hutto. © 2024

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“In a gentle way, you can shake the world.”

—Mahatma Gandhi The authors in this collection offer us a gift— a glimpse into very different lives and experiences with peace. We read how loved ones, a mentor, a personal struggle, an inspiring person, a community, a time in nature, and even a dog can teach us to live with more equanimity, grace, and nonviolence.

Clearly, writing itself can nudge the world toward peace.

We thank these students for submitting these writings to the 2024 Write for Peace competition— but more, for generously sharing their hearts and minds.

—the 2024 Write for Peace Committee

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Table of Contents Dear Gandhi

by Aamir Mohammed

9

Hózhó instead of violence

by Gabriela Barela

14

Maria De Jesus Perez

by Arreli Mendiola

19

Her Legacy in Me

by Tracy Fraatz

22

The Value Community can Bring for Inner Peace

by Mateo Ruelas 26 With love and peace, mamá

by Natalie Cabrera Mansilla

30

The vibrant world of Thomas Lanigan-Schmidt

by Camryn Bird 34 Maria a Woman of Peace

by Elisabeth Barrows

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Seeds of Resistance: The Palestinian Watermelon

by Sarah Elhaddi 43 Love and Peace

by Jennifer Gardner

45

Love, the Foundation of Peace

by Sasha Jorgensen

50

Kritz has Fish

by Derek Alies Griffith

52

Odes

by Krista Phillips

58

Finding Peace

by Hope Ramirez

66

Leave in Peace

by Alina Worthen

68

The Path of the North

by Jeremiah Palomo-Medina

70

A New Hope

by Katherine Anne Brown

72

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Dear Gandhi

by Aamir Mohammed (Salt Lake Community College)

When I was a boy growing up in Salt Lake City with my brothers Azeem and Ahmed, the name Gandhi was always spoken with reverence in our household. My parents, immigrants from India, instilled in us the teachings of the great peacemaker from a young age. Tales of his non-violent resistance against British rule, his salt marches defying unjust laws, and his unwavering compassion shaped the fabric of our upbringing. But it wasn’t until I was a teenager that Gandhi’s philosophy of ahimsa, or non-violence, and his courageous pursuit of truth truly took root in my heart and mind.

I vividly remember the day it clicked for me. I was 15 years old, walking home from West High School with Azeem and Ahmed on a crisp autumn afternoon. The faint smell of wood smoke hung in the air as yellow leaves crunched under our feet. We turned off 300 North onto 600 West, laughing and joking as brothers do, when a group of older teens from another part of town started taunting us from up ahead.

“Hey, curry munchers!” one of them shouted, an ‘alpha male’ showing off for his pack. “Why don’t you go back to where you came from?” The others joined in, hurling insults and making cruel comments about our ethnicity and religion. My initial instinct was one of anger—I could feel the blood rushing to my face, my fists clenching tightly. I wanted nothing more than to charge them and fight back, to respond to their hatred with violence. Azeem looked just as incensed, his jaw tensed, but Ahmed put a hand on both of our shoulders.

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Then I remembered Gandhi’s words echoing from the lessons of our childhood: “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” And in that moment, it was as if the Mahatma himself was whispering in my ear, calming the storm of rage. What would he do in this situation?

So instead of escalating the confrontation with violence and slurs of my own, I looked those boys squarely in the eyes and spoke with a strength, resolve and respect I didn’t know I had: “We don’t wish any harm upon you. All people deserve to be treated with dignity and compassion. Perhaps you’d like to join us for samosas at our home sometime, so we can get to know one another as equals and human beings.”

I could see the slight smirks fade from their faces as the message hit home. Bullies often act from insecurity and fear of the unknown but here I was, extending an olive branch of friendship. My words and tone were inflected not with anger or self-righteousness, but with the quiet confidence of Gandhi’s peaceful warriors.

Without another word, my brothers and I turned and continued our walk home, our backs straight and our heads held high. Those boys remained in stunned silence, their cycle of hatred and violence interrupted by the transformative power of compassion, dignity and love for one’s fellow man.

In that singular moment on 600 West, Gandhi became more than just a historical figure in my mind - his spirit and teachings were a brilliant force, a torch to light my path forward into the world. From then on, I strived to bring that same energy of peaceful resistance into everything I did, in every interaction. His ideals of Satyagraha, or non-violent civil disobedience, were the wind at my back.

I organized multi-faith community events, festivals and dialogues to 10

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build understanding between different religions, cultures and backgrounds. I volunteered with refugee aid organizations, helping to settle displaced families from warzones like Syria into new homes and new lives. And whenever I encountered cruelty, injustice, or those who met my olive branches with clenched fists of hatred, I met it with reasoned words, moral courage and an unwavering conviction in the truth - not hostility.

There was the time white supremacists rallied in downtown Salt Lake, spreading vile messages that dishonored the human spirit.

Instead of responding with violence, I helped organize a parallel demonstration of compassionate counter-protesters. Arms linked in solidarity, thousands of us from all walks of life formed a human chain, singing anthems of love and unity to drown out the poisoned rhetoric. Not a single punch was thrown, not a drop of ill-will fueled - only the resounding melodies of Gandhi’s truth force.

Then there was the incident when our family’s business became the target of ignorant discrimination and threats. A neo-Nazi group had caught wind of the successful Pakistani-American restaurant my father built from the ground up through decades of hard work. Instead of giving in to fear and anger, I sat down with the members face-toface. Though the conversation was tense and challenging at times, I spoke to them of our shared hopes, dreams and humanity. Of how, at the end of the day, we all bleed red. Skeptical glares turned to reluctant nods of respect as progress, however small, was made.

Through each experience, each test of putting Gandhi’s teachings into practice, his spirit only grew stronger within me. His words, “You must be the change you wish to see in the world,” ringing truer with every passing year. I’ve worked to make his vision of an equitable, unified world a reality by walking the earth as he did: being a 11 WriteForPeace2024.indd 11

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compassionate, rational voice for those who have none. Extending an open hand and heart rather than an accusatory finger. Meeting hatred with love until, inexorably, the flames of anger and fear burn themselves out, clearing the path to mutual understanding.

The path of peaceful activism in the face of injustice, of waging a legitimately civilized, reasoned battle by appealing to universal human truths - it is certainly the more challenging road to take at times. Meeting violence and anger in kind is always the easier initial instinct, the path of least resistance toward temporary catharsis. But as Gandhi showed through his triumph against the British Empire, in life’s greatest struggles, the high road is ultimately the only one that elevates us all.

At 24 years old, with Azeem and Ahmed still by my side, I now work as a community organizer and activist here in Salt Lake City, my heart and spirit forever shaped by the great peacemaker. My life’s highest callings are to foster communication, compassion and fellowship between all people. To make the world, in whatever way I can, a more luminous place than how I entered into it.

To me, that is the true meaning of Gandhi’s legacy. It’s more than just a historical tale we pass down - it’s an eternal truth and way of being, one I was blessed to learn at a young age. An all-encompassing idea that injustice, prejudice and violence can be met and undone through moral force, love and courage. Every day is another chance to get it right, to build a more peaceful and united world in the Mahatma’s image. To be, as he embodied until his last breath, a sacred, non-violent warrior for positive change.

And that is what the great peacemaker did for a Muslim-American 12

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kid and his brothers from Salt Lake City. He taught us the tremendous power of leading with compassion over hatred, with an extended palm over a clenched fist. That one pivotal day on 600 West all those years ago set me on a new path, one of being a humble soldier for peace and understanding. It is a journey I’ll be forever walking in Gandhi’s footsteps.

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Hózhó instead of violence

by Gabriela Barela

(Salt Lake Community College, transferring to the University of Utah)

Untitled by Micheal Haswood

Growing up Dine, I found myself seeing some of the stereotypes and struggles society have put on my people, but I have also seen the beauty of being Indigenous – as I grew up being raised by strong independent Navajo woman all my life, I felt the strive to excel in anything I did, I was raised to become very independent and as I began to learn more about myself and my family, I wanted to branch out and do my own studies on Indigenous communities.

My first research project was my sophomore year of high school for my English class, to present something that holds a strong meaning of change to make for society. I chose to research Environmental Racism within Native American reservations in America and across 14 WriteForPeace2024.indd 14

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Canada. The strive to show our struggles while still presenting Indigenous communities that maintain what we Navajos call “Hózhó”.

Hózhó is the Navajo word for peace, and our description of Hózhó is the power of being at peace within yourself and your surroundings, and that nothing around you can affect you.

Society thinks of my people as a past tense manner and something to talk about in the discussion of history. Living as an Indigenous woman in today’s society has mostly shown me the outside world thinks of us as in the past, not present. The topic of Indigenous people can usually go from only seeing us as a sad history story or something to glamorize by culturally appropriating our regalia or cultural practices or thinking of us as earthy spiritual beings, and not just regular people. My passion is not only to show our battles and struggles in the past and as well present, but to also show the beauty and peace of being Dine’. A lot of my writings has highly been about our present day issues of being Native American in our society and how it connects to our history, during my early years of writings I felt resentment and anger how my people are still affected from the past here in 2024 while still facing new ongoing problems, but I began to feel continuously more resilience and peace in my writings over the years and making room for more Indigenous voices.

The struggles of Indigenous peoples cannot touch the beauty of our resilience and the power we hold. Hózhó is similar to what I just described, you can see all of the ugly, but none of the negativity and hate we face, can harm our peace. My Dine’ family have always taught me to act with good intentions and present yourself kindly, never show your negativity and certainly never act out on hate as others, as my Shimá sáni (Grandmother) told me, hate and prejudice is like a disease. Hózhó is a key phrase we use in the Dine’ language by not how we interpret it but by how we feel and use our peaceful energy in our daily lives, during your space of positive healing 15 WriteForPeace2024.indd 15

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energy. Hózhó is one of the most important words in our language by how our beauty, peace, healing, and balance is a significant part in our life.

My talented Uncle, Micheal Haswood is a local artist in Salt Lake City, Utah and former head artist of the Utah Dine Bikeyah and is known for his unique Indigenous drawings and drew a popular art piece that reached Washington D.C to get President Biden’s attention to protect our sacred Bears Ears Monument located in Southern Utah. I chose to use one of Micheals artworks to show the essence of peace by how his artwork shows the simplicity and peaceful Navajo life and balancing Hózhó. The untitled artwork holds a strong meaning to me personally and spoke out to me when I was deciding which piece to choose from. I kept coming back to this one by the sunrise peeking over the Monument Valley mountain and the simplistic beauty of the Dine’ woman and her hogan, this to me resembles the beauty and essence of peace and Hózhó.

To me the artwork shows the everyday life of a woman with her hogan in the near background as she is wrapped around her blanket looking over at the sunrise over the mountains of the sacred grounds of Monument Valley. Now to the basic eye and viewer, I automatically think of the simplistic beauty and peace this artwork shows, the act of peace does not have to just be viewed, but it can make a difference, so to me this artwork shows a movement of becoming the essence of peace and seeing my people as just living a peaceful life.

Native Americans face many negative challenges here in present day still that still resonates with our past history, this is why its significantly important to me and a great passion of mine to bring the historical statistics to the table of why Native Americans still are facing the highest rates of suicide and lack of access to mental health care in America and Canada.

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The damages of gentrification and displacement on First Nations and Native Americans leads to health risks and mental health problems caused by industrial polluters targeting low-income minority communities and no mental health facilities near for hundreds if not thousands of miles. These industrial toxic facilities emit lead, arsenic, and other contaminants into the water, food, and lung of these communities leading Native groups to have no clean running water. Regulations and policies made so that Native Americans and other BIPOC communities are targeted with unwanted hazardous waste and pollutants, by the lack of power, the implementation of policies that allow these harmful projects to be placed within these communities. These structures and policies are set up by local state practices, leading to the access to have these toxins of waste and pollutants nearby these communities households with low income salary. Including the Native American reservations across America and Canada. These reservations were made by settlers to push Native Americans off new lands and leave these communities to starve, no access to regular resources they once had, and homelessness. This example is one of the earliest gentrification examples here in the United States of America.

Bringing awareness of the disproportionate impact of environmental hazards BIPOC communities are at the front lines of being targeted for health risks of being exposed to toxins, to the Native tribe reservations, leaving them to not having any real sources of clean running water or nearby hospitals, stores, etc. So no, there is no Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods near, the grocery stores near reservations have extremely high food pricing too, this shows why communities are also facing poverty in some of the reservations along with no good education and jobs. Indigenous groups are placed right at America’s dumping grounds as these facilities contain toxins that hurt not only our climate, but low income minority communities.

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There is no environmental justice without racial justice. Now those wonder why Indigenous people have the highest rates of suicide, when these groups have really, slim to none access to mental health care by being heavily isolated and living in poverty while living in a society that was built for white men to thrive.

Hózhó. The word of peace in the Dine’ language that holds a significant part to our resilience and our movement to spread peace and beauty, instead of the outside negativity and hate. I restate the definition of Hózhó to remind not only myself but to those reading, although Native Americans face constant oppression and battling stereotypes, we still maintain Hózhó, and see the balance and beauty of life. Micheal Haswoods drawing of a simplistic life of a Dine’ woman watching a sunrise can hold a significanct meaning by just using your own take on it by how beautiful it is on our land in present day, and how we choose not to use violence to get our voices heard but to show Hózhó to get Native voices at a seat of the table to represent ourselves and our resilience. Those can use violence against us but nothing can make us stop using Hózhó.

References Morales, L. (2019, November 18). Many Native Americans Can’t Get Clean Water, Report Finds. NPR Utah. Retrieved March 2nd, 2024 from Many Native Americans Can’t Get Clean Water, Report Finds : NPR Satcher, L. (2022, January 28). Multiply-deserted areas: environmental racism and food, pharmacy, and greenspace access in the Urban South. Taylor & Francis online. Retrieved March 2nd, 2024 from Multiply-deserted areas: environmental racism and food, pharmacy, and greenspace access in the Urban South: Environmental Sociology: Vol 8, No 3 (tandfonline.com) Morgan, B. (2019, September 9). American Indian Suicide Rate Increases. Nicoa inc. Retrieved March 2nd, 2024 from https://www.nicoa.org/nationalamerican-indian-and-alaska-native-hope-for-life-day/

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Maria De Jesus Perez

by Arreli Mendiola (Salt Lake Community College)

Google defines Peacemaker as a person who brings about peace, especially by reconciling adversaries. Google also gives examples of peacemakers being diplomats, referees, judges, and mediators. While Google provides extraordinary examples of peacemakers, the examples given are not those who I know to be peacemakers in my life. Growing up in an under-resourced community implies not having your typical educated ‘peacemaker,’ the only peacemaker I knew then and now is my mother.

My mother, Maria De Jesus Perez is an intricate woman; who although has yet to reach her fifties has lived and experienced more than most of her peers. She is 1 of 12 children, 1 of 9 sisters, and raised 3 children on her own. She was born in an impoverished pueblo in rural Michoacan, Mexico. Where she was only allowed to receive an education up until the 8th grade. Like any other young woman in Mexico, she married young at the age of 16. At 18, she welcomed her first son into the world, thinking her life had taken a turn for the better. What she did not know yet was her life would soon turn to disarray.

She was forced to leave the only life she had ever known in Mexico. She said goodbye to her parents, not knowing it would be the last time she would ever see them. In 1997 she found a new home in Utah. Married life had not been kind to my mother. It was this same married life that led her to become a victim of domestic and economic abuse. After years of ongoing abuse, she made the difficult decision to leave the unfortunate marriage. In 2007, my mother found herself newly divorced, a single mother of 3 children, and in 19 WriteForPeace2024.indd 19

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a foreign country she did not know the language of. Working 2 to 3 jobs to make ends meet for her children was hard, but she overcame it all and became a better version of herself.

If you were to ask her "do you regret marrying your ex-husband" she would say no. She does not regret the lesson he taught her, and how these circumstances have molded her to be the person she is today. These unpleasant memories drove her to become a peacemaker in other people’s lives.

Maria De Jesus Perez raised us to never choose violence.

Years of suffering from physical and verbal abuse had taught her that no good ever comes from being violent. Having a sibling close in age means there are a lot of unavoidable fights. There was this one time at the age of 5, when my little brother stole my favorite pink chair and broke it. I remember being so angry, I pushed him.

Unfortunately, this left my little brother with scrapes on his elbows.

Upon hearing my brother's cries, my mother came out of nowhere and asked what had happened. My annoying little bother of course hyperventilating, told her exactly what had happened. I remember the look of disappointment on my mother’s face as she turned to me and said, ‘Arreli Guadelupe Mendiola nunca uses violence contra la gente que te quiere mija.’ This translates to Arreli Guadelupe Mendiola do not ever use violence against the people who love you. It was in this moment our favorite punishment was born. Every time my siblings and I would fight, we were forced to cook something together. Starting with the recipe, we were always a bit mad, however by the time the food was ready, it was as if we had never fought in the first place. Not only did Maria De Jesus Perez teach us not to use violence, but also the significance of teamwork and communication when resolving conflicts. However, her teachings would not end there.

The fall of 2005 was when I first met Eliza. She and I both attended HeadStart in Hyrum, Utah. I remember our first fight, when 20

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we both wanted to play with Dora. This singular Dora was the start of a year’s lengthy battle. Everything was a competition for us, who painted better, who had the best Dora backpack, and who had the new Heelys shoes. This went on for years, until we reached the 4th grade, when a petty fight where “I hate You” was exchanged and as a result I came home crying. My kind mother sat there and listened to me vent. When I was done, my mother asked me why I had not tried to work it out. I said "ABSOULUTLEY NOT that girl is my enemy!"To which my mother replied, "How do you know that if you’ve never tried to befriend her?" At first, I was completely against the idea, however my mother talked me into it by saying; I should always try it and if it does not work out, then at least I tried to be the bigger person. The next morning on the bus, I apologized to Eliza and told her I did not hate her and was just jealous of her bright pink hair. To which she also apologized, and stated she did not hate me either, or was just jealous of my pink MP3 player. The wisdom my mother had bestowed upon me had led me to a lifelong friendship.

Where I realized, peace would always be worth it, and choosing violence would cause more harm.

These wise teachings of never choosing violence, choosing to make peace over fighting, and overall, just trying to be the bigger person has shaped who I am today. I would be lying if I said her peacemaker characteristics did not blossom in me. Amongst my friends I am known to avoid conflict. Choosing to resolve the conflicts we encounter instead. They know that if they have an issue with me, we can work it out together. My approach to solving conflicts with teamwork and communication derives from my mother’s teachings. Maria De Jesus Perez is by no means Martin Luther King JR., or Nelson Mandela however they share one thing in common; choosing peace over violence. To me, Maria De Jesus Perez is my hero, my teacher, my peacemaker, and I am extremely lucky to call her my mother.

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W R I T E

Her Legacy in Me

by Tracy Fraatz

F O R

(Salt Lake Community College)

P E A C E

I remember when I was five or so, I had spent most of my lunch time chasing down a group of boys that had decided that throwing my friend’s lunch to the ground was the peak of humor.

Something that my friend and I clearly did not find nearly as humorous, judging by her tears and my anger. I remember asking them to apologize, and when they refused to do, deciding that those were fighting words. Promptly launching myself at them and creating chaos as a fist fight broke out in the kindergarten playground. When teachers finally broke off the fight, my parents were called, and I was sent home early that day. During the car ride to our house, I remember my mom half-serious half-jokingly saying, “Where did you learn that behavior from, because it was not me!” Playfully asking if cartoons taught me that behavior, was it my older siblings? It was neither. I leant it from my grandma, Consuelo Paredes de Meza, or “La Mami.”

I could put a disclaimer saying that she didn’t teach me to fight other kids, because technically she didn’t. She also technically did. La Mami lived in my mom’s home country, Peru, while I lived in Guatemala. So, growing up I didn’t often have lengthy conversations with her. What I did have, however, was a repertoire of stories about her from my mom.

The first fact, one of the most important to understand the kind of woman my grandmother was, is that she was orphaned when young. La Mami was raised by her grandmother for most of her childhood, having to struggle to make ends meet for most of 22

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her life. That financial struggle she faced in her childhood made her leave middle school before finishing even though she was a brilliant student, highly praised highly by her teachers and peers, to work to support her grandmother. La Mami worked tirelessly since the age of fourteen, her sharp mind and her honesty caused her to promoted at any job she worked in, eventually making enough money to not only support her grandmother but also her extended family who lived in similar circumstances. Later, when she was twenty, she got married and had my mom. If this were a fairy tale it would end there, with a happily ever after, La Mami’s story is not a fairy tale.

The second most important fact is that La Mami had a divorce. A divorce in a time where divorce was not an option for women. At that time in Peru’s society, if you got married you were stuck with that marriage whether you liked it or not. Divorce was something that simply was not common, it was not to be “done.” Very few women left their husbands, and those few who did received massive backlash from their communities. The women faced social shunning, malicious gossiping, but the most dangerous consequence that could happen was physical harm or even death. Despite knowing that, my grandma chose to leave her first marriage. La Mami was unhappy in her marriage, while her husband was not abusive, he was not a good husband nor was he a good father. When he chose to cheat on La Mami, she packed her bags, grabbed her kid, and decided to find her happiness elsewhere. Finding that happiness with my grandfather, Santos Meza. Marrying a man who would love all his children, not only the ones that came after the marriage. A good man, who loved her in all her fierceness for all that he was a giant teddy bear. Together they built family businesses, built a home for themselves where they could love their kids, but also their community. Now that those facts are out of the way, we can move on to her stories.

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Some kids had fairy tales as their bedtime stories, I had La Mami’s life as my bedtime stories. I would lay next to my mom asking her to tell me anecdotes of my grandma, over and over again.

“Tell me the time she beat that cop up!” or, “tell me the time she broke off a fight with a broom stick, please!” La Mami was a ferocious woman, her childhood meant she had seen the best and worst in society. La Mami knew the worst of society, she knew hunger and loneliness. La Mami brought random people into her house daily to feed them. Perfect strangers. “Oh, who is that?” my mom would ask one of my uncles. “Who knows, but they are eating here to today..”

Always known to make more food than she needed, to give to those in her community who did not have as much she did. Afterwards the people would stay in the living room and talk with my grandma.

Sometimes they would leave teary eyed, but always with a smile and a bunch of leftovers in hand. Some returned frequently to visit, some never came back, but they all felt her love.

La Mami also knew the best of society, so she taught her children to communicate. To use their words to describe how they felt. To share their feelings. She was a confidant to all her children and taught them the importance that our words have, especially on the ones we love. That a well-timed sentence can do more than even a the hardest of hits.

She knew the worst, so she prepared her children for it. “If they come at you, square those shoulders. Make a fist and place your thumb like this— no. Not like that,” she would reach with calloused hands and rearrange their hands "like this. Good. Then lean back and hit them where it hurts!”1 Her children looking at my grandfather, El Papi, as if asking “do we really have to?” The answer was yes, La Mami made sure they all knew to defend themselves. For when words themselves were not enough.

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La mami knew the best of society, so she encouraged her children to pursue an education. To learn new things and to keep trying even when things were hard, or the product of said learning was far from perfect. When her children were embarrassed or ashamed by their efforts, by their failures, she would say to her children “Que es eso, verguenza es robar!” Which roughly translates to “There is only shame in stealing.” Teaching her children that hard work is not for nothing. It matters. All her children have graduated college, and all her grandchildren are also working on their education.

My grandma taught me a lot of behaviors I still have to this day. I see her in me, in my actions. Everything I am, everything I have, I owe it to her. I owe it to the sacrifices she made throughout her life, to have the strength to bring forth change—perhaps not for all of society by for us. La mami fought all of her life to give herself and her children that happiness, that safety, that peace. Someone to show them that peace happens, change happens, but you must choose to act for it. Because peace is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of peace. Of action that will bring that peace. La Mami worked hard to bring that peace to her family. That peace that is still present thanks to this day, even now that she is not with us. And just like her actions influenced me as a kid, they still do and will to this day. She inspires me to give the peace she gave to others. Maybe not in the form of fighting children in a playground but fighting injustice when I see it. And to never, never give up.

Her legacy lives with me, and it will always inspire me.

1

Heavily paraphrased, God himself would not repeat what the La Mami

actually said.

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The Value Community can Bring for Inner Peace

by Mateo Ruelas

P E A C E

(Salt Lake Community College) This is part of my story, and I won’t censor it.

I want to start this off by saying I’m at a much better place in life and have better management over my depression. I’m grateful for my life and that I’ve waited around to find a purpose worth living for. This essay will include topics of mental health and suicide, and I want to be courteous for readers who aren’t in a headspace to encounter these topics. However, I will no longer let this experience in my life live in fear of judgment. I know I’m not alone and I hope sharing this will allow comfort and peace to grow in others.

I sought a lot of feedback in the process of writing this essay with one question in mind: Is this too much? From the beginning, I had in mind a situation I wanted to write about. However, I felt concerned about how it might be perceived and affect others. I’ll be sharing part of my journey and my discovery of inner peace while highlighting someone who helped me see the value it. In some cases, people aren’t able to offer themselves inner peace, it feels out-ofreach and foreign. I was someone who was in that position. I understand what it is like to see peace as a fallacy and to feel disconnected from it.

For anyone in that position, I’d like to voice out that not finding inner peace doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It can be seen and felt in others. Something I’ve come to value and understand is the strength/peace that community and others can offer. The idea of peace shouldn’t be placed solely on one person. If allowed, the 26

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people around us can expand the definition of what we’ve come to see peace as. Alonso R , is someone who helped me expand my view of peace, and the ways it can exist. I used to see peace as a concrete feeling that wouldn’t leave once felt, but that’s not the case. Peace is ever-changing and will come and go; its absence doesn’t dictate its extinction. While there are people on this Earth, peace will always be a possibility.

Alonso is someone I look up to as a mentor and peacemaker.

While there are other lessons I’ve learned from Alonso, there is one that has always stood out to me: “Grow where you are planted.” I remember it during one of conversation about oppression and coming into acceptance of past traumas. I had resentment of what happened to me, and Alonso mentioned how all we can do is grow from where we are planted. I remember hearing this and having a moment of clarity. My background and identity placed me in predisposition to face oppression and nothing can change where I was placed in this world - all I can do is grow from it. This helped challenged my way of thinking as I felt stagnate in my life’s negatives, it didn’t feel I could come out of it. But with this quote I saw I didn’t have to hold on to the resentment of my past, with this words I saw liberation being in my grasp, restraints no longer felt permanent, I could continue living without being defined by my upbringing. Of course, it’s crucial to remember where we come from, but it is also equally important knowing that’s not all there is; we can become so much more.

When writing about this experience, it reminded of tree I learned about in plant biology. The seeds of Giant Sequoia can only germinate after being exposed to wildfire heat; it must be charted and burned before being allowed to bloom. And maybe I am living human of this tree, that my journey had to face it’s adversity for me to reach new heights, reflect and find new ways to grow.

Starting out college, I didn’t have much hope of a future for myself.

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I had this preconceived notion that people like me were made to kill themselves, it felt as though it was part of my story’s design. I never saw myself truly represented in adults and it felt like a clock over my life was getting ready to expire. Alonso become one of the first person I truly saw myself represented. I can’t express how impactful this was for me, knowing that guys like me carried on, and that suicide wasn’t our only path.

On a particular bad day, I was on campus and had reach out to everyone in my support system. In some unfortunate circumstances, nobody was available; I had called the Safe UT support line, and their systems were full. I had one more class that day, and if I had gone home after, I’m not sure I’d be writing this today. My phone was turned off, so I didn’t get any messages he sent, but Alonso found a way to locate my class.

We ended up going on a walk around campus and chatting.

Through our conversation I found a sense of peace. An indirect message I learned from Alonso that day is to become the representation you would have wanted to see in the world. With this in mind, I found motivation to be a better person; Motivation that somewhere out in the future, someone like me is having a shitty/bad life, and I could help them. My battles and trials aren’t just mine but can offer insight to new lessons I can pass on and lessen the burden on others.

And maybe this is an avenue to achieve global peace. When more of us heal and grow toward change, when we fill the potholes along the way, when we find peace in ourselves, we can help other find that peace and collectively work towards a more fair world. The salvation of ourselves/humanity through communal support as a means to continue the cycle of liberation—a liberation within brought from those who know and have experienced the struggle. A liberation sponged from the feeling of not know peace and coming to know it as a true and genuine desire: Peace for the world.

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I was going to end on that note, but one cannot talk about peace in our current world without acknowledging the atrocities and injustice happening in Palestine. I know people who have been ignoring the news of what’s unfolding because it makes them uncomfortable. I would encourage everyone to combat that uncomfortability and take action in what’s going on around the world. Peace isn’t a given certainty in this world, but it can be. The liberality of having peace can’t be true peace when so many others are in suffrage.

If we learn to find peace within ourselves, and within that peace wish it to be a granted all around us, then I believe we can find a new and genuine meaning of peace.

I’ll end on this note on a poem I wrote about trees recovering after a forest fire. It was a piece about growing where you are planted and not matter what we face, there is always room to grow. “May your soil be rich and your roots, ready to bloom.”

With gratitude from someone who stayed and saw the potential of peace, —Mateo Ruelas

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W R I T E

With love and peace, mamá

by Natalie Cabrera Mansilla

F O R P E A C E

(Salt Lake Community College) It was difficult for me to write about peace, I tried to think of a specific moment when my life was threatened by some kind of outside danger, but I couldn’t think of it. I used to believe that peace was only found after war, or after violence in any of its forms, but then I realized that peace is present in different places, aspects, and even in people.

My mom was born and raised in Peru, she is the third of ten siblings, and she is the eldest of her sisters. She worked hard all her life to be the best version of herself, and to achieve her goals. My mom is one of the strongest women I have ever met. I have seen her deal with life, and all the difficulties it brings with it, with love and wisdom. She taught me how to keep going even if things weren’t going well, she taught me that sometimes you have to draw strength from anywhere, but I must admit that my mind made it difficult to put those teachings into practice.

I used to take everything very personally. I used to spend a lot of time thinking about all the times someone did me wrong, how some situations were unfair, or how some days were difficult.

I used to believe that I could solve these problems myself and that it was not as difficult as it seemed. One day, after an unfair situation happened to me, and I began to experience physical discomfort as a result of that stress, I realized that I needed more help.

I couldn’t calm the thoughts that were going through my head, it was difficult for me to stop crying, I couldn’t understand why that happened to me, and why no one did anything about it. Talking to my mother and being able to have her close to me at that moment represented a great relief for my soul. Thoughts of how unfair that 30

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situation had been still running through my mind, but I was aware that it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. My mother hugged me, looked me in the eyes, and told me that, although what had happened wasn’t fair, there was nothing I could do to change it.

Hearing those words, at that moment when I felt so vulnerable, seemed very difficult to accept. How was it possible that I could stay without doing anything? What kind of world was I living in that injustice would win? I was aware that no one had paid attention to me when I raised my voice at that moment to defend myself, but wasn’t it my duty to try again as many times as necessary? Wasn’t everything in this life supposed to be paid for? My discontent was evident, but then she made me understand what she meant.

My mother calmly explained to me that reality that I avoided for a long time and that was difficult for me to accept. She told me that I cannot change the way other people act or think, who probably do not intend or seek to do so. She helped me understand that I can only change the things that are in my control and that the best thing I could do in situations like the one that had happened to me was to change the way I reacted to them.

She didn’t try to convince me to bow my head and accept whatever came my way, what she tried to teach me was that if I couldn’t do something about it, it didn’t deserve to be on my mind and disturb my peace. She was right, if there was anyone who needed to make a change, it was me. It was my responsibility to start working on accepting, reacting, and even adjusting my posture towards the attitude of these types of situations, because it would be useless to continue wasting energy on something that did not depend on me.

That advice she gave me that day greatly impacted my life.

Understanding that those feelings and thoughts only depended on me allowed me to change my way of thinking and being. I never thought 31 WriteForPeace2024.indd 31

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that I could manage to let go of that burden, or that I could stop giving people power over my peace of mind. That day my mother showed me how strong I was, and that to win that battle I didn’t need to respond in the same way. Some people told me that I needed more malice to be able to survive in this world, but honestly, I have no desire to develop it. Each person acts according to what they have in their heart because the mouth speaks from the abundance of this.

I used to let negative emotions and thoughts take control of my actions. I am ashamed to admit that for a long time, I could hold a grudge against people who once wronged me, and that, even if time passed, those feelings remained intact. Thinking about the way I reacted before is very strange to me, and I feel like that old version of me is a completely different person.

I will never be able to change the past, I will never be able to force people to treat me with respect, and even less will I be able to force life to not be so hard on me, but what I can do is continue cultivating peace in my soul so that nothing can bring me down again.

What my mother taught me that day helped me let go of everything that I could not change, helped me let go of the past that became my burden for a long time, and helped me see those situations more peacefully and compassionately.

I used to think that I would spend the rest of my life feeling terrible about every bad thing that happened to me, I saw the day as impossible when those negative thoughts would not take over my mind, and fear invaded me to think that I could never be at peace with myself. My mom gave me the peace that I couldn’t find on my own. She saved me from those thoughts and feelings, she ran to my rescue with love and peace followed her. I began this journey of inner peace holding my mom’s hand, and I couldn’t have asked for a better peacemaker to do it with.

I can finally say that the war with myself is over, and I will always be grateful to my mom for that.

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W R I T E F O R

The vibrant world of Thomas Lanigan-Schmidt

by Camryn Bird

P E A C E

(Salt Lake Community College) Hey there! Let’s dive into the vibrant world of Thomas Lanigan-Schmidt’s “Allegory of the Stonewall Riot (Statue of Liberty) Fighting for Drag Queen, Husband and Home, 1969.” This artwork isn’t just a pretty picture; it’s a powerful story waiting to be told.

So, picture this: It’s 1969, and the Stonewall Riots are shaking up New York City. LGBTQ+ folks are tired of being pushed around, and they’re ready to fight back against discrimination and harassment. That’s where our artwork comes in – it’s like a snapshot of that moment, frozen in time.

In the middle of it all stands Lady Liberty, but she’s not just holding a torch – she’s wielding it like a warrior, ready to take on injustice.

Her crown is painted in the colors of the rainbow, a symbol of diversity and resilience in the LGBTQ+ community.

But the real magic happens around her. There’s a drag queen, bold and unapologetic, challenging society’s norms with every strut. Then there’s the husband, standing tall and proud, defying stereotypes of what love should look like. And finally, there’s the home – a sanctuary where everyone can be themselves without fear.

As I look at this artwork, I can’t help but see bits of myself reflected in it. Growing up, I struggled to embrace who I truly was in a world

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that often tried to box me in. But through art like this, I found courage and inspiration to stand tall and be proud of who I am.

The drag queen in the painting speaks to me in a special way. Their boldness and authenticity remind me that it’s okay to break the mold and embrace my uniqueness. And the husband? Well, they remind me that love knows no bounds – it’s about connection, not conformity.

And let’s not forget Lady Liberty herself. Seeing her transformed into a symbol of resistance and liberation fills me with hope. It’s a reminder that even in the face of adversity, we have the power to fight for a better world.

So, as I reflect on this artwork, I’m reminded of the incredible strength and resilience of the LGBTQ+ community. Through art like this, we’re able to tell our stories, celebrate our victories, and inspire change.

In the end, Thomas Lanigan-Schmidt’s masterpiece isn’t just about pretty colors and shapes – it’s a beacon of hope and a call to action.

It’s a reminder that no matter who we are or where we come from, we all deserve love, acceptance, and equality. And as we continue to fight for a more just and inclusive society, let’s draw strength from the stories of courage and resistance depicted in artworks like this one.

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W R I T E

Maria a Woman of Peace

by Elisabeth Barrows

F O R P E A C E

(Salt Lake Community College) The crowd cheered extra loud as Maria walked onto the stage. Maria was not there for herself. She was there to celebrate her grandson, who was receiving his medical doctoral degree. Maria was on stage to “Hood” her grandson. To “Hood” another person is to confer the symbol of the medical doctorate to that person. Maria, like the other family members there to “Hood” their graduates, was a doctor herself. The extraordinary difference between her and every other person on stage is that Maria was 98.

The fact that Maria was a 98-year-old woman who had a career as a physician was not the only amazing thing about her. She had lived across the entire world. She was always interested in seeing new things and meeting new people. Everywhere she traveled she helped people with her skills as a doctor, and with patience as a kind listener.

Maria did this with love, with grace, and with peace in her heart. She spread that peace throughout the world. She taught that peace to us, her grandchildren.

I am one of Maria’s granddaughters. Growing up Maria was an exemplar of patience and appreciation. Maria always taught us to be kind, generous, and forgiving. She spoke to us about the injustices in the world. Maria did not just gloss over the inequality found in the world, instead, she taught us to focus on helping people.

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She had little idiosyncrasies, such as talking about the success we had on a grocery trip, how deeply appreciative she was of getting to see her grandkids, or how excited she was for us to be learning new things. To me, she seemed like an exceptionally hopeful and caring person. Then as I grew, I found out what she had gone through in her childhood and was amazed to see her optimism.

Maria was not just an optimistic person, but she had taken the unfairness the world had dealt to her and turned it into kindness and inner peace. The spark of peace that was in Maria is not unique. But what makes her unique is her lifetime of experiences that tried to snuff out that peace. She kept that spark of peace alive in her heart. She kept it alive so she could start fires of peace in other people’s hearts.

Maria was born in Austria. When Maria was in the second grade, she entered a Catholic convent boarding school in her hometown of Vienna, Austria. This was a very exciting experience for her. Maria was baptized Roman Catholic in infancy. However, she was not from a religious household and did not participate much in her Catholic faith. When Maria joined this school, she learned that she loved the practice of being Catholic. One of the nuns took Maria under her wing and allowed Maria to help with the preparation of the sacristy.

Maria was enthralled. She loved the quiet of the sacristy, the music of the ceremony, and the spectacle of it all. Maria had found a new home in the Catholic Church. But for how exciting this was to young Maria; it was also troubling.

Maria’s parents underwent a divorce when she was only three or four years old. During the 1930s, a period with strict Catholic beliefs, divorce was vehemently condemned by the Church. After just finding solace in her Catholic community, Maria’s discovery of the Church’s 37 WriteForPeace2024.indd 37

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stance on divorce caused her a troubling dilemma. Realizing that her loving parents were considered sinful and possibly destined for damnation according to Church doctrine caused profound inner conflict for Maria. This was an extremely conflicting time for Maria.

However, paradoxically, Maria’s affection for Catholicism only deepened over time. Maria found that her faith brought her profound peace, which intensified as she grew older. The more time Maria spent at the boarding school the more she came to love it. In 1938, Hitler’s rise to power in Austria brought about a significant upheaval in Maria’s life. Maria’s cherished Catholic boarding school was forcibly shut down by the new government. She was devastated.

Maria’s mother enrolled her in a public school, which lacked the structure and formality of her former Catholic institution. There were many differences between the public-school Maria now attended and the Catholic school. There were no uniforms like the Catholic school. This public school was not a boarding school. But there were things at the public school that did interest Maria. Maria was intrigued by a youth group reminiscent of her former school’s camaraderie and community service activities. This youth group happened to be the Hitler Youth.

Maria expressed interest, in joining the Hitler Youth, to her mother.

Her mother, Olga, revealed to her a shocking truth: According to the new Austrian government, Maria was Jewish. Maria’s Jewish heritage precluded her from joining groups, including the Hitler Youth.

This revelation came as a surprise to Maria, who had been raised in a Catholic family. Maria was aware of her Jewish lineage due to her familial background. Her paternal grandmother was still an active part of the Jewish community.

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However, Maria didn’t think of herself as Jewish, because she was raised Catholic. Her father was baptized Catholic. His father before him was baptized Catholic. However, this did not stop the governing National Socialist Party, the Nazis, from qualifying her as of “Mixed Blood” because Maria’s father was of Jewish descent, and her mother was Aryan. Furthermore, under the stringent laws of the National Socialist Party, Maria’s Jewish ancestry barred her from continuing her education beyond the eighth grade.

Despite her fervent love for learning, Maria faced insurmountable barriers due to her mixed ancestry. Without a formal education, Maria could not be a physician like her father. Determined to overcome these obstacles, Maria and her mother explored alternative avenues to continue her education. Upon completing the eighth grade, Maria pursued informal education through a test preparatory school, bypassing the formal education system’s restrictions. Concurrently, her mother sought opportunities for Maria to leave Austria, recognizing the paramount importance of education in Maria’s life. Maria’s mother found an opportunity to send Maria to America. Olga knew that in America Maria could continue her education and escape the escalating tensions in Austria.

At the tender age of 14, Maria embarked on a journey into the unknown, driven by her unwavering commitment to education. Although her path was fraught with challenges, such as being detained in a US concentration camp at the age of 15 due to it being considered suspicious that she was an Austrian citizen living in Hawaii during the events of Pearl Harbor, Maria persevered.

Maria continued her education. Eventually, she graduated from Medical School as a doctor in 1949. In 1951, she got married. After that, 39 WriteForPeace2024.indd 39

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Maria took her skills in medicine and spread them around the world.

She and her family moved across the world. She worked as a pathologist and Family Medicine doctor in Malawi. Later, Maria helped set up medical clinics in Indonesia.

I know that part of the reason Maria was able to persevere through all the hardships she encountered was because she believed so strongly in God. She was touched at a young age by a spark of joy from being part of the Catholic Church.

I was raised within the Catholic Church, but it did not provide the peace I sought. In my eighth-grade year, I encountered exclusionary attitudes and taunts of “Satanist” from classmates when I expressed doubts about the fairness of a God permitting widespread suffering and condemning kind people who did not follow the Catholic faith.

When I was young, I regularly fought with something that my Catholic upbringing did not let me have the vocabulary to describe. Later, I came to realize that this feeling was me being Pansexual. However, this realization of my belonging to the LGBTQ community further distanced me from the Catholic fold, as its teachings condemned individuals like me to damnation. Fortunately, my outward appearance spared me from overt discrimination, yet the need to conceal my identity left me apprehensive, especially within certain social and professional circles.

However, confiding in my grandmother, Maria brought me comfort.

Despite her deep-rooted faith in the Catholic Church, she embraced me with unconditional love upon learning about my identity. Her unwavering support reassured me, demonstrating that her love transcended any religious dogma. I cannot recall the exact moment of disclosure to her, for it felt natural to tell her and devoid of fear.

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Unlike the anxiety-laden coming-out conversations I had with my parents. I remember every detail of those conversations. Maria’s calming influence and compassionate nature exemplified the kind of unconditional love and acceptance I needed during such a vulnerable time. Her love gave me peace.

Maria’s history and wisdom imparted to me the importance of remaining true to oneself, even in the face of adversity. She taught me that peace arises from knowing and embracing one’s identity, regardless of external pressures.

Moreover, Maria’s example of traveling the world and helping people underscored the significance of advocating for justice to help one maintain a sense of inner peace. Maria also taught me that true peace comes from embracing our authentic selves and standing firm in our convictions, even in the face of adversity. Despite facing persecution in her own life, she never harbored hatred towards any group.

Instead, she advocated for compassion and empathy, even towards those who held differing beliefs. Her ability to find peace amidst adversity and to extend kindness to all exemplifies the essence of true inner peace.

In conclusion, Maria’s compassionate nature and unwavering acceptance have profoundly influenced my understanding of peace and resilience. Her ability to love unconditionally, even in the face of adversity, serves as a guiding light for navigating life’s challenges with grace and compassion.

From her early years in Austria to her global travels as a physician, Maria’s life was a testament to the human spirit’s capacity for growth and empathy. Despite facing adversity and hardship, she never al41 WriteForPeace2024.indd 41

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lowed bitterness to consume her. Instead, she turned her challenges into opportunities for learning and compassion.

Maria’s capacity for love extended to encompass a broad philosophy of tolerance and understanding. She is always grateful. Maria wanted to share that, for her, the key to inner peace is “the number one [thing] is gratitude.” (Maria Barrows, Personal Communication, March 15, 2024) After my brother’s graduation ceremony as people milled about eating snacks and celebrating, many people came up to greet my grandmother. Female medical graduates stopped to say thank you to Maria for helping forge the path they now followed. My brother’s professors asked my brother to introduce them to Maria to get a chance to meet such a unique woman. Every person Maria met that day, she met with an open heart. Maria would hold their hand, listen to their questions, tell them anything they wanted to know, and she extended her love to them. To me, these are the actions of a peacemaker.

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Seeds of Resistance: The Palestinian Watermelon

by Sarah Elhaddi (Salt Lake Community College)

This may seem like a regular picture of a watermelon, but the story behind it holds history of resistance like never before. For years following the start of the Israeli occupation of Palestine, Palestinians were banned from waving their flags out in public. As a result of that, people drew watermelons, enjoyed them, did anything they could with them as a watermelon displayed the same colors: red, white, black, and green.

It started in 1967, following the Six-Day War, where the Israeli occupation immediately banned the presence of Palestinian flags in the Gaza Strip and West Bank. They claimed that waving the flag was a concern with national security and public order. Making 43 WriteForPeace2024.indd 43

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these restrictions and bans were an attempt to suppress Palestinian resistance and identity. After 1980, Israel banned artwork that had any political significance, artwork that contained the four iconic colors. If artwork of this sort was displayed, Palestinians would be arrested for it.

Farming is a large part of Palestinian culture and watermelon is a fruit loved by many and it has naturally found its way in standing up against occupation. Displaying the same colors was an opportunity to let their culture and resistance shine. As shown, the image was made to resemble the shape of Palestine. For decades, it has been used as a political statement, used in art and protests, and in recent years, spread around through social media, attempting to flip the ban on Palestinian flags and keeping Palestinian identity alive.

It’s used in many creative ways to make a statement and uplift voices to protest illegal occupation. While it is a form of resistance, it is a symbol of a rich culture that has existed for centuries on end that will not die. As much as the Israeli occupation tries to fight it, the Palestinian people will not stop. If Israel stops fighting, there will be peace. If the Palestinians stopped fighting, they would cease to exist.

A symbol so simple as a watermelon keeps them alive. This symbol is a reminder that Palestine is not and will not be forgotten and that it will live on despite every attempt to erase it.

Now, this art is being used to call for an immediate ceasefire in the Gaza Strip and fight for an end to apartheid and occupation.

The art of this simply illuminates Palestinian strength, a strength that cannot be bought or broken. It tells endless stories written beautifully that can’t be found anywhere else. A glimpse through this simple watermelon is a time machine taken decades back, where resistance started and still stands today.

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Love and Peace

by Jennifer Gardner (Salt Lake Community College)

I’m sure that along the way, our paths crossed for a reason. I was in California, living it up in Hollywood, having the time of my life playing “hackey sac” in the park at 3 am high as a kite where I met a gentleman who would begin with me a journey that will never end. His name is Rob. He is a very important person in my life, not, however the perfect stranger I met who forever changed my life and mind about God and peace. His name is Vic Love. This may seem a bit ostentatious, but he must have known Jesus in person. He played an instrument called the “soulless” and told me that I was a sad soul and a rare one. Something that you might have surmised at this point is that Vic and Rob and I were homeless. He ministered to the homeless as a man of God. You might also have surmised at this point that I was one of the homeless that Vic ministered to. He would show me pictures of all the people that he met and helped. He even showed me the pictures of when he lived in the desert and came to know God with a glowing blue light in his eyes. He walked from Illinois to California with a life size crucifix and a wagon. I told him that I loved the Devil and he said “You can’t love the Devil, don’t say that. You shouldn’t stay around here they’ll turn you.”

He would bring Rob and I driftwood and bamboo poles that we made our little makeshift hut from. Vic lived right down the bike trail from Rob and I. He would bring us food and tell us stories. Such fond memories of life on the bike trail. I found myself, however, often writing in my journals and just wandering about I called myself “the backseat rider” as I often found myself in the back of a cop car 45 WriteForPeace2024.indd 45

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or ambulance and I was very popular at Orange County Jail with the deputies who would tease me relentlessly calling me “Wendy” and giving me advice about learning Tai Chi. I was addicted to needles and even though I was warned I couldn’t find the courage to leave for any longer than a few days in the hospital or in jail. Maybe that is why I’m trying to build this bridge to connect all of us and make a way for everyone to pursue any of life’s possibilities.

I am different because I turned into a butterfly coming out of my cocoon. I am unique and changed and I’m sure Vic prayed for us, but I was scared to leave even though I was in danger. I didn’t want to leave Rob. I just wish that I had told him, so he could have prepared, too. It has been quite an adventure trying to find my voice while following his voice and to stand within my transformation. I wish that I knew where Vic was now, I have a million questions. And Rob, too.

I practiced for hours in my head what I would say to him if we ever had a real conversation, and what might pique his interests.

It’s true. I thought that Vic was my soulmate. He was Vic Love, and I was Victoria Peace, side note I aspired to be a writer and Victoria Peace was my pen name!! I now wish I had travelled with him and Rob and Richard as a wayward family. We could have been a band. When I go back in time, I will remember that!! I was a little too wayward though and wandered right out of the picture down a path that no one could follow. Vic’s pictures though always a fond memory. In my musings I often think of him and wonder what would have happened if I wasn’t addicted, and I could have sustained my existence on the Earth without drugs. I know in my heart that his soul lives on in me and that we will be together forever wandering through this life and the next twisted and tangled just like he promised getting baptized in the River with a new soul and a peace so 46

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deep there is weeping with gratitude and love. I think the only reason I survived is because my journey under that bridge was about God and finding Jesus. So, you see, it all ties in together in a nifty little bow. From a tangled strung-out string to a pretty ribbon bow. I went into the river, too, just like Rob did. It was better than anything I could have predicted and still a continuous and constant surprise. As well as worse than the worst nightmare anyone could imagine, but I was open to the ride and often thought of God being there too, with us on this magical journey on the elevator from Heaven to Hell and stopping on every floor in a building that is infinite stories tall and wouldn’t it be fun on acid. That is all. That is all I prayed for: to have a journey. Vic was my usher into a new world, a new life, a new me.

Rob was a pitcher for the Angels. Richard riding in the backseat as lookout. Me just a piece of driftwood floating down the river of life like a turd.

This is an example of peace because we all had to fit in together and tie the knot, where it led me to a secluded place to really think about what was playing on the radio and learn to bend in the wind like reeds so I wouldn’t break, but none of that would have happened if not for Vic who opened my eyes up to believe. To believe that a power greater than us could lead us to sanity. Rob celebrated my desire to be sober, in fact he asked me if when I had my own apartment and I was clean could he come over and I literally said “Yeah and I’ll have a PlayStation ready for you (that you can steal).” I have changed so much since those days I was such a rotten apple, so if you are out there anywhere Rob, come on over!! I will cook for you, and we can watch a Disney movie. I am so grateful for that warning.

I can’t imagine who I would be without Vic. He made a way for me to know Jesus as his bride forged from the flames of the River as an “Ambassador of the Bike Trail” or having ridden on the back of 47 WriteForPeace2024.indd 47

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the seven headed beast and lived through the rapture and revelation.

We are one, Jesus and I, for eternity. The prince of peace and his golden bride living together in the new Jerusalem. Leading the way for others to find their Peace of “Love” We stand for peace and help others put down their weapons and love each other and send all the troops home to their families forever. We all need to minister to the homeless and warn those unprepared who are not where they belong.

We need to save each other from the perils that we have faced so that others need not face our dilemma but learn from it. We all play a part in this game of life. We all belong. Look at Vic. What if he was welcome in the world, exactly as he was without discrimination or judgement. He could eat at restaurants instead of out of the garbage.

He could sleep on a hotel bed instead of in a tent on the edge of the bike trail. He could minister to the homeless in a free clinic. They could share their unique gifts, talents, and stories with the world and inspire us and make a life with us, all of us together. Maybe I should just take some time to minister to the homeless like Vic would have.

Vic would give the clothes off his back for anyone, and that taught me to be an open door to everyone and that what constitutes hero to one person might not necessarily mean hero to someone else. Vic was my man on peace because he walked, and he walked like Jesus did and followed Jesus’ example. I remember conversations with Rob that he would go back and forth between college and prison and after I got in real trouble I was hooked. The Bible reeled me in and sank in its teeth and I was a Soldier of Christ ‘til Death. Vic would have been proud of me for walking, too. I walked like Jesus would have to the glory of God. They just paved the road. Worship chooses you, it’s like a calling and when you start to fully embrace that calling it becomes very obvious that you are on the path to your destiny.

Victor Frankl the author of “Man’s Search For Meaning” believes that having a purpose can overcome the worst of circumstances and 48

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be a beacon and a light to others. I believe that to be true and I think the reason Vic survived on the street for so long, was because he had found his purpose: Ministering to the homeless. So I am on a quest to find my purpose whatever that my be, God’s will be done. I hope that God wants me to be a superhero since that what I’m trained for and everything!!! I will restore families and build bridges, and write budgets, and make safety plans and care plans. Maybe even be a super doctor and write policy to feed the hungry and bring wellness to the sick. I will see Vic again one day, probably in the exact same place that I left him and give him a big hug and we can sit down and talk about our stories forever.

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W R I T E

Love, the Foundation of Peace

by Sasha Jorgensen

F O R P E A C E

(Salt Lake Community College) In the reverence of silence, her calm demeanor radiates throughout the room, and everyone around can feel the stillness.

Without saying much at all, the fog that was once there is now lifted, and peace fills the space. All the jagged pieces that were scattered on the floor are made smooth and put back together.

How can things feel as though they are crumbling before you and you can no longer see the light that was once there. Hopeless and lost, not knowing what direction to go and she steps in, not afraid of the darkness around you. The faults you see in yourself seem too overwhelming and unable to be made right. Sitting with you, she hears everything you can’t say, feels everything you never wanted to feel, and dissolves any self-doubt you had.

I always wondered how she was able to do this. How did she know my feelings when I could not understand them myself? I never needed to say much, just being next to her, she was always able to make plain of what was so complicated in my head. Never judging, always meek and tender, she was my light. What did I do to deserve love like this? She would say, “if you remember nothing else, I want you to know how much I love you.” I have never seen someone give such selfless acts of love as I did with her. She loved, with her entire being and if you were near her, you felt it.

As I watched her through her brief life, I learned more about how to give selflessly than with any other person. She would do anything she could to help someone in need, so many instances I cannot count them. She had her limitations but loved and served to the best of her ability. Some of the first memories I have are of her and how 50

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she showed love to everyone. Through her I learned to be accepting of others and see them through loving eyes. When so much of the world teaches us to look for our differences, she taught me how to see how we are the same.

I try to compose my memories of all the lessons she taught through her love. When I really think about it, she was a peacemaker because she loved first. She loved unconditionally and through that she was able to ease the heaviness of some of life’s hardest lessons.

She was and will forever be my mother, the greatest gift I was given upon entering this world. Through her love I felt a type of peace that had no match or limits. She was the ultimate peacemaker, with her gentle and kind way she made me feel eternally loved, cared for, understood, and effortlessly at peace.

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W R I T E

Kritz has Fish

by Derek Alies Griffith

F O R P E A C E

(Salt Lake Community College) Is it possible to highlight a peacemaker who was often not peaceful at all? One who had a habit of screaming, demanding things? Losing their temper over small and insignificant things? One who was entitled- believing they were a very high priority, therefore whatever selfish action they were taking should be a given? And did I mention they were selfish?

And super fat.

You heard me.

Rolls on rolls on rolls.

She never showered. Smelled awful often. I think she was proud of that honestly.

Her skin was teeming with coarse hair. It would rain from her smelly flesh everywhere she went, like some kind of medical condition although I was told it was normal.

Her tongue always stuck out the side of her mouth in an undignified fashion too! I know right!? (one, meaning me, might refer to this as “the cherry on top”) She sounds like a disgusting tyrant doesn’t she? Someone that our 52 WriteForPeace2024.indd 52

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spotlighted peacemakers should exist to counterbalance the universe!

Well... to this I say, you’re horribly mistaken. To this I bang my gavel and say, you’re out of order and this court holds you in contempt.

Perhaps she didn’t bring world peace with her many teachings across many countries (she was probably too dumb honestly) or was there for a panicked group in a state of emergency, directing others and remaining calm as to ground those in fear and anxiety.

No. That’s not her. I’m almost certain she wouldn’t want to be any of those things anyway. She just wants me to provide chicken and pay attention to her. That’s what counts in Maizee’s world. Chicken always reigns supreme.

No, she may not be those things, But I can tell you this, she brought me a profound peace I’ve never known anywhere else. She stood as a reminder to me that life is as painful, and complicated, and scary as I make it to be. That how I feel might just be something I can change and not something I’m a victim to. She was the love of my life, and if it’s not obvious yet, I’ll assist you here and inform you she was my English Bulldog.

I can only provide me, and what I’ve experienced (as can anyone) and my life is small in many ways. When I recollect peace, she immediately comes to mind. I even remember the day and where I was when I discovered this truth that changed my life: my mom’s back porch, smoking a cigarette like a nasty boy, stressing over this or that. It was a dark autumn night and my dog (as she always did) came and plopped her fat butt next to mine. She even would push her weight into me a little. I suspect this is how dogs hug. If yours does 53 WriteForPeace2024.indd 53

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it then remember that. Feel loved. Say thank you. Sheesh.

We listened to the gentle wind. It was quiet. And it suddenly occured to me that I was right where I wanted to be. Everything felt so unbelievably simple and nice. I had stumbled upon that amazing state that I think we all strive for, but for some reason, we always forget it comes from within. Not from out there. I think we call it happiness, but what goes up must come down. I speak of peace. Contentedness.

Being truly ok. Balanced. It’s a state one could remain in ( I believe) with enough mental discipline, but I digress.

After having this realization, I can tell you, I go back to it frequently.

Can’t pay that bill? I’m back there with my babe. Car problems? I can hear the subtle wind blowing again and feel her sitting by me. If you haven’t gathered that I’m talking about my beloved, very very bossy dog in the past tense, tis because she has crossed the veil of mortality. If there’s an afterlife, she’s going to be so pissed when I finally get there. And I better have chicken when I do. But while she was still with me, I felt I could operate in that contented state. Her low growls in my ear while I was sleeping served as a reminder. Her little brown and white hairs all over my passenger seat. Or her stink she left on everything. Lol. She truly is my Mother Teresa.

I had someone in my life, a mentor you could say, who shared a similar bond with his cat. It’s name was Luna, yet he called it Kritz.

Much like Maizee was everything but Maizee to me too. For she was the Bean, The Tudie, The Fussy Buffalo, The Grub, etc. She was the legendary peacemaker with many names, we’ll conclude.

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Anyway—he used to tell me, “Sometimes I get so unbelievably stressed when I listen to the news or when something goes very wrong with my business. But then I remember something: Kritz has fish. And that’s all she really needs. A whole mess of things could be happening in the world, but it’s all good and fine, because Kritz has fish.”

I understand this now.

Consider this peacemaker highlighted! <fwapping palms together as though he’s finished a big job. A little too proud of himself> In parting, I offer you one more nugget of beauty that I’ve found in my thirty-six years of wondering why I exist. This makes me sound like I know everything. But, for the sake of the paper, let’s just assume I do, ok? I always wondered how historically famous philosophers must have felt when they were proposing a new philosophy.

Feeding the masses from their palm a tasty meal of Übermensch for example. Reveling in just how true their words were. Biting their lips and sweating. Just overcome with their gifted brain. THE TRUUUUUUUTH I SPEEEEEAK!!

Forgive my sarcasm. When anyone claims to know “total truth” in life (outside of the scientific theory) I have to laugh at them a little.

Because last I checked, we all are just doing our best. There is no owner’s manual to living. There is no one born with a detailed set of instructions. Who never had to gaze into the abyss that is a lack of purpose or meaning in life. Many carry themselves as though they have such a manual, but this is their ego protecting them from you and me and all our relentless judgments.

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In this hilarious absurdity we call life, I have come to recognize that I can’t control anything outside of myself. It’s in our nature to try, I believe. You can see it all around you. Hell, my dog did it to me every day (although it worked because she knew I was a push over for her uglycute face) We try and find peace in quelling the flames around us. Many of those flames burn outside the reach of our extinguisher. We can save ourselves an incalculable degree of stress when we come to realize what’s truly within our control. I have me, my actions, my feelings, my words, my time...

And with this comes the understanding that if I want peace in this world-gone-mad, I must be it. Change all stems from the individual.

I’ll hold out hope for more great figures to pass through time and influence the masses and society for the better, but as for now I’ll attempt to keep myself in good standing with the world. It’s all that’s truly in my control.

I hope this is helpful to someone else.

And in times of trouble... remember that Kritz has fish.

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W R I T E

Odes

F O R P E A C E

by Krista Phillips (Utah State Univeristy)

TRIGGER WARNING An Ode to my Perpetrator friday, february 4, 2022 It was pretty ballsy of you That morning To force me to touch you like that The feeling of guilt immediately overcame me.

The feeling that never again will I be enough for someone The feeling that I now hold the heaviest secret The feeling that I am no longer me I was no good at holding your secret. Or your dick.

Although the latter is much smaller Both make me feel vile. Do you feel vile?

Did you do it on purpose?

Do you know that you’ve damaged me?

Do you know that by damaging me so deeply, I would never be able to forget?

Forget about you?

Forget about the evil you have done?

Forget about the guilt that I feel every day?

Forget about my inability to scream “no” at you?

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Forget about how weak I am? …

Forget that you were the first person to genuinely make me feel validated? To feel seen?

Forget about our happy memories and the laughter.

Forget that you were the first person that I genuinely liked to kiss?

Forget Forget Forget Heroes get remembered, but legends never die.

That’s what Babe Ruth said, right?

I keep remembering. Does that make you a hero?

As time has passed and as I have sought healing and understanding from the very few that I trust I have felt validated to feel my feelings. For only the second time in my life.

I love to tell people, “no worries! It is what it is!”

There are worries.

When questioned, my heart blurts out without allowing my brain to censor.

Trauma dumping. My new go-to. I’m not doing well.

This always leads to more questions.

Why so many questions?

My brain is confused enough.

“Are you going to report him?”

“Are you okay?”

“Are you going to therapy?”

“What happened??”

“Do you need anything?”

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“Has this happened before?”

They are only trying to validate me. I crave validation.

And yet.

Despite their support.

I remind myself that it’s my fault.

Since that day, my brain has become fixated.

I cannot move past.

With each panic attack, I’m reminded.

With each trigger, I’m reminded.

With each preventative measure, I’m reminded.

How pathetic I am I could not even whisper no All the anxiety builds up. I cannot tell it no.

That is what you and my anxiety have in common No is what I wanted to scream No is what I try to vomit when I’m left to dry heave until I collapse No are the tears I cry every night as my sobs are drowned out by the deafening silence of my loneliness No is the grade of my final that I just cannot find the motivation to study for No is what I sing when the Christian hymn leaves my throat “it is well. It is well with my soul.”

No, is my panic No is the trigger I cannot identify No is the aggressive shaking of my head As I lie on my floor 60

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isolated numb scared No is what I write on my hand every day No is my answer to all of your questions. Even when it’s not true or doesn’t make sense.

No is still my reminder that it’s my fault.

I’m afraid to forget the taste of no on my tongue.

I’m afraid of repeating this… again.

And then I wonder Was I incapable of saying no Or were you incapable of hearing no The morning replays and replays in my mind.

The record is broken.

The system is broke n.

Record is broken Is broken Broken broken broken I am broken.

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An Ode to Myself I’m okay. I don’t know if I’m trying to convince myself or you.

Either way. Progress has been made.

It has been 110 days since he stripped me of my pride.

It has been 110 days since I have stayed silent.

It has been 110 days since I began taking the blame for his pitiful actions.

It has been 110 days since the day that I will never be able to forget.

Why did I mark the anniversary of my assault?

I did not. He did.

It has been 110 days since my father’s birthday.

It has been 110 days since my best friend’s wedding Both celebrate purity and wholesomeness.

Both stained by filth and contamination.

He took these celebrations away from me.

December 18th becomes a busy day when I have to continuously scratch in more anniversaries.

“One year ago today” is not a snapchat memory I look forward to opening.

I am so tired of making space And I am so tired of the lies And I am so tired of the excuses And I am so tired of the guilt And the shame And the sporadic progress And the sadness 62

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And the numbness And the apathy But mostly. I am so tired of the anger.

I have every right to feel angry. But I’m not just angry. I am absolutely pissed. I am pissed that he would do such an unspeakable thing. I am pissed that he was not the man I thought he was. I am pissed that I allowed myself to trust even in the slightest. I am pissed that I cannot sleep for fear of the memory creeping into my dream.

I am pissed that campus is not a safe place for me. I am pissed that I don’t enjoy my classes. I am pissed that my classmates find me lazy and unattentive. I am pissed that I have given him so much power.

I am pissed because he stole one thing from me, and with that one thing, so many other things immediately followed. Above all else. I am pissed at myself because I’m not pissed at him.

Why do I keep protecting him?

I have an internal battle Consuming my brain Consuming my hobbies Consuming my work Consuming my school I have an internal battle What happens next?

I have come to the realization that I cannot win.

I’m told that for the first time in my life, I’m allowed to put myself first.

If reporting the incident will help me heal, do that.

If not reporting the incident will help me heal, do that.

If suppressing emotion like I have done for the past 21 years of my life will help, do that.

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If speaking out If silence If apathy If fictitious happiness If honest sadness If it helps. Do that.

The problem is, nothing helps. All of these things hurt me.

If I report, I am drama If I don’t report, I am a coward If I suppress, I suffocate If I speak out, I want attention If I stay silent, I choke on my words If I remain apathetic, I forget joy If I fake my happiness, I cannot be helped If I am sad, I bring down the mood Nothing helps when the systems are meant to be put against you.

Victim blaming doesn’t only apply to what I was wearing.

This sunrise of hope is abruptly swallowed by the unforgiving sea.

And here I am. A shell of a person trying not to drown.

Somehow. No matter what I do. It will always be my fault. I will always be the one with consequences.

The difference? If I report. He has consequences too.

But that doesn’t help me, does it?

And it makes me angry that I can not give him the same gift he gave me.

Pain.

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An Ode to Survivors of Sexual Assault I know what it feels like to be sexually assaulted.

I believe you. and it is not your fault.

The odds of being attacked by a shark are 1 in 11.5 million.

The odds of a woman being assaulted is 1 in 6.

Your fear of sharks is seen as normal, but women’s fear of men is delusional?

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W R I T E

Finding Peace

by Hope Ramirez

F O R P E A C E

(Salt Lake Community College) I grew up in a chaotic household. My biological father was abusive to my mother and was a heavy drug user. Eventually, this led to depression and his death by suicide in 2007. I was 5. Leaving my mother on her own and finding her own ways to cope with being a single mother. One of the many ways she coped was through unprescribed opioid use. This led to an unstable childhood for me. Not being able to know when my mother would yell, when she would ignore me, or when she would hug me and ask me how my day at school was, took an immense toll on my inner peace. Not only did it constantly put me on edge, but it taught me that 1) I needed to take care of myself and 2) I couldn’t count on other people to make me happy.

I can’t remember an exact time when I thought “You know what, I’m going to determine my own happiness!” Nope, that’s not how it normally works. What usually happens, or what happened to me, is you keep going through hard times. You keep seeing the bridges people burn and the lies people tell you and if you are a decent human being, it makes you not want to treat other people that same way. It makes you want to treat people, *cliché incoming*, the way you want to be treated.

I can’t say I’ve always been proud of who I am. I can’t even say I’ve been proud of the first 20 years of my life. However, I can say I have been proud of who I am becoming over these past 2 years.

What happened to make me suddenly have a mindset shift? As I 66

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mentioned earlier, there was not one specific moment that made me want to become a better person. It was many moments, but one of those big moments for me was when I decided to become an organ donor.

I knew many family members who had needed an organ or donated an organ to a loved one in the past and it was quite the eye-opener for me. I am a big believer in karma and that the energy that you put out into the world will come back to you, good or bad.

Understanding the good energy that was brought upon my family, I wanted to give that same energy back into the world. So, this past August I became a non-directed or good Samaritan organ donor and donated a portion of my liver to a man I had never met.

Now, I didn’t tell you my unfortunate past of my one good deed because I wanted to pull the sympathy card. My point is that everyone has a past. Everyone is constantly going through something and what we choose to do with that past is what makes us who we are. We can grow up and follow the steps of our parents, friends, or relatives, or we can choose to change not only ourselves but those around us.

I unselfishly admit that the answer is me. I am the peacemaker I know and the one who has made a difference in my own life.

I choose every day to make my life and those around me better. I choose to have a more positive mindset. I choose to put good energy out into the world regardless of what happens to me. I choose to change my path.

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W R I T E

Leave in Peace

by Alina Worthen

F O R P E A C E

(Salt Lake Community College) There is an unspoken dignity in the ability to die in one’s own bed; unconsciously listening to the comfortable hum of the voices that I have cultivated and raised. There’s no pain, but “I’m uncomfortable”. They hear my words but don’t really hear me. “I’m uncomfortable”. In spirit and soul. I have built this family bit by bit, brick by brick, hug by hug. Unassuming, unimposing, and uncomfortable.

“I’m uncomfortable” being seen like this, to be held like this, to be weak like this. Evenso, I am grateful, for the visits, for the wishes, for the company.

There is a dignity to being able to die in one’s own bed. My room is quiet and cozy. In the bed that I have shared with my wife, with the pictures that chronicle my life’s greatest joys. Listening to the hum of the voices of those of my posterity. My room is not quiet but it is familiar; the chime of my grandfather clock, the clamor of the world going on without me.

There is a dignity in being able to die in one’s own bed. When I wake someone greets me, holds my hand and shares a conversation, somewhat. I smile as best I can. I am joyous to see the images and hear stories of my lineage. I have done my best, and I see that my children and my children’s children are doing so. I am proud of them. They do so well.

There is a dignity in being able to die in one’s own bed. My body is sleeping but I hear the stories being told, the laughter being had. I 68

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want to laugh and share too, but my heart is laughing and my soul is singing. I’m not afraid. “I’m uncomfortable”. “I’m uncomfortable” with leaving them, who will lead and direct them? Are they ready to lead themselves? Have I taught them enough? Have I led them enough? Have I loved them enough? Will they remember? My love, my hugs, my prayers? Will they remember? I want to ask them but my body is no longer strong. Then I hear them. Sharing. My lessons, my leadership, my love, my hugs, my prayers. I hear them remember. And I feel peace.

There is an unspoken dignity of dying in one’s own bed. It is a sacred, angelic experience. Something I have never done before. I teeter between this world and the world I believe comes next. The soft light spilling in from the sheer veil of the curtains.

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W R I T E

The Path of the North

F O R P E A C E

by Jeremiah Palomo-Medina (Salt Lake Community College) Beneath the northern sky so vast, A tranquil silence, time outlasts.

Snowflakes dance with gentle grace, Nature's touch, a serene embrace.

Whispers of the pines so high, Sing of peace in the cold nigh.

Unity in the frosty air, Hearts warm with the love they share.

In the hush of the arctic light, Day meets night with soft twilight.

The path of peace weaves through the snow, Where quiet streams of forgiveness flow.

In Colors Dright, whote hears belong.

It speaks of times without despair, A world embraced by tender care.

The northern lights with hues so bold, Cast a spell where stories told, Of ancient lands and whispered dreams, Where peace is as it truly seems.

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So take a step on this path so clear Where the north wind whispers for all to hear.

That in the calm and in the chill, Lies a promise of goodwill.

Each flake of snow, unique in flight, Together blankets the world in white.

A symbol pure of what can be, —Jeremiah Palomo-Medina (Zenotic)

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W R I T E

A New Hope

by Katherine Anne Brown

F O R P E A C E

(Southern Utah University) I have been around the idea of peace and love for over the last decade of my life, but my expectations of living without the stress of society were becoming lower and lower. I had started college in August of 2023, got into a major car crash a month later—which I am still lucky to this day to be alive, and was losing my sense of self. I was emotionally, physically, and mentally becoming unstable, anchoring on to the things that kept me on my feet: my writing and my father.

I was sick and depressed; I needed to find a way to get better.

I wanted freedom within my body and my mind, to break from the chains of a grief that was both mine and not my own, of physical and emotional pain that had caused my depression over the years. Losing family, trying and failing to keep close friends, and to understand why I was living on planet Earth. I wanted to leave, but I knew my life meant more than just dealing with personal problems. It was either a constant meandering of who I was without finding the answers, or going to this Happiness Academy and seeing Prophet Rael for the first time. To straddle onto a string of hope that there was something more to this life.

It was December 9, 2023, and time slowed down enough so that I could catch my bearings. I was a little on-edge to go to the Happiness Academy in Okinawa. I was already aware of what I might be getting into: over 500 people were being taught by the infamous prophet, Rael—also known as the alien prophet.

See, when I started this journey, I had no idea if this event was going to change my perspective of life, or do nothing at all. My father has had a huge history as a part of the Mormon Church, hav72

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ing left it after 30 years and joined the Raelian Movement. Since my early childhood, I was familiar with their idea of Raelism—there was no God, extraterrestrials (Elohim, the Creators) created life on Earth, and the goal was to make a paradise on this planet. Having not been baptized or been in the environment of church peoples, I never had a strong belief of God being real or not. This was to my advantage, meaning I had no filters in a young mind.

I wanted to understand why they said there was no God since I was always around friends who were a part of the LDS/Mormon/ Christian Church, and a father who was in the higher ranks of the church in the small town of Beryl Junction, Utah. Worship God, our Lord and Savior, make tithes, repent your sins, and understand the Bible. That’s how you can find peace. Ever since covid, a lot of people were leaving the Church, so obviously there was something wrong even with the philosophy of it—by religious trauma.

So why did these so-called Raelians not believe in this, but at the same time want peace on Earth? How the hell are they going to promote this idea while also spreading their atheistic philosophy, showing their controversial symbol similar to that of the Nazi’s and the Star of David combined? Why did they connect the Bible to science, to extraterrestrials creating life and not evolution? What was the connection?

Many, many questions were swirling in my mind at the time, and when I entered the Happiness Academy, I hoped for at least some of them to be answered. Yes, I was unhappy, anxious, and worried about every aspect of how this would go. I was hoping to become happy, to find a place in life that wouldn’t cause me to have mixed feelings. I wanted to hope that there can be peace in a world that was hateful and imbalanced.

And so I went to my first ‘class.’ People were introduced, mostly foreign than familiar. I had walked into an environment that I 73 WriteForPeace2024.indd 73

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wasn’t used to. People of many nationalities were smiling, hugging, mostly French greetings since a lot of people were, well, French. It took a lot of energy out of me meeting new people, so I avoided some for the first couple of days. The lectures from some Raelians were very long—so long I had to leave the room quite a few times for ‘bathroom breaks.’ For some of them, we meditated, such as breathing exercises and humming all as one. Mind you, 500 people did this, and it was absolutely astonishing. It was one of these moments that you had to be there to experience it.

Finally, there was Rael. There was no feeling of that push and pull, of wondering if this wasn’t a good idea to be here. I, among other people, were simply there in the presence of a man who created the Raelian Movement 50 years ago. He looked each and everyone in the eye with a small, wondrous smile. There was no judgment. No fear.

No turmoil. Nothing that seemed out of place. He spoke, and love like no other I’d seen hushed the audience.

Everyone’s energy around me calmed and settled, like ripples on a pond smoothing out.

“Now,” Rael said softly. “Feel Infinity.”

I didn’t understand what he meant at first. Didn’t understand when some Raelians started tearing up, their smiles unbroken. They looked up to him with love as he did to them. He continued to speak, talking to us as if we were all having a one on one conversation. He made sure we knew that because he was the last prophet, it doesn’t mean that he is better than us. We are all one, all equal, all part of Infinity.

“Infinity is you,” he said. “It is as simple as that. We are a bunch of atoms living in a bunch of atoms. And you listen, now.” We did. We heard the sigh of the wind and the waves of the ocean. It was different from what you would feel in a crowded room unlike these Raelians, or laying in your bed at night alone. This was 500 people 74

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sharing silence, sharing love. A thought came to my mind the more we listened in silence: Everything sings. He confirmed it by repeating, “Infinity is everything.”

The more he spoke, the more I understood. Like the Native American culture, where they were Mother Nature, and Mother Nature was them. You are the tree, and the tree is you. The fabric of the universe is intertwined—connected. Humanity, one people, all divided into races, political parties, and religion, but it all has the same concept. It was fact, and it was science. You didn’t believe it because it was true, you believed it because you knew. And knowing is much more powerful than belief. It’s wisdom.

This is what it felt like for the rest of the week I was there.

Foreign strangers became friends with a glance, a smile, or a hug. The Happiness Academy provided more than lectures; they planned for meditative exercises, both physically and mentally. One that really stood out for me was a sensual meditation where you’d massage a partner for five minutes.

You see, we live in a society where touch or even being close to a person is avoided as much as possible. In this case, feeling someone is important to health, not just because we are deprived of it, but it is also instinct. We are naturally social creatures, and this world has taken away this gift of life, hence covid in 2020. These meditations helped me break some kind of barrier I didn’t know I had, and these sensual mediations really helped more than I thought.

There were evening talent shows and concerts of Raelians singing and dancing. Most notably, a group of women within the Raelian Movement call themselves Angels. These women were absolutely feminine, so beautiful and powerful—it’s like they were goddesses themselves. They clothed themselves in thin silk robes, wearing headdresses of white feathers in one show, and in another, they wore so many colors they became flowers on a field. Their voices were excep75 WriteForPeace2024.indd 75

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tionally entrancing, so much so that everyone was in awe, including myself.

However, one show brought tears to my eyes. This was the last one of the week, and the Angels as well as other women clothed themselves in their homeland cultures, dancing as each of these cultures would. They ranged from Spanish culture to Japanese, African to Native American. I felt so empowered, so reunited with what I’ve been missing all along. Rael was even crying himself, and he couldn’t stop himself after the show to come and talk to us. As a woman myself, his words rang warm and deep in my soul. “A peaceful future on Earth is a future led by women,” he said to us. “Femininity is a remedy for mankind and the way to prevent its destruction.”

I became more confident, became more comfortable being… myself. I wasn’t worried about the world. I didn’t care if I had a specific purpose in life. Every person I saw, Raelian or not, was a friend to me. I was living in a paradise, and I didn’t know at the time because I was living in the now, as Rael told us to do. There was no force, no negativity, no authority. It was freedom like I never knew existed. The love and happiness and peace I felt was so raw, so true in its form. It was as if the impossible became the possible.

I didn’t want to leave the Happiness Academy. Didn’t want to leave the smiles and hugs and the warm gaze everyone shared. I traveled back to the Okinawa airport, and I kept my peace and love within, smiling and recognizing each person that passed by me with a respectable nod. I departed from my fellow Raelians, saying our goodbyes, even though they didn’t want to leave either.

After arriving in Tokyo, I realized how much the environment had changed, having no one in the Happiness Academy being here.

The people around me had their heads down, eyes downcast, unsmiling, and a dull light in their eyes. I even told my dad how different it was already, and he nodded knowingly at me and smiled almost sadly.

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How much of a higher vibration I was, it was sad to see this kind of society where everyone was a stranger and not a friend.

I was at one of the departing stations to go through one of the security checks. My head was held high, looking each and everyone in the eye, wanting them to return my smile because it makes a difference, Rael had told us. Then, I saw a fellow Raelian, and I beamed.

We both smiled and greeted each other, breaking the silence that had accumulated around us, everyone giving us looks as we hugged and said, “Safe travels.”

But when my friend left, that was all it took. I couldn’t stop the emotion from flowing out of me, how disappointed I was when this society wouldn’t do the same. How separate and unfriendly we were to each other. I looked at my dad, shaking my head and saying, “Wow” repeatedly because I couldn’t handle it. It was all too much, and I was so, so sad.

“That’s why we keep this love, Katie. This energy and life within us spreads to others. To plant a seed in their mind that not all is lost,” my dad said to me. I couldn’t stop crying, how I could feel the others around me, stressed and depressed and angry.

So that was the purpose of the Raelian Movement. Spreading love and peace and upholding the promise to Prophet Rael that we would try to do what we could on this Earth. The Raelians’ own society was a paradise compared to the society we see now. All Raelians want to make that happen here, no matter how hard it is. Of course, it may not be fulfilled, and that’s what Rael reminded us. Do not force, do not worry, just be you. To be love and peace so others can feel it too.

Yes, this trip to the Happiness Academy has changed my life, and I am forever grateful for it. It has been almost 4 months now, and I have learned a lot more about our society. We’re constantly overworked and depressed financially, physically, and mentally. Because 77 WriteForPeace2024.indd 77

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I understand what it is like on both sides of the spectrum, it is more of a knowledge and an awareness than a let down seeing what state our world is in. We had evolved to this, and through time, power, and greed, using this gift of life was slowly taken from us. The privilege to live as a simple human being became nearly lost in history.

Though there is still hope. No matter how many turns life can take, peace, love, and happiness remain. It is always there from the smallest act of kindness to our significant others. My greatest thanks is to Prophet Rael for starting this movement. It means that there is more to life than what we see at the surface. It means a new hope, and as you are still here reading this, I hope that you realize that life is worth living.

You have a purpose. And that purpose is to live.

“Everything the power of the world does is done in a circle. The life of a man is a circle from childhood to childhood. Our teepees were round like the nests of birds, and these were always set in a circle, the nation’s hoop, a nest of many nests, where the Great Spirit meant for us to hatch our children.” —Black Elk, Oglala Sioux “The oneness with everything, including birth, life, and death, is an infinite cycle. We are part of this infinite cycle, [and] if you feel it every second of your life, then there is happiness forever.” —Maitreya Rael

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“In a gentle way, you can shake the world.”

– Mahatma Gandhi back cover goes here

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