Peace Begins in the Space We Can Hold

A reflection on yoga, inner observation, and staying with discomfort in a world longing for peace

Last week I attended an event at Riverside Community, dedicated to peace-creating initiatives for the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. During the event, we were asked a simple but deeply provocative question:

“If peace is a reflection of an internal state, how do we create peace within ourselves?”

This question stayed with me. I began thinking of the many moments in my life marked by conflict—externally, with others, and internally, within myself. And I asked: how did peace come about? How did I find peace inside, and how did that shape my experience of peace outside?

What I arrived at is this: the key to peace lies in our ability to stay with discomfort. To stay with the messiness of conflict, without rushing to fix, escape, or control it. It means making space for things to be as they are - especially the emotions we would rather not feel. Peace, as I’ve come to experience it, arises not from avoidance, but from a capacity and willingness to be present with, and fully experience what hurts.

In those moments of intimacy - being with grief, anger, despair, and confusion - peace arises when we have the capacity to create a holding environment for those experiences. What gets in the way is the tendency to suppress emotions, conditioned by our consumeristic society, promoting the pleasure of the senses and distraction from pain. So, what needs to develop is the capacity to observe - stories of victimhood, judgment, blame - and instead relate to those thoughts as passing waves, intense but not permanent. Emotions arise, thoughts arise, and if we allow them through this quality of observation, they also shift.

Peace is not the absence of chaos, but the capacity to relax within it - to remain witness while the storm moves through. It means surrendering to the unbearable, witnessing the urge to fix it, numb, or flee, trusting that even despair will shift. It means accepting what is lost, not in a passive way, but actively softening.

This inner attitude is one of the most powerful tools of yoga as I understand it - not just movement or posture, but the quality of observation we cultivate. A capacity to hold space for what is, without needing to change it. This is where transformation happens - not by force, but through allowing. In the act of surrendering, we step out of the way and let the natural intelligence of life move through. From that space, clarity and creative solutions to conflict can emerge - responses that are not driven by fear, or resentment but informed by presence.

Like any muscle in the body, this one can be trained gradually. We begin with less intense moments, on the safety of the yoga mat and/or meditation seat, and slowly bring the practice into daily life. Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, a neuroanatomist, explains that the biochemical lifespan of an emotion is roughly 90 seconds. This ability - to hold space, observe rather than react, and relax with what is - can be trained progressively, with patience, discipline, and focus. Once the intensity has passed, our body and mind can respond with higher intelligence and intuition.

Meditation is about changing the way you relate to the thoughts (not to quiet them), because the way the mind reacts to the pain is the game changer when it comes to processing pain and letting go. There are many techniques in yoga and meditation that help us to develop the ability to consciously direct the focus - for example, on the breath - and gather our attention into a single point. That point will serve us as the anchor, so while still aware of the intensity, we are not pulled into a reaction. From this steadiness, space opens up for thoughts, emotions, and sensations to morph moment to moment.

Freedom, wellbeing, and peace come from our ability to stay present with discomfort - and to consciously choose how we respond to the events of life, both internal and external.

Perhaps peace in the world begins with the consistent practice of pausing before reacting, of listening to our own pain without projecting it outward.