As the Paradigm Shifts | Let there be peace on earth — and let it begin with me

||| AS THE PARADIGM SHIFTS by ROSIE KUHN |||

Peace isn’t an idea. Nor is it a concept to agree with or a value to defend.

Peace is a manifestation of energy. That’s all!!

I want to see peace in the world—on the planet, in cities, in families—because seeing it out there gives me hope. It allows my armor to soften. It allows embrace, connection, and the quiet reassurance of If it’s true for them, maybe it’s true for me too.

And lately, something else has become unmistakably clear.

I am seeing—more honestly than ever—how I create conflict without realizing I’m doing it. 
It usually starts with a thought. Something disgruntling. Something subtle. I make it about
circumstances, people, places, or events.

If only they were different.

If only I hadn’t.

If only this would change.
If only that hadn’t happened, my life would be great.
I’ve gotten better at catching myself in this “if only they/it” loop. And when I do, I can see the truth without self-condemnation: it’s me creating the conflict.

That doesn’t make me wrong or bad. Witnessing it allows me to see something I’d not seen before. And that’s cool!! I get to learn something about myself. And maybe see things differently, only in serving to minimizing the degree of conflict I myself create!

Creating conflict isn’t a moral failure—it’s conditioning. Patterning. Habitual thought-forms layered over a lifetime– probably lifetimes. Beliefs, judgments, emotional reflexes absorbed simply because this is the water we swim in. It’s like all of a sudden being aware of the digital cookies stored quietly in the background of my computer. They influence what I notice, what I avoid, what I believe I need, and what I fear losing.

Peace doesn’t arrive by accident.

Magnetizing peace requires of me that I notice when my thoughts aren’t peaceful. And it requires that I be willing to stay present with what I see. When I stay present to these thoughts, unexpected companions arrive: wisdom, courage, intelligence, strength, as well as, irritability, discontent. All of those emotions I’ve been avoiding for far too long

As it’s so beautifully articulated in Oneness:

“In an environment in which discord reigns supreme and is unyielding, it is a futile effort to enter into a duel where bravado collides head-on with bravado. Hostility met with hostility simply breeds escalated hostility, reinforcing the vibrational building blocks for more of the same.” P.66

Armoring Against Peace
For many of us, peace sounds dangerous.
Peace implies letting down our guard. Vulnerability. Exposure. So we say we want peace—but only if others prove they’re worthy of our trust first. Only if the world behaves differently.

Another possibility is quieter, more confronting, and far more intimate: Peace isn’t something  I get from the world. Peace is something I allow within myself. Yes, allow!

I find that I can’t make peace happen. What I can do is see where and how I keep it at bay. I see how it feels safer to trust that it will never happen. No disappointment in that!

I think of my client, Carmen.
Carmen grew up with a mother who was emotionally unavailable. That absence shaped her entire nervous system. Her defendedness didn’t stop in childhood—it became a way of life. Even in her seventies, she lives as though she is alone, unprotected, and unloved. And, Carmen has been married for 30 years!!!

Carmen is loved. Valued. Appreciated. Seen. But the truth of those experiences barely registers.
She doesn’t feel the love expressed.
Why?
Because Carmen’s identity is still organized around armor— vigilance, invulnerability. Peace and love can only land for brief moments before waved off like some housefly swarming around.
What I love about Carmen is her fierceness. She holds onto the truth of her childhood with unwavering loyalty. That truth, to her, justifies the necessity of defense—always, everywhere.
Not unlike nations that cannot disarm without fearing annihilation.

Here’s what matters:
Peace, like forgiveness, can feel existentially threatening.
Carmen believes that if she lets go of the story—that she was abandoned, betrayed, invisible—she will cease to exist. Her story is her sense of self. To release it feels like erasure.
So she must armor herself—not against pain, but against disappearance.
My role as her coach and witness is not to minimize, reframe, or spiritualize her experience. My job is to validate it absolutely. Both the truth of her experience and the truth of her fear of erasure.

So many of us were told—by parents, teachers, therapists, spiritual traditions—That didn’t really happen. Or worse: If it did, you need to let it go. You need to forgive.

For those carrying trauma (and honestly, that’s most of us), this creates a special kind of insanity: I’m expected to let go and deny what shaped me. Talk about insanity?

If you know trauma, you know that to trust is hugely difficult. And, to have your experience truly acknowledged, valued, and to be honored for facing such horrific moments of existence—that’s when trust begins. That’s when peace can be allowed. Acknowledgment changes everything.

When Carmen’s experience is met as real, unquestionable, and worthy of dignity, something softens. Her five-year-old self no longer thwarts true connection. Over time, the grip of defense is loosening. Where dominance once ruled, curiosity begins to appear.
Carmen is now asking herself questions that she had no access to even months before, such as: “Where is this high-level protection still necessary—and where is it simply inherited habit.”

A few weeks ago, Carmen became furious with me. I had invited her to examine how tightly her childhood story still governs her present choices. She left the session angry, hurt, and contemplating never returning.

But she stayed present with herself. She named her anger. Her sadness. Her fear of abandonment. And I did something radical, in her experience: I didn’t argue with her anger. I didn’t shame her.
I didn’t correct her. I didn’t wrong her in any way for her authentic response to feeling defied—unseen, unacknowledged. All I did was, I witnessed her.

For many people, anger has never been met without punishment or dismissal. To be seen in anger—without being told you’re wrong for having it—is profoundly disarming.
In moments like these, peace doesn’t arrive through agreement.
It arrives through being met.

This is why the South African Truth and Reconciliation process mattered so deeply. People were invited to tell the truth of their experiences—fully, emotionally, unapologetically. In doing so, the energy of retribution was alchemized into the possibility of peace. So began the process of peace.

Peace / No Peace
Like the South African Truth and Reconciliation Process, sometimes, the only way into peace is through an honest reckoning with where no-peace exists.
No-peace lives online—in relentless comparison, doom-scrolling, and the constant invitation to fix ourselves.
No-peace lives in families—where proving and improving never stops.
No-peace lives in adulthood—where vigilance replaces ease, and judgment hides behind concern. And yes—no-peace lives in the world right now, loudly and visibly.

Writing this, I can feel how easy it would be to conclude that I’ve dug myself into a hole where there is no escape! Yikes! But the hole isn’t the problem.

The Hole Is Not the Problem
Digging myself into a hole doesn’t mean something has gone wrong. 
It doesn’t mean I’ve failed, regressed, or lost my way.
It means I’ve arrived.
The hole is not a problem to solve—it’s the beginning of the In-Between.
As I found myself in this hole, I rushed to create an escape. I labeled it confusion, conflict, breakdown, or despair. I looked for exits, answers. The thought, “I better get this right, so I can look smart,” arose.

And then I paused and asked: What if this very place—the unsettled, unresolved, uncomfortable middle—is the seedbed for peace to emerge?
Peace doesn’t come from letting go of the hole—or escaping it.
Peace comes from not being alone inside it anymore.
Peace is not the absence of conflict.
Peace is a process—one that unfolds within conflict when it is met with presence, honesty, and relationship.

Within the In-Between live the building blocks of peace—the technologies. And alchemical processes.
This is where witnessing replaces fixing.
Where acknowledgment softens armor.
Where truth is allowed to be real without becoming tyrannical.
Where staying becomes more powerful than escaping.
Peace is born when conflict is no longer met with abandonment—of self or of another.

This is what I honor in Carmen.
This is what I see in reconciling the holes—the in betweens.
And this is what I’m learning in myself.
Peace isn’t an outcome waiting on the other side of resolution.
Peace is what becomes possible when I remain present long enough—open enough—for something new to take shape right here.
Let there be peace on earth.
And let it begin with me—not by fixing the world—but by staying, together, in the holy, uncomfortable, life-giving In-Between. In me.

The song
Let There Be Peace on Earth was written by the husband-and-wife songwriting team Jill Jackson-Miller and Sy Miller in 1955, inspired by their vision for world peace, with the message that peace starts with the individual. It was first introduced at a youth retreat for students from diverse backgrounds and has since become a globally recognized anthem for peace.