Jane Tawel

Even When We Are Numb, Let’s Stand and Deliver for Love

By now, I almost want to stay numb and depressed, but I am still just stubborn enough, I guess, to not want to give evil , insane, war-mongering, greedy, immoral, or just plain foolish people what they want. And every day I am reminded that there are good people in the world, and that the planet is ours to save, and that America really, honestly, needed to change anyway, so if it has to change by a trial by fire, so be it, I will keep working with the fire brigade as best I can.

So you know that awful feeling when your leg and foot fall asleep — the numb, painful tingles? and how it is excruciating to stand? Well, I remind myself that even though both legs, arms, and my mind are numbed and in pain, tingling with disbelief, anger and sorrow, I remind myself that the house is on fire, so I gotta keep getting up and keep moving toward The Way, toward Goodness and Light. Folks, the fire is raging, but despite our desire to give in to the numbness — we gotta vote for democracy and a return to reason, vote with our dollars, yell, move, and stand and deliver, ya’all.

And those of us who have tried, failingly to be sure, but have tried, to walk The Way with the idea that the God of the Bible and Jesus have the most loving, gracious, justice-freedom toting message of all — meaning Love above all and for ALL — we need to speak out and more importantly LIVE OUT, what God is really like and what Jesus really taught and lived. Because what those greedy warmongers, foolish fear-mongers, judgmental non-thinkers, and sleight-of-hand shysters in the halls of power, both under the guise of American and Religious powers, are trying to sell you are selling you fire policies for houses underwater, not Life Policies for Houses built on The Rock of True Life.

May your numbness be not more than you can bear to carry today. May you let your anger make you determined, your sorrow make you compassionate, and your numbness let you know that we need each other and we are not alone. Then, unlike the person mentioned in this article — Think about others and as The Good Book advices, when you can, “think on these things: whatever is true, right, pure, honorable, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praisworthy.” (Philippians 4:8)

We are numb, we are afraid, we are angry and sad, but lastly remember — no matter what the end point is — Hope is free and Love is forever.

This is from a long, hard read about just the latest insanity in America, but it sums it all up with facts. It is from a great newsletter you can find on Facebook and Substack called: Oregon’s Bay Area, by a mother/ daughter team, the Geddry’s.

Here is a quote near the punchline of this article: “That is the connective tissue between Trump’s redistricting brag, his openness to sending National Guard or ICE to voting locations, his terror of a Democratic House with subpoena power, and the GOP’s willingness to keep funding the whole circus. They are not waiting for Trump to become normal. They are trying to preserve power long enough to make normal voters irrelevant.

HCR also ties the economic story together: the Iran war, Trump’s ballroom, tax cuts for the wealthy, cuts to Medicaid and SNAP, the rising debt, and the larger question of what Republicans are doing with public money. That question may define the summer. Americans are being asked to pay for the war, pay for higher gas prices, pay for the debt from tax cuts for the rich, brace for cuts to programs they rely on, and somehow also pay for Trump’s vanity projects and personal legal escape hatches.

Trump said he does not think about Americans. Today’s news is the receipt.

Fuel prices are up and the war bill is climbing, but Americans are not on his mind. The Pentagon dodges questions about munitions and costs, but Americans are not on his mind. Iran retains most of its missiles and the Strait stays closed, but Americans are not on his mind. He boards Air Force One with billionaires and flies to Beijing to open markets for corporate America, but Americans are not on his mind. His Justice Department quietly explores a settlement that could immunize him from financial scrutiny, but Americans are not on his mind. His party rigs maps, dodges oversight, and works methodically to make democratic accountability harder to enforce, but Americans are not on his mind.”

And so — instead of THAT kind of mind — “Let this mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus”. (Paul) “Let your love extend to all beings” (Buddha) “Love is the ultimate truth at the heart of creation”. (Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita) “Yes, goodness and faithful love will pursue me all the days of my life,
and I will live in the LORD’s house as long as I live.” (Psalm 23 from Hebrew Scriptures)

“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (Jesus as recorded in Matthew 22).

That I Should Have No Words

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That I Should Have No Words

By Jane Tawel

I have no words to speak of You,

And yet, I am a member of the tribe of Word-seekers.

The other tribes — of birds, and beasts,

of seas and trees, and rocks —

Do not seek words for what they know,

for what they know lies deeper than facts or pictures.

Our symbol-speech makes us gloriously, fragilely human,

Greater than angels,

and smaller than stones.

And yet even the “rocks would cry out”

in awe, and praise, and wonder —

If in this time of tribal tribulation,

and lack of mythic Truths,

my own created, creative Tribe of poetry and prose

should in the limited vocabulary of our death-throes,

be forever silenced.

Will we be then quite silenced

because of our surrendered, suicidal demise?

Or will we wordless bow,

finally, eternally in speechless, stunned and stilled-struck Awe?

Oh, there are times I wish I had no words,

in mind, or mouth, or dreams.

Oh, to be a rock, a puddle, or a tree!

And to hold within my very wordless being,

The Being-ness of Thee.

Hope in the World, Just Not Yet at Home

by Jane Tawel

In the past couple days there is evidence of several amazing world events and leaders that give me hope — they just aren’t in America sadly. (Let’s hope that there is a “yet” to that first sentence.) Hungary — Wow! Canada and Prime Minister Mark Carney — Wow. Wow. Pope Leo — WOW! WOW! WOW! These three examples alone of moral integrity and truth spoken with love are lights in a dark time. This is unlike the haters and foolish, dark-minded people currently in our nation’s administration, congress, and in the ranks of their supporters, (either openly or behind the scenes), who are running our nation into the ground. They instead are gleefully filling their coffers or excusing those who are using them for their own enrichment while offending everyone, creating fallacious conflicts that kill innocent people, and ruining not just America’s and the world’s economy, but creating decades of dire problems for our children and our planet. This is overwhelming enough but add to that the continuous drip, drip, drip of blaspheming or changing beyond all recognition what some of these people say they believe as a world view, Christianity, and that they even say they want to be our national “religion” (something our nation considered a dangerous oxymoron) but a belief system if when looked at honestly, stands against everything that we see coming to horrible fruition today; a Faith which is truly and in actuality the moral imperative good people of all religions or just all good humans are called to follow. We have slid down the slippery slope the oligarchs and capitalism have long been slipping on.

But despite what we are hearing: Exceptionalism isn’t individualism, it is holding oneself to an exceptional standard; leading without morality isn’t leadership, its narcissm; and empathy is not a weakness but the best way to understand the onus of the greatest power the universe knows — Love. I know there are enough people in America who remember what we are called to be at our best — caring, sharing, accepting, just, truthful, and free. There is always light, no matter how dark it may seem, if we look hard enough. Keep looking ahead; keep looking around you; keep looking for the helpers. And keep hoping. Be the Light you are called to today.

Some Days I Just Don’t, But I Do

Some Days I Just Don’t, But I Do

By Jane Tawel

April 11, 2026

I guess it’s not fair

to say I don’t care

but somedays there are times

when I don’t.

Don’t wanna’ keep fighting

Don’t wanna’ keep hoping

Don’t want more nail-biting

Or dreaming or moping.

I’m barely now coping

So, forgive me for writing

this doggerel dressed up like a poem.

I may be quite small —

just a gnat, or a flea

on the tail of the dog-eating-dog lives we lead.

But I think even small things should matter —

Don’t you?

I think children and tadpoles

And flowers and bees,

And fire-flies and moon-beams

And seashells and seeds —

All matter should matter — and all that’s beyond —

All life’s matter should matter to me.

There are some times I should

just breathe deeply, just be.

But at junctures of fear, doubt, or faith,

there’s a Voice that will whisper,

there’s a choice to be made:

Should I speak up with courage?

Should I fight, quit, or flee?

So, I live in the question —

in this Time, in this Place,

Will I be or not be

one who makes a small difference?

Will I trust even small acts of love

will deliver us?

Will I choose to be kind?

Will I show love and grace?

Will I seek truth and justice?

Will I leave a wee trace?

Will I follow the way

of the sages now past

and of Good people I know

who stand tall and speak out?

No — there is no foreseeing

what the future will hold;

But I choose to stoke embers

of hope in my soul

for the Life that is Freeing

for the Life that’s eternal

for the Earth, our maternal, dear home;

for humanity’s spark

for Light conquering the dark,

for Divinity’s Known and Unknown.

Somedays I think maybe

I can’t make a difference.

Somedays I think maybe

There isn’t much hope.

But I’ll do the good do’s,

What I can — just my part —

And I won’t do the don’t’s and the do-nots.

And when fears try to stop me,

And doubt quells my heart,

And I struggle with why, how, or whether —

Then I’ll look for a friend

And I’ll look for a hand

and I’ll whisper: “let’s do it together”.

Beauty and the Bees

I am lucky to have a small piece of land imbued with beauty at my home — but also the ability to find beauty any where gives me a sense of wonder and assures me of a world still filled with Goodness. And sometimes– well, often, to be honest — I need to be very silly to try to remain sane. Here is a little video about Nature’s gifts with my silly but heart-felt song / ode of love, that I call “Beauty and the Bees”.

Hope’s Plucked Feathers and Bits of Light

Hope’s Plucked Feathers and Bits of Light

By Jane Tawel

Thoughts and riffing on Emily Dickinson’s poem, “hope is the thing with feathers” and meditation on the quality of our Light.

The feathers of hope seem plucked to the skin.

The chill seas have plasticized Beauty.

The soul is not perched but in free-fall it seems.

And the sweet tunes are perniciously wordy.

We are abashed with fire and ash

Hearts sore from flight from Power’s storms

Frigidity of soul-less gales

Compassion’s hands, hard to keep warm.

I am this one small speck of dust

Blown by the Wind of time and place.

But even bits of dust can shine

Reflecting Light’s Eternal Flame.

The shore seems further now than then

And like a bird in flight, I long for rest.

My heart is fluttering, fearful, tense,

and all the raging makes no sense

When all we little creatures want

The same –

safe-keeping, seeds, clean air, warm nests.

Hope flies again in fleeting moments

when the clouds clear from my mind.

And through the dark and thundering storms

I sometimes glimpse the Rainbow’s Light beyond.

I think She meant when once she said,

“Hope is the thing with feathers” —

It’s not a thing that I can know.

For who can understand a bird?

A bird still awes me — Creation’s Wonder —

And maybe just as wonderous, so is Hope.

We can not understand or cage

this marvelous grace of hopefulness.

Just as I can not make The Light,

but only clear my soul for His Reflection.

There’s nothing I can give to Hope,

“It asks no crumb from me”.

But even in extremities,

crumbs from Life’s Bounteous Tables can be sweeped

into our waiting, emptied bowls.

And as Our Mother felt Her womb-child leap,

Hope perches — fluttering, moving —

Waiting to be born to Life,

once more today within our souls.

On Behalf of my Nation, I am So Sorry Ukraine

Reading Heather Cox Richardson on America’s ignoble new philosophy on international “diplomacy” — not! Read her every day, but please read this today to understand my comments below.

Growing up during the Cold War, watching Congress and the Courts do their jobs, even when it meant accepting we could not tolerate the crimes of President Nixon, weeping when I saw the Berlin Wall fall, weeping again when I saw the first Black President, Barack Obama, take his sacred oath of office, knowing America to be at least in her best moments, a defender of others against tyranny and international criminals, a believer in justice for ALL and truth and freedom for ALL — I never in a million years would have believed what has happened and is happening in my country today, nor that any American, let alone so-called “Christian-Nationalist” American, would tolerate this for a minute after realizing what it is. We are literally letting an international law-breaking half-wit lead us. Seriously? Why? Because the elite oligarchy of business and political uber-greedy are happy with the complete lack of truth and justice and law and order and the chaos based on stupidity and false “doctrine”, and they are gaining more money — more money than any one would ever use in a million years. America has been inching toward this, yes, but this is an avalanche. Have we been perfect — even always good? No, of course not. But this? No. We have never been this. To live in a nation that sends its mockery of an army against its own civilians but will not send its well-funded and exceptional military resources to aid another democracy — we are no longer being run by Americans in our federal government; we are being run by the shysters, the Mob, and the Anti-Christs of this world. We are sending our greedy incompetents or our literally pardoned felons of international crimes to represent us in the world. Shame and sorrow. We can no longer claim to be that “shining city on a hill” when our government has decided to throw it all on the garbage heap to enhance their own warped greed and power-hungry narcissism. May Ukraine and Europe find the strength and will to fight evil. May small Americans use their voices and actions to stand up for what the dream of America is meant to be at its best. May we who believe Jesus had something to say about this be the compassionate political activist that He was. And shame on America. Perhaps through shame, we may still find our way forward to be that “one Nation under God” and that “shining city on a hill”. Meanwhile — My heart weeps for us all.

Nature Has No Kingdoms

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Nature Has No Kingdoms

By Jane Tawel

February 22, 2026

Nature has no kingdoms.

No names, but what we give them.

No fame, but when we use them.

No needs but those we rape from them.

The fish and trees and God-created birds and bees,

are at the mercy of man’s own ego-needs.

Creation can’t fight back at us

because a Mother’s love can not destroy her child.

She must look on with helpless care,

as her human children hack her limbs

and nuke her beating heart

into a burning cess pool —

once burning deep with Love —

now shallow, broiling,

heart still aflame

in Nature’s dying throes.

Nature loves its anonymity,

its secrets and Its secret stores

of pleasure, beauty, and divine intentions.

Nature loves a vacuum — of human willfulness.

But otherwise, It thrives and strives

and circling, circling, circling

treasuring moments,

Creation throbs

with Holy Love and Life.

Why do the people again and again —

throughout our shallow, fleeting things

that we call history and our place and time —

Cry and demand the rule and greed of kings?

What does a small man need to need a king?

We circle and circle and circle the years;

we circle and circle and circle the drain;

and ever and always again and again

we forget our faith and place our fears

in the hands of the tyrants and idolatrous gods

in this man-made valley of unnatural tears.

Oh, small and longing human,

rest your eyes on the greens of the hills,

arouse your awakening in the blues of deep waters,

feel the soft earth beneath your bare feet,

listen to birdsong and small things in the night

let all Creation restore you to your true nature.

Creation is God’s first and only trusty scripture.

You have no need of earthly kings,

for there is One Whose Kingdom comes —

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

and today —

in Father, Heir, and Spirit –

and in this Earth, our Mother and our Home.

Here and Now. Be still and know.

We live and move and have our being,

here, where meaning pulses, and souls long,

heart to heart, twinkling-stars to songful-dawn.

In small-ish things, great Mystery lives.

The Tree of Life takes root and grows

above and through and in us all.

We need no one with clay-shod feet

to give us faith in what we can not speak.

Nature needs no idols.

Like Her, we worship best

in love of Known-Unknown.

Like Her, we worship best

when all are free, and all are One.

Creation — moving, growing, groaning —

Creates and recreates a Holy Throne.

Like leaves that fall and mulch the earth,

We only rise to glory who die to find rebirth.

Mires and Wires

Mires and Wires

By Jane Tawel

February 17, 2026

Some of us dig in.

We dig, dig, dig down

into the sands

of our times,

into the tidepools

of our minds,

into the sucking mire.

We are seldom able to fly,

but like birds on a wire,

we are called to balance —

precariously, it is true —

but trusting

that not one of us can fall

without the Weeping of the World.

Here, where some of us have landed,

poised with wings tucked tight,

there is no room to gather

that which cannot be eaten today.

But those who choose to dig holes

like moles and augers in the land,

store up their treasures

leaving their names on the inverted pyramids

sinking into famed obscurity

and drowning in the solidity

of their false hopes.

Poor creatures —

so richly mistaken

and shaken to the core

by the fears of their impermanence.

I have dug myself plenty of holes.

But now I place my own small hope

on small movements of mine

fluttering, hopping at times from foot to foot,

attempting to share in the tight-rope act

of small beings barely balanced

in this singular time and place.

And like a small brown wren

I wonder how or when

in what future unknown space

will we, little birds —

(being now so often trapped and caught,

and bought — a dozen for a penny) —

will we at last be gathered

like chicks to Our Mother’s breast?

Here on this unsteady string of life,

we long for The Nest

and for the rest we once knew,

and yearn to know again

covered by The Father’s Mighty Wings of Refuge.

It will not be by digging in

like a burrowing beast,

mistaking flowers for tares,

that I will find peace.

Nor will we know the love we seek

by running like lemmings or hares,

after any crown or prize

that we may chase.

We fledglings live encased

and see only through the cracks

of our embracing shells.

But incubating here

we wait to rise in glory.

It is still the same old story:

Only by falling and falling

and failing and flailing

into grace after Grace

will we learn to fly.

And someday, we will see The Face

of the One Who has kept us

hanging here in the balance

between life and death

where the faith of small birds

finds hope.

By dust we were created

and to dust we shall return.

But The Wind blows where it will,

and some will spread their wings to catch it

and will rise in flocked flight.

Seemingly Endless Night

Seemingly Endless Night

By Jane Tawel

February 11, 2026

This morning the darkness clung to the earth

like a shroud.

Shrouded myself

in a bathrobe, tattered and greyed,

I had welcomed the rain

and embraced the night’s sweet repose

listening to welcome-water in a dry land.

But the dawn didn’t come on schedule

and as I sat in habits

of coffee drunk and ideas thunk,

I began to despair

at this seemingly endless night.

Perhaps we had finally, inevitably

used-up all the light?

The horizon is still,

and stilly pitchy

like an upturned bowl

filled with dead ravens;

a sky darkened,

deep as the deepest

cavern of coal

starless, and moonless

and sunless.

And the neighbors’ windows

are shuttered and closed against me,

soot-covered

from fires in hearths

and fires in bellies

lonesome and long-extinguished.

What if the sun never rises again?

I imagine the deaths

of plants

and trees

and children

and you and me.

How frail we are

spending decades

never imagining our death.

Unless a seed is planted

in the dark earth and it dies,

the plant cannot flower and live.

Dark and Light —

The paradox

of Death and Life —

we balance quite precariously here.

Ah, World,

Ah, Beautiful World,

Forgive me for

my constitutional complacency.

And I offer up

a soundless keening

for all who have lived

in Nights that must seem endless.

And I pray as One,

for One and All:

“Let there be Light”.

Today is Eden

or not at all.

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