Jane Tawel

YOU

YOU

By Jane Tawel

June 10, 2026

Open our eyes,

and let us see.

YOU are Way,

not wall.

YOU are the Open Door

not the closed borders.

YOU are process,

not product.

YOU are not container,

but Cosmos.

YOU are OTHER,

and yet, not other.

Like a MOTHER,

YOU womb me,

Birth me,

Nurse me,

And with opened eyes,

I see only YOU,

And YOU and I are One.

May the Light of Your Love,

Blind us into healed eyes

and new sight.

May the Grace of Your Goodness,

cause us to stumble from our marches

so that we may hold out hands of help

to the bruised and to the fallen.

May the Wonder of Your World,

make us weep with longing

and humble us, and gladden us

to care for this Our Home,

with the same parental care

that YOU, oh, Father care for Your World.

May we fall in love once again,

with this our Home, and these,

our Brothers and our Sisters;

And may we treat all Life — as YOU do —

with the same kindness and nurture

that a Gardener and Farmer gives

the blessed, life-giving Land.

May the Freedom of Your Mercy

Heal our hatreds.

May the selflessness of Your Justice,

replace our false desire for punishment.

And in the Court of Your judgement,

May the oppressed be restored,

the prisoner set free,

the lame walk and the leper dance.

And May Your rivers of righteousness roll down,

rolling and roiling,

as the first become last,

and the last are the first,

and all tumble and meld

into the Oneness that is

Your Kingdom come.

Parent, Creator, Foundation, Friend:

May the Love that is

Of YOU,

And that is beyond comprehension,

May the Mystery of Love that You are

and that You can only be, and can be no other —

May that same Love

that is beyond all human understanding,

and that is also the miracle of Love

available to all humble hearts,

Keep our feet inching forward on The Way,

Keep our minds open to Your Truth,

Keep our wills muscular with the joy of Your Spirit,

And may our hearts beat as One

with You and with All that You Love.

May the Lure of Your Love,

make me, as You were and are,

a fisher of lives —

to patiently cast out the lure of your love

to catch them and release them

back into the OCEAN of YOU,

Just as YOU have caught and released

this small guppy of a girl.

May it Be.

By now, I am assuming people who want to know the truth are reading people like Heather Cox Richardson or It’s a Lovely Life by Heather Delaney Reese or Robert Reich. I have posted their sage words many times and could again and again, for they report on what is happening in this nation with truth and integrity and big hearts for the people of America.

Some days I can barely stand to read what is being allowed to happen on our watch — our poor, poor children — what a mess we are handing them, that is, handing them if and should we continue to exist. For those people who either can not give up their false idols or who prefer an alternative reality that more suits their ego, or who just want to stick their heads in the sand and pretend things are not as they are or that there is nothing they can do, or that “they just want to enjoy their lives” — I pity you, I truly do. And while I still feel so very angry that so many are allowing this nation, and the religion of Christianity, and the planet to be destroyed by their own ignorance, greed, fear of the other, power-hunger, or frankly for some, absolutely their evil intent, I also feel such sorrow for them; they have “given up their souls for profit” as the Good Man says, and given up their humanity and human dictate to care for the world in exchange for power and the illusion of happiness with more and more and more money. Some of their idols are obviously and literally insane — stark raving demented and insane. And still they never see the truth or that “money can’t buy you love” and that you cannot “worship God and material greed”.

I feel such sorrow that on this our 250th birthday, we have slid down the slippery slope of uber-capitalism and empire so very far. I feel such a sense of shame by association and wonder how some people can feel no shame.

I am grateful for those still speaking truth. I am grateful for those who still believe in the idea of America and that we can be what we set out to be, 250 years ago. I am grateful to my depths for the brave people who have claimed the same religion I have for so long and who are sharing what that religion actually teaches, and who are speaking up for Jesus the Christ and for our sense of who a loving God is — “a God and a Christ who loves all humans — no matter what their background or identification”. as St. Paul taught us God and Christ love. And how I pity those people tied to a religious instutition that pays them to continue to tell people what they do here doesn’t matter — that all that matters is whether you go to heaven — something Jesus never, ever said. “The Kingdom of God is within you — here. Now”. …… Or it’s not.

Okay — ranting, I know. Sorry. I honestly day after day, just can’t get my head around it.

But here is my hope — — today, on my jog, as usual, I pick up other people’s trash. This is my Father’s World and my Mother’s Breast. One day a couple thanked me and said, we teach our grandkids to do this and we make a game of it. There is my hope and encouragement. Today I will try my best to teach my students to write and read and think critically and ethically and spiritually — they are all in high school but very few schools seem to encourage this any more. But there are some who do and many parents who do, and these young people — they can take over from us any time in my opinion. There is my hope and anticipation that we — they — can turn this ship around. And today, I will tell my family and friends and the early morning workers at the end of my street who gather to find work to feed their families that I love them, and be safe out there, and I am grateful for your lives. And I will tell the bees in my lavender, and the lizards on my sidewalk, and the tree in my front yard, and the blue, blue sky — “I love you. Be safe out there. I am grateful for you.” I will hold all these lovely things and these other human souls in my heart and will send them thoughts of joy: “You make my heart glad and hopeful. Thank you for being wonderful, amazing you”. And even if sometimes I wonder where God is, or why He doesn’t “do something”, I will pray the only prayer I know: “I love you. Make me a being of Love. Please help us”.

And there is my hope. Because I know there are lots and lots of people out there who are truly loving. And some are Christians, and some are Hindus, and some are Muslims, and some live in Iran and some live in Ukraine and some live in Palestine, and some live right here on my little street in SoCal. And Love is the most powerful force in the universe. “Now these three things will remain, “Trust in The Good, Hope despite the circumstances, and Love for all — but the greatest of these is Love”. (St. Paul).

My hope is that little bits of Light and Love will overcome the darkness and hatred of this dire hour. I end this not with anger or hopelessness, but with determination to do my part — to be the light and be the love. And I have hope because I know enough people who are doing that same thing. And to quote another great saint, MLK, the “arc of the moral universe will bend toward justice” and we little Whos in Whoville will be heard by the One Who Loves and Who hears us, and “we shall overcome”.
May it be so.

De-linting the Soul

De-linting the Soul

By Jane Tawel

June 30, 2026

My life is like a woolen sweater.

And for better or for worse,

It picks up the lint of cares and woes, and leaves me — at best — fuzzy;

and on my worst days,

underneath the sticky bits and pieces,

You wouldn’t recognize —

for all the obscurations —

the lovely fabric

that I once called my Self.

I wear my heart upon my sleeve

and grieve for wasted hours.

I have spent a life-time (so it seems), continually zapped and attracted to

the static electricity

that draws the small self

to the dross of info-mercials

and the shallow pools of beliefs.

How constricting to Experience

are the tight constraints of creeds

and the ego’s flimsy needs

of knowing the Unknown!

We are so apt

to attract the small things of this world,

and wear them like jello-ey armor.

Snake-charmers offer us

the splith of polyestered promises

and we exchange our Robes of Righteousness

for scraps of fame and fortune.

The heart longs for a Soul washed cool and clean;

and to wear upon the breastplate of Desire,

some Super-Powered magical coat-

a cloak to drape over

this worn and lint-y sweatered, sweltering self;

a cape of invisibility against the clawing chatter;

a coat of many colors to be set-apart;

a cape with wings to fly above and

to soar beyond the latest news or views;

to uncover a covered face that looks only down

upon sinking sandy shoals of un-real real-estates.

I seek the fabric-proof of Wonder

to daily use upon my sweatered self —

the warm embrace of sun on skin

and breeze in hair

and watching dust motes fly

from my small self to scamper in the air.

I seek the Washer

of sweaters, fish, and feet

to wash away the chattel and the floss

of doctrines, policies, and cults

and the small iotas of informational-dross;

of lint, and dust, and things that tear

and all that makes me unaware

of how the Soul longs to be freed,

unclothed and standing unashamed.

As Eve once waltzed

before a Glorious World,

I yearn to cast away this linty life;

clothed only in the glory of

Created Good,

casting off my tattered rags,

uncovered and unclothed,

dancing unencumbered

into our Deep Divinity

and an Eternity of Life

lived Whole and lint-proofed

unraveled and unashamed

the un-Sweatered-Soul

now naked as a baby

that is purely Loved.

Last Night’s Beautiful Game

Last Night’s Beautiful Game

by Jane Tawel

June 26, 2026

It truly is the “beautiful game”. Okay — disclaimer — I am always and ever shall be a sucker and cheerleader for the underdog. (I will stand up and cheer for the hapless, foolish coyote every day over that vain, smart-elecky road runner.) Secondly, it was super easy yesterday to root for the home team, but also cheer the good plays of the underdog, Turkey, since our own amazing USA team had already scored a place in the next knockout round. And Turkey! — and herein lies the beauty of soccer (the real “football” according to, well, everyone in the world but us of course 😊) — even though Turkey knew they were out of The Cup and would go home tomorrow no matter what happened — they played their hearts out and it sure did pay off.

What a match it was! Austin Trusty scored for the USA in the first 2.15 minutes of the game (and did any one else notice this? — Trusty seems to be able to leap straight into the air from an almost standing position — what is he, part Impala?!) And the game went on keeping us focused and curious at a well earned tie of 2–2 until, as if by the magic of pure desire and well — again — the beauty of this beautiful game — Good golly Miss Molly! Yowza! — Kaan Ahyan from Turkey scored IN THE LAST SECONDS of the game.

Each game of soccer is like a gorgeous new puzzle — you never know quite how all the pieces will come together. It is a game like chess — all the pieces have to work together, move together, and sometimes someone sacrifices for the good of the whole. For instance — My goodness, how in the world the Turkish goalkeeper, Ugurcan Cakir, didn’t break his arm and various other bones in his body last night on that dive in the second half I have no idea.

Okay, so those of you who know me — I don’t watch sports much any more, especially professional sports. Ever since moving to SoCal in the late 1980’s when I was the lone voice cheering for the Celtics in Laker land and no longer in Celtic land and well, getting busy in the 1990’s raising my own almost enough to be a soccer team family; and also, now that my kids don’t have their endless soccer games or tennis matches any more for me to cheer at and bring orange slices and gateraide to, last night’s game was unusual for me. (Okay, so yeah, cool Dodgers and all that, but I have always been a basketball and soccer girl — I mean, I’m from Indiana long before the Colts and watching baseball to me is a bit like waiting for paint to dry.) But goodness sakes, it was so wonderful to be rooting for a game last night and a team (or secretly both teams — you know, underdogs and all that). It was so nourishing and wonderful to be cheering for something America is doing right and well in this moment, it was great to see nations come together in friendly competition, using amazing skills, both physical and mental; it was a gift to see played out on a playing field the beauty of the human spirit. It was and is, truly, the beautiful game. And I am grateful.

Gratitude for Hope at Obama’s Grand Opening

There was sooooooo much to celebrate at the Grand Opening of the Obama Presidential Center in Chicago today. I was choking up to hear one of my favorite “hymns” — “To Dream the Impossible Dream” sung right after “The Star Spangled Banner” — oh indeed! — with Bill Clinton mouthing the words — it broke me with — yes! oh yes! First Lady Michelle Obama’s call to remember and then to act in hope. The intentionality of the center itself — communal, welcoming, diverse, fun, lovely. Angela Merkle! Bono! John Legend! Marc Anthony! The Boss! The guy playing Tuba!! Stevie Wonder! (“All praise to God for this moment.”) And the whole Obama family singing along with him!

Presidents and leaders of our past — when presidents used to be for us, not against us. Of course they made mistakes. Did you think they were gods? But they really did believe in America and in us and they did their best with the times they were given. Thank you.

Of course I personally could watch the ASL signers sign for hours — just them alone brings me deep joy beyond even understanding — the glorious language of hands and faces — I mean seriously did you see just the hands signing trumpets, drums, guitars playing? People clapping? Hands. Our hands. Let us make our hands stretch again to clasp each other across this nation, throughout this world.

The smiles — the hugs — hard, deep hugs. The laughter (George Bush and Michelle Obama). The love of the daughters, Malia and Sasha, now beautiful women. Once children — now examples of goodness and love for the next generation of children.

Children on stage, children from all across the nation, with parents who wanted them to see what we could be, coming to remember and to hope again what it is to believe in US, in the U.S. — to hope, to celebrate what we are and can be. “You better believe”.

Okay — again — Michelle Obama. Yowza. Amen. I had a constant “gulp” — throat gulping — eyes tearing up. I could feel my heart beating for the first time in a while with that deep connection to what we can be at our best.

And it was about one man who made us realize it is never and never has been about one man — no matter what someone with power or access or obscene amounts of money tell you. Someone with a name that took us aback at first — until we got to know him —Barack Obama. I wept with deep, deep joy the night he was elected as the first Black president of this nation that we had become the nation we had set out to be. But it was never about just one man; it was never about just him. It is about one man, and one woman, and one boy, and one girl, and one Latinex, and one Black, and one white, and one farmer, and one teacher, and one mechanic, and one restaurant owner and one waiter, and one and one and one and one becoming All of Us. I can’t wait to see this center someday — where people come to garden and play Bball, and read in the reading room, and laugh and walk with those who pray in a church or on a rug or near a wooded glen or in a closet — it doesn’t matter — this is a testament to place and people — where we remember it is about one and one and one who long to see a history that can encourage us to make a future. “No gale can topple us over”. Believe. Hope.

And oh, the love. And oh, my heart — Thank you, Obama. The Love. How could anyone turn away from this? How could anyone doubt that this is what we are meant to be? We had it in our grasp to be this, to do this, to know this. This is what we are called to be. This is what we are at our best — anywhere, any time, any color, any gender, any nation, any tribe. As Barack Obama said truly: “Everyone has a sacred story to tell if you just care to listen — full of courage and grace and purpose”. How amazing it was to hear a leader who could put words to thoughts with truth and care and grace and compassion and vision! Community! Do you remember what that feels like? Can you imagine what that will feel like to be again?

Our common humanity and bonds can be based on trust. When is the last time you heard a leader say “we” — this is about “we”. — “us”? Oh my. Wasn’t it lovely to use our brains again? To be not only back in reality but in memory of what we have been and hope in what we can be? Wasn’t it a strange combination of peace and exhilaration? Wasn’t it amazing to hold up a mirror that we haven’t held up to ourselves in so long — -the mirror of us as a democracy, as a community, as a force for goodness not just in this country but in the world — One in God, One in grace and justice, One in the desire to make the world, this nation, the planet a place our children and grandchildren will inherit with gratitude and fulfilled dreams — One in purpose, One in hope?

Remember intelligence? Remember compassion? Remember world vision? Remember sharing? Remember stories of not billionaires or mockers or deniers — but stories of hard workers, care-givers, embracers, and families, and students, and faithful, simple, hopeful — people like us?

Today — I remembered and rejoiced — that we are here. We. Are. Here. And as long as we are here, we are responsible and we are able.

Chicago, the home of the Obama Presidential Center, was once my city, and I think your first city is always what you believe a city really is — can be. I am proud to be from that part of the world — the middle part of this great nation, the “fly-over zone”, the “bread basket” and “bible belt” — and now to be a part of Los Angeles, California, yes, as my relatives in that heartland where I once lived call us — yes, we are the “fruits and nuts” — and proud of it — we are what feed you and feed your sense of openness and delight in this glorious, diverse, beautiful land that we call The United States of America. We have been given so much here. May we remember that we are stewards. We are care-takers. We are borrowers from our children.

As President Obama said, “let us turn towards each other, not further away”.

“Oh, what a glorious task we are given to continually strive to improve this great Nation of ours”. (The Boss quoting Obama from his speech at Selma.)

Thank you for today, Barack Obama and family —family both given and chosen. Thank you for pointing us towards The Land of Hope and Dreams! May it be so. Let it begin with us. Today. “Signed, Sealed, Delivered”.

“We see what faith without fear can do”. “We know in the Spirit that positivity will win”. “Keep on tryin’ til we reach our higher ground”. (Stevie Wonder.)

Yeah! Amen! Let it be so!

Today in History… if Only it Were only History

“Today in history” often interests me but today as I read my daily local newspaper’s blurb on it, well, it seemed…. well… you read it and see if you see and feel what I did.

1942: Anne Frank, a German-born Jewish girl, received a diary for her 13th birthday, less than a month before her family went into hiding from the Nazis. Less than 3 years later she would die in Bergen-Belsen concentration camp.

1963: Civil rights activist Medgar Evers was shot and killed outside his home in Jacksonville, Mississippi.

2016: A gunman opened fire at Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando Florida, leaving 49 people dead and 53 wounded in what was then the deadliest mass shooting in U.S. History.

There are not enough sorrow emojis for me to write. I wish so much I could consign this to history — but then I read the rest of the newspaper….. and I ask: Why do humans continue to do this to other humans? Why do people have to hate? Or as Rodney King, one of our patron saints in Los Angeles, poignantly asked, “”People, I just want to say, can we all get along? Can we get along?”

Pulling the Flesh Apart

Pulling the Flesh Apart

By Jane Tawel

May 26, 2026

Let us pull it apart — bit by bit.

Lay the body of our transitory knowledge

on The Surgeon’s board.

True, the words became flesh;

but this stuff — this meat —

must be bound on the rack,

pulled out like taffy,

’til our bones bend and crack.

Words should be tortured,

eviscerating the bowels we call facts.

Our gut tells us something

is Realer than real —

Deeper than definitions,

Truer than the skeletons of

Only what we can see and taste and touch –

Oh! We are meant to touch the very Being —

We are meant to be stretched into smallness

Split into Wholeness,

and cured unto death.

Only oxymorons, symbols, metaphors and myths —

Only songs and pictures —

Only stories of salve — ations,

Only tales of trudging the long road toward home,

Only legends of those who die for Love,

Only these are meant to live forever.

Oh, we must lay our small selves on the Cross.

We must die to the language of our answers

And float in the ocean of our questions.

How mysterious is the human hand!

How awe-inspiring the body’s eye!

And what beyond what I am called to name,

Can I sense beyond my wonderous senses —

Moves and lives in the being I call “myself”?

There is Some-thing, Some-One, Some-Life/Self —

Who is beyond all language —

beyond all materials and all body,

beyond the mind’s best truest truths.

There is a Word the mind knows not.

A Name. A Life. A Presence.

The Word that sweetly sings to us

to be let in the cages of our heads and hearts,

and once, when homing there,

flutters like a small bird,

Singing songs of wordless Love and Life,

in flight and free within the Heart —

Though not a “thing”, a word must do —

Beyond, above, deeper, wider, purer, timeless —

Some thing — visceral —

Some thing — that moves and breathes and has its being

Some thing — despite all longing, we can not name —

from a heart that no longer beats

but Swells –

Cresting until it bursts through

the walls of this poor substance

that I call, “myself”.

The Soul — burst asunder into

pieces of The Whole.

No longer words on paper

But The Word made flesh in us,

a Picture worth an Eternity of words.

No longer flesh and blood,

But Bread and Wine.

Given, so all may have Life,

And Life Abundant.

Life granted, beyond syllables.

Life, lived beyond flesh.

Life, here and now

in the Stillness

here beyond death.

The First Steps and The Last

The First Steps and The Last

By Jane Tawel

The first steps are the hardest;

I really don’t want to run this race.

My breath struggles at the start

and every aspiration

becomes the hardest to catch.

The last mile that I run

(and this is all by choice, mind you)

is pretty darn hard too –

Maybe I could just walk it?

Or crawl?

Or quit?

I wonder if the last lap of this race

I’ve called my Life,

will be as hard for me

as my first lap?

Birthed into struggle

from the womb of the bed I’ve made,

will I run well the race towards Death?

Or will my passing on The Path

be the painful struggle

the agonizing effort to breathe

a battle waged as all the last steps

of the last journey I make towards Home?

Or will Life’s Finish Line instead

be the first lap

of the next journey which

will no longer be any kind of race at all.

Will that final step

always be a breathing into

a beginning —

effortless, weightless, sweat-less-

cleaned from the placenta of Death

into the Quest beyond questions,

Stilled and Resting, Peaceful, Floating

Reborn, restarted, re-breathed,

Dancing forward

into New Life?

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

https://unsplash.com/@wolfgang_hasselmann

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.

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