Feeling Hopeful

by Jane Tawel

August 21,2024

kind and curious- unsplash

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I realized this morning, I had forgotten what hope felt like. Not personal hope necessarily, although maybe that, too; but I had forgotten what hope for others, for friends and family, for strangers, for a nation, for our dear planet, and maybe, just maybe, hope for the whole world felt like. And I realized that much of what I was doing in my small, little way always felt small and little and rather hopeless because somewhere along the line (well, I know when, but…) sometime in the past years, everything I thought I did for good, I was in fact, doing out of fear; and I had decided that all was hopeless after all, so may as well carpe Diem out of depression.

And then I looked at the news, and after so many years of reading and watching news that sent me into spasms of fear, disbelief, anger, angst and absolute world-weariness, I observed some other little people who were dancing and cheering and feeling such hope that they in their small little ways could help some people who had signed on for big tasks and ways to help our nation, and others, and the planet. And this morning, I suddenly thought to myself: What if I kept doing my same small things, my tiny little part, living my little life out of a contagious sense of Hope? What if I refused to let my own fear and the fear-mongering people who paint the world as angry, and negative, and dog-eat-dog, and us against them, steal from my heart and mind one more moment of action and thought done with hope? What if I harnessed today’s hope to strengthen my own resolve to make others feel cared for, to make the planet a bit cleaner and safer, to make my nation a bit more kind and equitable, and to make the people I love no longer feel my anxiety but my irrepressible Hope?

If fear is contagious, then so is Hope. I had to laugh at myself that I had forgotten that we are told that all things will eventually die, except these three: Faith. Hope. Love. I know the tides of fear will rise again, and the way will be rough; there will be many side paths to lead me astray from the Way that leads to peace, joy, hope, and love. But today — I feel a bit irrepressibly hopeful and I plan on laughing out loud, smiling often, and praying not with a trembling fearful heart that thinks perhaps No One is listening, but with a heart filled with Hope that Someone hears our hopeful hearts.

Catch the Hope-Bug today. And may Hope lead us all to hands outstretched and shoulders to the plow, and the firm belief that there is Joy in the Journey of a 1000 steps. I’m taking the first step in Hope today and after so long of taking timid steps on this Life Journey, it feels like dancing.

Poems on Not Growing Old– But Aging

by Jane Tawel

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Poems on Not Growing Old — But Aging

by Jane Tawel

(Family)

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Poems on Not Growing Old — but Aging

Shall we age, but not grow old?

Poem 1

By Jane Tawel

August 13, 2024

Shall we age, but not grow old?

Figures of speech,

becoming

more important than keeping our figures.

Old happens.

Aging, like good wine,

good cheese,

and good life,

old is not, but

aging is a choice.

© Jane Tawel, 2024

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(us)

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How We Go Through Life at Our Age

Poem 2

By Jane Tawel

August 12, 2024

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We shall go through life as guests now.

Not always honored,

often merely put up with.

We are invited as a duty,

as the rather tattered

Shattered

Battered

Pieces of what used to be.

Do we still seem Whole to you?

I doubt we ever did.

But now the part we played

is a piece of the past

and it doesn’t hold up under scrutiny.

Oh, I understand –I was once young too,

Believe it or not.

No, it doesn’t do

for the young to look too closely

at our wrinkled hands and brows,

our sagging guts and breasts,

our lack of hair, and lack of –

of — 

of….

oh, what is that darn word I was searching for?

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Oh, if only you could see beyond

what you think of as lack,

to the wealth we hide in back

of our front-facing old shells,

and see to the inside,

our true selves.

Minds slower but fuller,

bodies weaker, but battle-scarred,

hearts congested with so much love

that eventually they break.

Don’t let the doctors fool you

with the scientific diagnosis.

In the end,

our hearts break from carrying

So much love.

So much love.

Oh, So.

Much.

Love.

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And we will agree to attend

to you and your events,

only because we keep hoping

against hope

that the treasure we could bestow,

the wisdom path we could show you

will at some time

some where

some how

be enough,

be enough — 

for those of you we so love.

We only want to help.

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Yes!

We have always loved you

More than you could know,

More than all the leaves on all the trees,

More than all the stars in all the skies,

More than all the wishes on all the birthday candles,

More than all the babies born and all the graves filled,

More than Time itself,

Yes! Forever and a day.

Oh,

More than all of all of everything –

have we loved you — 

More than our own lives — 

And, we could hoping

that we here and now

will break through! — 

to you, my dearest dears.

Oh, we could, old as we are,

Raise you up — help you rise above

the sick darkness of the Times

and the viral condescension of youth

and the aching, longing of dreams still incubating

in your dear, dear hearts –

we hope to show, to share,

the strength, the care,

that only age can bring

and you will see at last,

we will shine!

We gift to you, if you can take it — 

The gift of age

Shining through and upon and in — 

Searing light

Light of Seers.

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We give our attention

to the minutiae of you,

and to the essential essence of you as well.

Because there is nothing we love so well as you.

And what the hell,

We show up,

with hearts aching

and minds breaking

Because we,

who have lived so long,

are really still just children,

and we ache to be loved

not as we were,

not as one day we might be,

(or rather when we might not be),

But just as you do,

We long to be loved

just as we are.

© Jane Tawel, 2024

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(Run Happy)

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This is the Fun Part

Poem 3 — A Haiku

By Jane Tawel, August 13, 2024

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This is so much fun.

Free to be you and me.

Getting old is great.

© Jane Tawel, 2024