Jane Tawel

Just Yesterday, If Only Tomorrow

Just Yesterday, If Only Tomorrow

By Jane Tawel

October 26, 2025

Just yesterday, the skin on my calf was smooth.

My palms could plant firmly on the floor

as I bent to touch my bare toes,

on feet — never cold — and high arched.

And my arms could reach without creaking,

higher, and higher, and higher,

seeking heaven,

opening wide like cathedral doors.

Just yesterday I was young.

The hair on my head outnumbered

the hairs on my chin.

And my eyes, not yet surrounded

by moats of wrinkles,

were not able to contain

All the watery tears

of a youth spent in longing

and all the loss of love not returned.

Now the deep wells behind these blinds

I still call my eyes;

daily, and monthly, and moment by moment,

threaten to break open and break me apart.

These tears that spring up

from eyes that have seen the World

and have pooled deep within the

recesses of my heart

shored only by The Love

and All the Love

and so much Love — given and returned.

These tears will not flow

and I will not let them flow,

though the children see them

and think only I am an old, silly woman

But my wells of tears — my oceans of tears —

are what hold me together like glue

are what make me a wave, cresting towards Shore.

And my lovejoygrief stays me in the Stillness of Remembrance.

And I laugh out loud in inappropriate moments.

And shake my head at silly, foolish things I do

but that somehow please me.

And I am often forgetful but also

realize that so much of what is forgotten

has never really mattered.

And my days tend to meld together

Congealing into sameness

Unmoving, unimportant, without progress-

Stuck —

like trying to move forward in a rocking chair.

When I was a child, I wept as a child.

But now that I am but a shell,

I shed my tears in silent nights

and holy nights

of Fearful Wonder.

And all my acquired knowledge comes and goes

like many monkey rings on Life’s carousel.

But big things no longer matter.

And small things please so greatly

that I could sit and look at the birds in my yard

for hours (if I didn’t need to get up and pee.)

Oh, not knowing much is now a lovely thing.

And I laugh at myself with no one around to hear.

Because none of us really knows what comes next.

And yet we grieve how much we have lost

and will lose, and never see again.

I sit, grey and craggy as a small rock,

on a vast mountain

and the great dark thunder clouds

and small little wisps of clouds — both alike —

pass before my eyes

and come and go with the Winds of Change.

And my senses open to all that Flows

above and below and around me

without knowing — without needing to know —

what lies Beyond.

And, Ah! — this is the glory of a Life,

that we can mourn for its passing away

and being gone to us

but we do not know what Mystery

we will leave behind

or that we go towards.

My dearest dears:

Only the very old,

the very privileged ones of us who live

to be aged, sometimes like fine wine,

sometimes like vinegar;

we who start to speculate or gamble

that what we might be or become

when our bodies leave us,

with no yeast, nothing any longer leavening

the hopes and fears of youth,

when our hands, and feet, and eyes

are swept from the Table,

like so much unneeded flour-dust,

no longer needed in a recipe;

like crumbs left after the Meal

we once did share with you at dinner time;

then please,

Dear Ones,

When we are gone or too ga-ga to form thoughts,

remember to cry and rejoice in equal measures.

You are so very loved

that it brings tears seeping

from my old eyes.

We old folks are all

just One Creative Mother,

Loving you, and each of you and All.

Perhaps that is what rain is — proof that

Mother-Universe weeps with feeling

Showing us Her Love.

If only we, who now see in our Mirrors Darkly,

if only we privileged ones who grow old,

if we, who had somehow miraculously found

small openings now and then,

in this circuitous labyrinth of Life;

if only we who now wear the bifocals

of glimpsed Beatitudes

and inch more closely to the Grounds of Beings,

if only while we old ones,

who tarry and dawdle on

could hold our mirrored glasses to your young eyes,

and looking far into

a future of Unknowing —

if only, if only

we could find the words

to tell you of the Wordless.

Then we might too

Believe it ourselves.

Oh, if only we could tell you

Our Dearest Children —

That tears of grief are gold

And you are really made and truly made only of

Pure Joy.

And Life and Love are worth crying for.

And Life and Love are worth laughing at.

And Life and Love can not be held onto,

Except as a beloved, treasured, crying Child.

Cry out and grab-on

to this glorious, wonderous Life!

And ride Earth’s carousel

until your head spins.

Walk gently and kindly on

this Planet with no desires and no fears

that cannot be met with hope and trust

that Goodness always survives.

Believe that Kindness is your Super-Power

and weep for every moment of unkindness

in their lives and your own.

Forgive all and find Freedom.

And know that you are loved,

So very, very, very loved.

And when you have Love,

You are never poor.

And you are not your body,

But Something, Some-One

so much more.

Next moment, you’ll forget

as I have forgotten. (What did I come Here for?)

But maybe if you try to hold on

and remember these things,

when you are old,

and I am gone to God-knows-where —

you will have many tears as I do,

tears, like pearls.

And you will laugh at silly things

and smile at all the foolish, lovely joys.

True treasures are yours for the receiving

And then to give away,

not stored up

in banks or works

but in a Life of Love.

Just yesterday, I was young…

Ah, If…

Only….

Tomorrow?

No.

Yes.

Today….

Chirps

by Jane Tawel

Chirps

by Jane Tawel

October 14, 2025

My Dear Child,

My baby,

My heart and life —

The second you left my womb, we were separated.

No longer the chirps of your small heart would be embraced

so close to mine that our hearts were as one.

And just so, I was separated from You, Oh, God,

the moment I left Your Womb.

And now my heart searches for the Beat of Your Heart,

to be so close as to be One Beating Heart.

The bird outside my still-dark window

Chirps on the beat.

On the beat of the second hand — he chirps.

On the beat of my heart — he chirps.

On the drumbeat of my ever-pounding heart and mind — he chirps.

On the tick-tock of my since-birth-impending-death — he chirps.

And dawn begins her shallow light —

a poor substitute for the Son’s power.

Now my little bird is silent –

Where has he gone?

And I am present in this moment.

And I am present in my life.

And I am present in the Now.

Until the rights of the Risen Sun call me to action.

But in this last moment between night and day,

In Perfect Stillness,

I seek presence in You, O, God.

The sun, I believe, is in full-blare mode,

but I don’t know for sure, as I plan away my day.

The chirps of many birds make me aware

of all the business of finding our daily bread.

And I am lost in Time again.

Lists of things to do and do.

Lost in things to plan or shun.

Lost in things ended or not yet begun.

Chirp-chirp. Tick-Tock.

Time to dig in the dirt for worms.

The cacophony of the many chirps has begun.

I cannot give them all my attention.

Can I for just a moment,

Listen closely to what is already within myself,

and the small, silent gifts of my own spaciousness?

Can I find The Womb in me?

And cradle the little baby trusting in me to grow?

Between each call of bird-song,

there is the Still Small Self —

The Self that calms the many siren calls

of this illusory world.

And I for just one precious, peaceful moment —

even in the blinding, deafening darkness of the Day,

Float in the Heavens prepared for me

in Love’s Embracing, bracing freedom,

set for me before the beginning of the World.

But Time and Space so cruelly clip our wings.

And yet, I have once or twice seen that it is True,

that the Whole Cosmos beckons

in the still small voice heard only in darkness.

The voice of God comes only before the Dawn.

Just as my grasping, pecking beak

hunts for another worm to save for tomorrow,

The world begins to close Her curtain on the Sun.

And I have a choice –

Continue to hunt for treasures I can not eat now

nor save for tomorrow?

Or return to The Nest and rest?

The Ground of All Being whispers:

“Return to the Womb. Return to the Womb”.

And all my yearning sleeps

as I Awaken.

I float in the embryonic wonder of this present moment.

And Our Hearts chirp to the beat of Love and Life.

Separate, no more.

Again, One with You.

Every Moment Lovely

A poem by Jane Tawel

Every Moment Lovely

By Jane Tawel

October 10, 2025

Every moment, lovely.

Every moment, trued.

No place, no race to dash ahead.

No past or future clouds the view.

Every moment, precious.

Every moment, life abounds.

Every touch, and sight, and smell,

Every taste and sound.

Every moment, new again.

Would that it were true.

Every parcel, every part.

Every pleasure, every pain.

Held within my spaciousness.

Held in love within my heart.

Moments pass so quickly.

Opening doors and closing blinds.

How tragic is our wastefulness

with shallow hearts and cluttered minds.

But oh! As I reach for my cup

before I even drink,

to see my hand reach out and up

and watch the dust motes fly and land

upon the fingers outstretched there

with sweet-cracked nails and knuckle-hairs.

Delighting in each small, dear act.

Delighting in each pulse called “me”.

And seeing you, just as you are –

Each moment can be so lovely.

Every moment, precious.

Every moment, stilled.

Every moment, treasured.

Every moment — just for me.

It makes me catch my breath and say:

“Every moment, lovely.”

Fallen Leaves

Fallen Leaves

By Jane Tawel

October 3, 2025

Falling leaves…

How we complain

The work to gather them

with rake or glove- ed hands.

Why not let them lie in peace?

And let the winter storms

cover or disperse them, as they will?

I remember times of joy

in making piles of leaves.

When the boy and girl

would come and mess the piles

by jumping into mountains

flattening them to plains

that tiny hands and feet could tread with ease.

I remember times of laugher,

as all my gathered, hard-worked piles

would be the brightly colored ammunition

of flinging, flying, softly crackling leaves.

What an arsenal of happy thoughts,

could be a pile of leaves.

We held the leaves like fluttering birds

No longer leaves imprisoned in a cage of tree or bin,

But free in flight with new-grown wings,

The leaves no longer fallen, but redeemed.

A single leaf alone, left on a tree,

is much a lonely thing that clings,

to what is past and can not grow

until it dies to rise again, mysteriously in Spring.

But fallen leaves tell all our ends.

And myths are made from simple things.

We all shall fall

and soon decay —

But ah! — to use my final days

in being gathered, gathered, gathered up,

with all the small, soft-colored things

by Hands that fling me towards the sky

Where flying up — I find I am no longer just one leaf,

But something beautiful with wings.

The Clearing of Rain

The Clearing of Rain

By Jane Tawel

Rain clears me

The sight and sound and smell of water

Coming like manna from the sky

It moves me to poetry.

It stuns me into true meditation.

It opens me to prayer.

Here in the desert-land

of my large, busy city,

we have so little rain

It comes in drips and drabbles.

We have so much of everything here.

And yes, so little.

So many stars on the sidewalks,

so few stars in the sky.

So many buildings soaring

so few shelters for the poor.

So much money spent

so little shared.

So much sun and heat and fire,

and oh, my soul! — so little rain.

I think perhaps we cursed ourselves,

here in this land of grabbers,

when we stopped The People

from their rain dances on The Land.

The Sky-Child has cried all His tears

and has no more.

And The Land has gathered Sky’s tears

into Her deepest womb

where, perhaps we gobblers can not devour them

as we have devoured all Nature’s other gifts.

To strain to hear the tiny drops of rain

reminds me of how hard it is to hear God

with so many plastic gods competing for attention.

The god of AmEx and of Capital One.

The god of the Amazon that rains our money

only on one man as the rainfall in the amazon dries up

to fill my coffee cup.

The great gods masquerading as freedom

concealing the real terror behind their force;

hiding the fact, that they are storm clouds of desire

gathering, ever and ever gathering,

but never coming down among us,

never healing the gardens we plant,

never baptizing us

to give us Life.

Create in me, a new heart, O God,

One that makes a desert of my desires,

compared to my thirst to find

a Kingdom of Quenching others’ thirst,

on Earth,

as it is in the Heavens.

To smell the water

sent from heaven

knowing what it is up against

as it bravely tries to turn to green

our dead desert yards

reminds me even when Hope

is a faint scent of bare possibility,

we must remember —

this land has died before

and it will die again.

And then — perhaps only then —

The rains will return.

May the children, once more,

Dance in puddles left by many rains.

And in this arid, barren fullness,

may we, who have wrinkled

our skins with our endless searches,

our flying to find the sun;

we who have deadened our hides

as we have deadened our hearts;

we who have wasted the water

as we have wasted our precious hours —

may we be cleansed in floods of Love,

Love for our Mother Earth and Father Sky,

Love for our children and our enemies alike.

Baptized with the fire of Our Holy Spirits,

may we dance rain dances once more,

and running out into the deluge,

may we wait with hope for the rain,

with mouths empty and open.

Traveling Towards Flight, I Hope

Traveling Towards Flight, I Hope

By Jane Tawel

September 19, 2025

I try not to ask myself too many questions.

After a while — and all this time —

It is exhausting to interrogate myself so much —

it only leads to judgment.

The comfort zone is best enjoyed

when only judging others.

I judge them with my anger

so that I may spend freely.

I judge them with my fears

to cover-up my fear of death.

But mostly to cover-over my fear of Life.

Or perhaps it is most often that I judge

to color-over my own lies —

to color outside my own lines.

I am good at coloring outside the lines

of topical belief-systems.

To take the next step, it must be small.

And I must be small.

Like Alice, I must drink the draught

that comes only from a creative heart,

and shrink my self into a Space

large enough to hold my Self.

True Truth is a butterfly —

Out there, flitting freely, no one knows where it may appear….

floating on the wind, like The Wind,

as the Holy Spirit says it does.

We may glimpse it but cannot grasp it.

But we must keep our eyes trained

on the horizons of our heart

and in Hope, the cocoon relaxes its bindings,

the fetters of our fears

and bonds of our desires

loosen, like the hand of an imprisoned adult,

we let go the grasping

and let the inner child go free.

Only a caterpillar can dream of crawling.

And so, I will today, embrace the moment

of crawling inch by inch,

dragging my insatiable, tiny belly

along this lovely, precious land.

Crawling inch by inch,

toward Flight.

“And what we shall be then,

We do not know,

But we know we will be

Changed.”

Traveling towards flight,

I inch painfully

towards Hope.

Karma is a ‘Beaut

Homeless Jesus, on unsplash by Randall Greene

Karma is a ‘Beaut

By Jane Tawel

September 12, 2025

Back where I am from there is a saying “She’s a ‘Beaut, Isn’t She?” (Pronounced “Byoot”) Translated out of Midwestern or Southern dialect, one might say, “That is very Beautiful” or “She is a Beauty”. Calling something a “beaut”. is often used when referring to a new purchase like a car, or a baby crib, or a cow. There is another saying that may have come to some minds when they read my title, another “B” word that we often link to Karma. It is a word which, as a woman, I dislike intensely and try never to utter. But then also, I have come to connect Karma not with the idea that many Westerners do, which is a type of justice or just deserts (pronounced as in “desserts” with two s’s although spelled with one “s”). Karma is the idea that every action — good, bad, and neutral — have logical and unerringly correct consequences. It goes along with the other spiritual teachings and all true historical worldviews, and along the lines of “Do good and good will come to you”; “You reap what you sow”; poetic justice and just deserts; and so forth. “True Truth, Karma is”, (said in the voice of that wise one called Yoda). Then there is the karmic connection that one can not help but come to mind when I have seen the latest news and social media hype about a person who died last week, and that karmic saying really often does feel like it deserves the other “B” word: “you live by the sword, and you will die by the sword”. Or in America, translated as, “You preached that everyone should be allowed to own and use a gun whenever and however and now you have been killed by a gun that someone had the freedom to use because of people like you.” Karma is often, indeed, if not the “B-word”, oh, so situationally ironic.

I know there are people who are sad about the death of this man who was killed by a gun. In this country, as perhaps in many Western countries, there are several problems surrounding this. The first is that we deny the fact of death and the very real reality that everyone is going to die. So we are just super-duper shocked when someone actually dies. And what with the uber hype of social media and the talking heads that claim they are giving us “news” (Definition of “news” according to the dictionary: newly received or noteworthy information, especially about recent or important events.) Hence, I try these days to skim headlines, just to make sure I don’t have to pack my car for the next SoCal fire or to inform myself on what I might expect to find (or not find) at my local grocery, and I move on to more important things — like reruns of “Columbo” on Netflix. Otherwise I can lose whole decades and globs of hair I tear out obsessing about the latest machinations and tweets of crazy people.

The second thing that social media does to skew our view is to make us feel we “know” people that we don’t actually know. I am very glad I never knew anything about — not even the name — of this man that was killed by a gun this past week. He is possibly rolling in his grave to hear that, but there it is. I try my darnedest to spend my valuable and rapidly running out days left on this earth reading about people past and present who matter and who share or increase my understanding of what I, as a little human being, have been called to do (or not do) while I exist as matter on this earth so that in some way, I might matter — not because I am great or famous but because I love. And I believe one thing when I can’t seem to believe anything else, and that is that Love never dies. Love is in some way, some how — Eternal. I am old-fashioned enough to believe that every one, whether they know it or not, lives according to a WORLD- VIEW. I believe my greatest task left to me is to walk that so-called, “narrow path”, The Trustful, Truthful Way, the Tao — and to try my best to stop doing harm, to spread light and love, and to find the peace that passes my current understanding, with trust that God is Good, and that no matter how many times the Earth is destroyed or we destroy it, that Life, and True Life will keep regenerating from our ashes.

Thirdly, there are so many people in this country, and maybe the world, who have no idea what sorrow is and how to grieve. In fact, we deny being sad (we are depressed); we deny grieving (“mama is in heaven now so be happy”); and we deny the fact that we have allowed violence and injustice to thrive in this nation in the name of some idiotic idea that it means we have freedom. In fact, in America, we have taken the word and idea of “freedom”, and made it into a prison of selfish individualism in a nation that cares nothing for its citizens but only for the illusory chimera of wealth for the few and the “bread and circus” promises of winning the lottery for the majority.

Now I am, after having read more headlines about this man who was killed this past week, actually very, very glad I had no idea who he was until recently and that I have no history with ever hearing any thing that came out of his mouth. And please, can we be clear? This man was not “assassinated” like people who were actually killed for speaking up about justice or racial inequity, like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. This man was not a martyr for his ideals, like Ghandi. This man was murdered by someone who was simply exercising his Second Amendment rights — according to the man who was killed. Do I rejoice in his death? Absolutely not. But not because of him, but because, as that beautiful Christian poet, John Donne, who suffered and sorrowed much, especially over the death of his young son, I believe that “every death diminishes me”. However, do I think this man’s death warrants the hoopla surrounding it. Nope. So, stop reading here if this offends somehow your sensibilities or if you feel that not faking sorrow for a man who did not live in goodness or love for others is a bad thing.

I will tell you about a few of the people that I do not know that I actually do mourn. I mourn the twenty INNOCENT children and six teachers who were murdered at Sandy Hook. (Those children didn’t know that a crazy man was just exercising his Second Amendment rights.) I mourn the deaths of the fourteen students and three staff members killed at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. (I once lost a job at a Christian school, in part because I allowed my class to participate in the six minutes and twenty seconds of silence for the first “March for Our Lives” national movement day. Long after the scars have healed over, the irony still catches my breath.) I mourn the wives and mothers killed by gun violence in their own homes because their spouse or partner is allowed to keep a weapon despite the fact he is a known domestic abuser. I mourn Trayvon Martin and George Floyd; I mourn Matthew Shephard and Harvey Milk; and already and still — despite the fact it is not the current hot news du jour, I mourn the twenty-nine deaths and sixty serious injuries from school (SCHOOL!!!!) shootings in America in 2025 so far. (When did we stop being shocked by school shootings? That must be the day the soul of America truly died.) And if you get me started on some parts of the rest of the world where children are left to starve and innocent civilians are killed, I will probably implode with disbelief and sorrow to the point I will never stop mourning. “Every death diminishes me”, but the death of innocent children and the death of the innocent reduces me to a pool of sorrow.

Eckhart Tolle has helped me see the current state of many countries in the world, and especially my own nation of the, now seemingly ironically named, “United” States of America. Remember the Corona Virus (for those of you who still believe in science)? Well, we currently have, as Tolle brilliantly sees, a serious mental virus. I would, along with Jesus, be so bold as to call it a spiritual virus as well. That is the only way to explain the absolute insanity of what our government (and others); and some non-government leaders (like those in churches or synagogues or schools); and some random, known and unknown, citizens are believing and “preaching” and doing. It is — no other word for it — INSANE INSANITY. And just as Germany woke up after years of murdering innocent people and labeling people as less than human during the fascist regime of the past (not the current ones). And just as the nation I have loved and long lived in, woke up after we burned women for being witches at the stake because they were strong and outspoken and healers; and woke up after we stole human beings from their land to use as slaves, deeming them less “human” than we were because of their color; and just as we woke up after realizing that women were smart enough to vote and have their own money and property — we might still wake up in time. We might wake up from this horrible nightmare of our own creation in time to save our nation. We might even wake up in time to save other parts of our world, as America has often rallied and risen-up to do. We may even have the guts and righteous reasoning to save our planet.

But we may not.

And with each passing, fearful day, I begin to think perhaps this Insanity Virus, that so many in my country seem to have been infected with, will not be recognized in time and that we will not have the strength or the truthfulness to diagnosis the real problem we have and to turn to the Healers and the Helpers.

And it is, I regret to point out, in great part because we keep breathing in the toxic fumes of people like the man who was murdered this past week. And of course, we keep sucking in the nuclear waste of the supposed leaders who react and mourn this guy who died but not the actual recent assassination of Minnesota Representative Melissa Hotrman.

And we keep denying we have become sick to the point of spiritual death by caring more for what we have (or think we once had) than what we are called to BE. And we think somehow there is not enough to go around, when there is plenty if we are willing to share. And we believe in some future “good” when what we need to do is believe the Truthful Ones, like Jesus, who said, “The Reality of Heaven is NOW, not Then and not Someday. Live Light now, for you are the Light of Awareness and Truth and Love”. And if we lived that way, then we really wouldn’t have to fear death. We could mourn the loss of those who die without losing the sense that as individuals we are impermanent but when we live together in Oneness as part of The One, then death is simply transformation.

When I was in high school, I memorized some scriptures whose meaning has morphed as I have aged and has definitely morphed since I began to see my nation, my world, and myself in different ways. The shock of 2015 for me was that any one who claimed to know or want to know Jesus, the Christ, could ever catch the insanity virus. I thought the “Jesus-Worldview” would make any one immune to worshiping hatred and greed and lies. But as I saw people worship not the Golden Calf of the ancient Hebrews but the Golden Pig(s) of this Uber-Capitalistic Oligarchy, masquerading as supporters of “democracy” and as I witnessed people who would never say a swear word, blaspheming the name of God with their misrepresentation of what we have been told about The Way, and corrupting the ideas of the Judeo-Christian belief system — I realized — people really can go crazy without realizing it. People really have gone insane and I can not imagine they realize they have caught a deadly mental disease. “What does it profit a person if they gain the world (or the Congress or the White House) and lose their soul?”

So here are some things that continue to help me and why I don’t mourn some individual man who spread the Gospel of Hate and whose name will be forgotten in a few years, if not a few weeks. Here are my musings and my meditations on Galatians 2: 20,21)

“I am crucified with Christ”, (that is I die to ego and selfishness and greed and prejudice — and all those things that make me a prisoner of hate and fear) and I am crucified in the way Jesus accepted the reality of suffering and even death and I accept all suffering as crucibles and ultimately the way to Rebirth and Resurrection. “Nevertheless, I live, yet not I but Christ lives in me”, (I seek to know my true “Beingness”, my Soul, my Deep Self that Jesus knew and that God gives all who embrace the “holy spirit”; I seek to live in the Spirit which overcomes not only evil, but also overcomes death. So, when I die to ego and hate and greed and fear, I truly find Eternal Life.) “And the Life which I now live in the flesh, (while I still have a body and still have “stuff”), “I live through the faith of the Son of God” (I trust that I am, as Jesus was and is in a new form, a beloved Child of God), (and so are you, and you, and you, and you and yes, so is even that man who died by a gun and those men and women who are frantically and selfishly intent on destroying our world — we are all beloved children of God) (And so, there has only been and will always be only one Real Reality — and that is Love). (Jane’s current paraphrase of Galatians 2: 20–21)

I will share with you this paraphrased prayer, because I just don’t know what else to say to give you hope, except: May the peace which passes understanding, give you strength to keep fighting and to keep sorrowing and to keep loving to the End of Time and then Beyond Time.

So yes…. Karma is indeed a ‘beaut. Because just as the followers of Jesus wrote, quoted above (albeit in Jane “strange-speak” language), the amazing, wonderous, awesome thing about being a human BEING is that we can, if we choose to, elect to change our overall karmic arc. There are just so many examples of those who have changed their karma — the trajectory of their lives — through one intentionally good action at a time — So many little and great human beings have changed the moral/ karmic arc of their own lives and of history, that the pages in The Good Book can not hold all their names. “We can not all do great things, but we can all do small things with great love”, as that Good Karma Saint, Teresa taught us. And maybe, just maybe, if each one of us allows the Light of Love and Truth and Trust and Hope, to shine through our dense selves, then we will Light a path for those who choose darkness over light, those “blind guides” who choose to lead with hate and fear rather than love and faith. As the children’s song says, “This little light of mine. I’m gonna’ let it shine. Won’t let Satan blow it out — No! I’m gonna’ let it shine”. God willin’ and the creek don’t rise, I will.

I went to a funny little concert a few weeks ago, outside in a big park here in SoCal (SoCal — epicenter of the war waged from afar on justice and kindness). And at the last song of the concert, everyone got out their cell phones and turned on their flashlights and waved them around. Back in the day, we all had lighters to do that, even if we didn’t smoke, and the symbol of a little blaze of fire waving around in one’s teenaged hand was a more complete metaphor back then because of, well, fire. But still, at my recent concert, as you looked around and back and in front and on the overhead screens, you saw a vast ocean of waving lights. All it took, was for this one person to bring the light, and then that one person to bring the light, and then that one, and that one, and that one…. Fear not, my friend and stay strong. And Bring the Light.

You are the “Light of the World”. Let your Light so shine before all human beings, and someday, when you are “going towards the Light”, in those final moments, well, we don’t know what happens next, not really, but if we “do not walk in darkness, we will (for certain) have in hope and in fact, the Light of Eternal Life”. The Great Teachers have pinky promised us that; and I am going to trust them on that promise. One precious moment at a time.

One Day I Shall Move On

https://unsplash.com/photos/a-suitcase-on-a-staircase-SrSLOWMnYWg

One Day I Shall Move On

August 29, 2025

This tube of flesh

has held my sorrows well.

But what I am and where I’m going

I can’t truly tell.

Ta-roo! Ta-rah!

The show goes on.

But one day as the clowns dance out

without my laughing smiles;

and one day slipping from my shoes,

I’ll leave the endless, winding miles.

I will be moving on — oh yes!

I will be moving on.

I do not know where I will be

when I am just the Self of Me,

but now each tender step I take,

and every thought I try to make,

I hold quite lightly, no hold or grasp.

Embracing precious moments as my last.

For this sweet Now is fully mine

with just a hint of Eternity’s divine.

One day I’ll leave this world of show and go.

And where I’m headed, though I do not know,

I trust the Good that Love will lead me there.

I know that, though you’ll think that I am gone,

Please know, I just left baggage.

I have moved on.

I Am Sad for Those Who Choose To Be So Small

I Am Sad for Those Who Choose To Be So Small

By Jane Tawel

August 15, 2025

I pity those who choose to be so small.

Especially those perhaps, who,

elevated to heights of grandeur,

living as this world’s supposedly elites

given prestige, power, and wealth,

who stand upon the mountain tops —

and yet, choose to crawl in the dirt

where they see only the specks of dirt in others’ eyes,

where they throw dirt at others attempting to dehumanize them;

where they debase themselves with petty actions,

meant to hurt others in their quest for more —

more power — there is never enough;

more things — there are never enough;

more wealth — there is never enough;

more attention — there is never enough;

more fame, and praise, and adulation — there are never enough.

More and more and more……

Because there is never enough.

Because they — are never enough.

I can only pity them.

How little they know.

How little they are.

I feel sad for those who choose to be so small.

They make the world hold up a fun-house mirror

allowing them to appear to themselves as big and grand,

as huge as their egos fight to make them feel.

I feel sad but it is hard for me to feel empathy

because I am still angry at the harm they do to others.

Why do small people become bullies?

If we all see in a cloudy mirror, darkly,

how sad it must be for those the world makes appear

so much bigger than the rest of us,

to sometimes get a glimpse of their true selves,

of the small needy child reflected back.

I wish Someone would tell them:

“It is the humble who inherit true life”.

I wish Someone would hold them

like the little angry, fearful children that they are.

And A Good Parent would say, “Fear not, for I-AM with you”.

And then they would no longer be angry that they too will die someday.

And then they would no longer be afraid to share their toys.

Because they would know that The Good Parent has enough

for all of us.

And that The Good Parent believes that each of us IS enough.

Because we are all Her children.

Even the naughty ones.

Even the ones who try to appear so big.

Even the small ones.

Even you and me.

And all of us small children,

could Be — One. Big. Happy Family.

I feel sad for those who choose to be so small.

I too, have chosen to be small, to stay small,

to let my ego convince me that it must grow and grow and grow…

By being right,

By being in charge and in control,

By being this or that or “someone”.

I, too, have made myself small

by making myself feel bigger

compared to someone else –

a friend, a boss, a spouse, a child, a stranger.

I, too, have chosen smallness of spirit,

Not realizing that smallness is never Spirit.

For how can something small contain

The Spirit?

How can any small container hold

that which is enormous, spacious, eternal?

I have used the same methods the large people use

to make myself small –

I have used anger and fear and judgment

And I have used them against you –

And I have used them against me —

And I have thought that those things reduced you compared to me.

And I have thought those fears and angers and judgements against myself

were things I could hold on to as important —

But they aren’t important unless I use them to grow;

Unless I use them to grow something Good.

My anger, fear, and judgement are the dirt —

And yes, I recognize that dirt can make things grow,

But what I choose to do with the dirt matters;

what I choose to plant in that dirt is what matters.

I can plant weeds or flowers; I can plant food or golden towers.

My emotions are not me, any more than my thoughts are me.

My emotions and thoughts can be the trash that fill me up

like an overflowing dump, like a landfill.

Or I can let my emotions and thoughts be the mud,

the decaying compost

that lets the lotus grow

that nourishes Abundant Life.

I am sad for those who choose to stay so small.

Next to the little ripple that I make,

they appear as huge waves — as tsunamis, some of them —

it sometimes still makes me angry at their destructive paths,

it sometimes still makes me afraid,

afraid for the children who must one day

try to clean-up the mess on the shores

we leave behind in our time.

And yet, those who make big waves do not realize

that we are all just small, temporary appearances

on Life’s surface.

We are none of us any more than

small ripples on One Big Endless Ocean.

How sad to look for large-ness in one’s small self,

when if one only looked around, and looked inside,

one would see the Vastness of The Ocean she is

One With.

Oh!

What peace I find!

What joy I embrace!

Passing understanding, peace settles in,

when in this single, only moment that I have

I AM –

I am that one, small ripple at One with your one, small ripple.

In that Being,

my spirit enlarges

and together we grow and grow and grow

to Be

One Huge Ocean.

The Wise One said,

“This too shall pass — as every time does,

as every moment does”.

All names go down in someone’s history,

and then that history passes out of all remembrance.

The Wisdom of the One Spirit

can not be contained in old wine skins:

Always new and renewing, it bursts forth from the old,

renewing and renewing into Eternal I-AM-ness.

And seeing the finger pointing at the moon,

is the signpost not the Truth.

And empathy is only an open door,

to learn to love my enemy as I love myself.

For my enemy IS my Self.

And peeking through the door of empathy,

I see the Light of Love.

And only Love remains.

Meditating: Is it My Life, Life or Death?

Meditating: Is it My Life, Life or Death?

By Jane Tawel

They are other life-times I have had —

Whether incarnations or memories —

Whatever you need to call them,

What matter does that make?
Yes — What “matter”?

For each moment past

is no longer my matter,

nor should it matter any more

and hence,

Nothing — No-thing — that matter-ed then

can effect me now.

Will I live forever?

Of course not.

How could I live forever if I never exist beyond

just this one precious moment?

Or is this moment full of

an Eternity I choose to ignore?

But what does it matter if what

I call myself

Does not live past this —

“tick!”

“tock!”

“tick!”

“ti — ”

“t — ”

Hmmm?

Do I truly desire that who I think I am right now

continues…….?

Continues in endless suffering…..?

Endless confusion?

Endless unknowing?

Endless unloving?

As the Wise One said:

“Why do you worry about tomorrow?

Doesn’t this moment provide exactly the correct number of problems for you to solve?”

And what exactly are the problems –

Right Now?

Those problems that you think you have,

are all in your head.

Be thoughtless,

and you will become thoughtful.

Do not let anything “matter” to you

more than experiencing this –

One precious moment,

One precious Life.

The Wise Ones knew

that “what we shall be then,

we cannot know, but one day —

We will all awaken”.

And, Oh!

Then only Love will remain.

That is the accepted bliss of acceptance

that in this moment, I do not need to know.

Unknowing is the path to the joy of complete surrender.

And walking that path is the only way to Love.

One step.

One moment.

One Life.

We do not know what we will become,

But one way or the other,

We will be transformed.

We are but ripples and waves

but we are also The Ocean.

One day, we will be like Them.

And we will be One.

There can be no more questions of yesterday

and what might have been.

There can be no more fearful desire or denials for tomorrow.

There is only the peace that passes understanding.

Accepting what IS.

There is joy in being alive as what IAM today.

There is only this —

Now, and ever more shall be.

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