Jane Tawel

Never Regret Betting on Hope, Even if it Seems Your Horse Badly Lost the Race

by Jane Tawel

Never Regret Betting on Hope, Even if it Seems Your Horse Badly Lost the Race

By Jane Tawel

November 14, 2024

A couple days after the shockwaves of what America and many Americans have become was revealed on November 5, 2024, my husband turned to me and sadly said, “I want my money back”. He felt he had bet on the wrong “horse” in the race to save America.

A lot of people may feel that they took a chance, made a bet and somehow, they made a mistake because they lost a race (or several races as the case may be). I imagine there has been among the “losing horses” in our recent national and state races, as so often is the case, of what I think is called “fifth quarter quarterbacking” (I may have that idiom wrong as I am not an acolyte of the religion of football). But I have ignored all news since that day when America chose evil over good (yes, I will say it because it is obviously the case). I have never been a looky-loo and when I see a horrible accident on the side of the road, I purposely turn away. I did my part in trying to prevent the train-wreck that Americans seem to want to create and now, frankly, I need to focus on, what someone once wisely called “the things that shall remain” — faith, hope, and love. As Jesus advised, I will give “Caesar” what is “Caesar’s” and I will turn towards the things I can do both for the little world I actually inhabit, and the Earth that I need to do my part to save, but most importantly, I will turn inward and work on my Self, and Soul. More than ever before in my life, I will work on forgiving others, and take to heart, mind, and soul, the profound words of Jesus: “What does it profit anyone if they gain both houses and the White House — I mean — gain the World — but lose their own precious soul?”

And so, I said to my husband, “I understand your disappointment, but never regret placing a bet on hope.”

All races are temporal, but when you choose Hope, you are connecting with what is divine and of that which is eternal. Because when we are gone from this “mortal coil”, we have to believe that all the spiritual wise Ones were right — the things that are True, the things that are Noble, the things that are deeply and truly in us of faith, hope, Goodness, Righteousness, Nobility, Honesty, and above all what is in us of Love — will somehow, somewhere, in some way — Remain — eternally Being.

And I choose today to also forgive those who chose to place their bets on a horse that may have won, but that is full of literal and figurative disease and corruption. I am working on it, but I am more and more finding it in my heart to pity the “winners” who have no idea what they have actually lost. For what does it profit you if you win everything — the whole enchilada — but do so by losing hope, love, joy, kindness, truthfulness, and open-minded acceptance of others? Why would I ever want to live a life where I have no love for other people, who in their differences are really just like I? I choose to pity people who seem to have everything but don’t understand the words of Jesus — I pity them because I, too, have been just like them at times. And so, when I forgive them, I am on the path to forgiving myself. What does it profit you if you gain “stuff” — if you gain a false certainty about you, your ego and your beliefs and your “team”, but lose the One thing that matters — Love, The Oneness? I remind myself each day: Forgiveness and Pity — those are things I try to do for me and my soul, even if no one knows I forgive them. Even if they don’t think they need it. So, I encourage you to forgive. And to pity. For as Jesus said, “in the measure you forgive, you will find forgiveness.” Forgive the foolish ones. But also forgive the evil ones. Eva Kor, a survivor of the Holocaust, amazingly was able to say this: “Anger is a seed for war. Forgiveness is a seed for peace”; and “Forgive your worst enemy. It will heal your soul and set you free.” Plant the right seeds in your soul today. Seeds of love, hope, forgiveness, and peace. Bloom where you are planted — which is really just your “own back yard”.

So I am seeking freedom from my thoughts and feelings about the past, and freedom from my fears about the future of this nation, this species, this planet. I am focusing only on taking the one step that is the only step I can actually take in the “journey of a thousand steps”. And I am trusting, having faith, that whatever is Good in me and others, will remain, and that all else will burn as dross. I am trusting that the words of that great Shakespearean politician and someone later revealed to be a shyster and power-monger, Marc Antony, are not true, and that “the evil that men do actually does die with them and will be interred with their bones, but that the Good will live long after them.” If that is not true, then I have been long mistaken about what kind of God might be in charge of this Cosmos. Hold tight to what you know in your heart must be true about reality. After all, how many quotes do you remember by bad, evil people and how many do we live by or try to live by when they are spoken by good people? As Martin Luther King, Jr. encourages us, “We shall overcome, because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward Justice.”

Races come and go. Nations come and go. And while it is tragic and horrible to watch a nation I was born in, lived in, and loved my whole life, die a horrible death by its own foolish, greedy, mistaken, and for some, downright evil hands — America was bound to die some day. All nations do. The Bible predicts it. So did George Orwell. And while I am heartbroken that America has decided to die by means of suicide — you know — it is just a nation after all. Just a place and time in history that like all temporal things, is impermanent. Unlike me. Unlike you. Unlike Hope. Unlike Love.

I am all for people still trying to save America. There has always been so much possibility here, so if that is still motivating you, keep your chin up and keep working at it. But at the same time, I do believe that as Jesus and much later, C.S. Lewis taught, we live in whatever “Kingdom” we long for Now — Today. Either you — personally, in your heart, mind and will — live in a kingdom of heaven or you live today in a kingdom of hell. Either you are working for and living in the Kingdom of God and Light — of our better angels and nirvana and Good — or you live — today — now — in a kingdom of “Satan” — darkness — pride, greed, fear, anger, prejudice, racism, and control-freakishness. Either you choose to live in the Light of The Now, when you are all you need to be and have to live — fully and richly and joyfully, as Christ and all great spiritual truth-tellers lived and taught — or you choose to try to live in a past that never existed, because only the Present has ever existed, but you choose to believe there was a time in the Past where you had more, were more, and that the way for you to get back to that place is to take things from other people or inflict your beliefs on other people by force. Your choice.

And just because over half of Americans have made the wrong choice for their lives and for our nation — don’t regret your choice to bet on Hope, to live by the Light of Truth, to seek to love others as you love yourself, never forcing them to believe as you do, but simply letting your Light shine. And never regret a single moment when you felt joy or a single moment when you turned the other cheek or a single moment when you rose above your fears or anger or sorrow and chose to truly Hope and to truly Love. Psalms 51:10 is my prayer today: “God, create a clean heart for me and renew a steadfast spirit within me.”

Two mornings after the end of the latest race in the world’s history of races, and fights between Good and Evil, and warmongers winning over peace-makers — I was running the trail with my very early morning people, most of whom I don’t know by name, only by sight. I did meet Paige and her wife one time, when we were both donating blood at the Red Cross. I said to her as she lay on the table, giving her blood for the sake of others (allusion to Jesus intentional), “Aren’t you on the trail in the wee hours?” She said, “Yes! I’m Paige. Aren’t you “hey-hey Woman”?” (My Kentucky ancestors come out strong in the wee hours on my jogs.) Since that time, many moons ago, Paige and Jane have said “Good Morning (Paige)” or “Hey-ya” (Jane) as we bop along on the trail and pass each other. On November 5th, Paige passed me and gave me the thumbs up sign. I said, “Here’s hoping!” Two days after November 5th, I started to pass Paige, and I saw even in the dark before dawn, tears welling up in her eyes. I stopped, and meekly, tentatively went to her and just put my hand lightly on her shoulder and said, “Take care of yourself today. Take care of your people. Love yourself and love those in your life.” Paige nodded and we went our opposite ways.

And so, with deep humility, I say to you as well: Take care of yourself today. And by that, I mean, take care of your soul — that which is eternal. And take care of your people. They need you. And yes, it is always darkest before the Dawn, but never regret spending your money, your time, or your energies on Hope. Or Joy. Or Love. Always keep hoping to create Good in the place you live in and the people you live with. Remember the words of The Greats, who lived in a world exactly like ours but overcame the negative and eternally live on forever in word and deed, and in Spirit. Keep letting the eternal things motivate you. Forget the Past. Let Tomorrow take care of itself — it is not within your power to do anything about it today — except to keep your hope alive and to keep trusting in the Power of Good.

So, if you are finding yourself today still in a “mountain of despair”, believe as the great Black Preacher and Christ follower told us, in every mountain we must climb, there is a “stone of hope”. Believe as Jesus taught that it not through faith in any one else or anything else, it is Your Faith that will heal you. And believe as he did, that it is you and your soul that above all is a “pearl beyond all price”. You above everything are worth saving. You may not save this nation. You may not be able to save even those you love from making bad choices. And we may not still have time to save ourselves from the most immediate future of trials and tribulations. But we can save and hold fast and tight to those things that remain forever — faith, love, and hope.

Postscript:

My words are meager, but please remember the words of better folks than I who kept betting on hope, no matter what.

Remember the words of Saint Emily:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops — at all –

And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard –

And sore must be the storm –

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –

And on the strangest Sea –

Yet — never — in Extremity,

It asked a crumb — of me.

Remember the words of the Healer (Doctor) Martin Luther King spoken two months before he gave his life for us by an assassin’s bullet, “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope”.

Remember the words of the Psalms. Psalms 37, 51, 34, and so forth: Hope renews your strength.

And remember how you felt, probably like I did, when you had hope and joy and love. Claim them for yourself and your loved ones, right now. They are not a bad bet — they are your right and they will help you heal the world, heal the planet, and heal your soul.

All is Love. All is Now.

by Jane Tawel

All is Love. All is Now

By Jane Tawel

November 7, 2024

I wanted to write about woe and grief

but decided to sit here and breathe.

I wanted to share how angry I am,

to know this is how the end begins,

rotting by choice from within.

But I looked to the words

and the life of The Man

to Whom, as a child I had taken a vow,

and I realized His message was all about Love

and all about loving The Now.

I feared the destruction, so long underway

of the feminine Sacred of All.

And the Past and the Future

merged bleakly in me —

a trajectory strong since The Fall.

But I looked at my hands,

writing words on this page,

and I heard that Still Voice

Whispering, Age after Age:

“Just be present and Breathe.

Beingness.

Just Be Still.

Know The Moment —

that’s all that you need.

Be Just You.

Be True You.

Just right Now —

you’ll know how.

Find The Why.

To self, die.

You are Buddha.

You are Christ.

You’re The Way and The Life.

You’re the Voice.

You are Love.

Only you.

Only Be.

Only now.

Only choice is to Love.

Only Love.

Only Now.

Love is All.

Now is All.

All is Love.

All is Now.”

A Prayer

by Jane Tawel

A Prayer

By Jane Tawel

September 27, 2024

I pray that mine will learn True Love.

I pray that mine will find The Way.

I pray for safety for each one,

and that sufficient is the day.

I pray for each that has been given

into my weak and feeble hands,

and then I pray for all the planet

in my own place and distant lands.

I pray at last for my own soul

that grace and love will set it free;

and that my heart and mind and will

may find its peace and home in Thee.

Feeling Hopeful

by Jane Tawel

August 21,2024

kind and curious- unsplash

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

Poems on Not Growing Old — But Aging

by Jane Tawel

(Family)

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.

(us)

How We Go Through Life at Our Age

Poem 2

By Jane Tawel

August 12, 2024

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?

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.

Oh, So.

Much.

Love.

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.

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.

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.

(Run Happy)

This is the Fun Part

Poem 3 — A Haiku

By Jane Tawel, August 13, 2024

This is so much fun.

Free to be you and me.

Getting old is great.

Morning Promises

Morning Promises

By Jane Tawel, July 28, 2024

****

Gorgeous delight,

this Morning, fresh and new.

I put up a good fight against Your hopeful face,

But why did I ever doubt You?

You have come, not on soft, pitter-patter feet

as once you did when youth was cleanly cleaved

along the lines of good and bad

along the fenceposts of win or fail

when all the dreams we ever had were moored

along the shores of youth’s grim holy grails.

No, your arrival seems to come without my choosing.

And I fight your crashing cymbals waking me from

restless, aching sleep.

The morning light begins to seep like opening wounds

and stirs the ancient fears that all must keep

as close as terminal denial could ever be.

And yet — perhaps to dream — ah, there’s the rub! —

to sleep is but to die a small, white-noise-ed death.

But — Ah, Good Grief! Dear Morning!

With Your quickening breath,

I wake, perhaps to dream,

perhaps to simply welcome one more cup

of coffee, tea, or toasted bread with honey.

Oh, Gorgeous Delight!

Another day is welcome, I’ll admit

And as I sit, I sip anew this life,

this breath,

this dawn lovely.

I wake to dreams that circle round

The Past, The Present, Perhaps… Infinity…

Ah, Dearest Daybreak, Welcome here!

My soul awakes to deeply drink

and dream with open eyes

the peace, the hope, the joy of

All.

With Love embracing,

I face this glorious day,

And forward-backward, onward facing

I open heart and mind

to Be

at One

with You and me

and just, perhaps, a little bit

to glimpse this Morning’s hinting promises

of Genesis Eternity.

The Prophets and the Poets

By Jane Tawel, July 19, 2024

The prophets and the poets,

don’t make much money.

Living not by their wits,

but desperately by what they hope is their wisdom,

they often are fasting

to lose the weight of the world,

to be thin enough that all becomes transparent.

If only they could share the truth,

with words that lighten and light.

Eating one’s words

starves one of daily bread.

And the vines of divine revelation

produce only vinegar and thirst.

The prophets cry, “We Thirst.”

And the poets mourn,

“Why use bread for war and not peace?”

Eventually, the prophets and the poets,

have no alternative,

but to leave the bone-dry banks,

and float downstream.

Unmoored

Unleashed

Unmourned

Adrift.

And there are those days

(and some dark, lonely nights)

when they are desperate to paddle to the shores,

where the solid people stand,

counting profits and not prophecies,

gathering praises and not poems.

Oh, the prophets and the poets have been too long starved.

They have no sensibility

of what others call sense

And at last, as they float,

yearning words fail the poets

and the prophets can only mumble —

their rage, silenced into grumbling.

The crowds have been against them

throwing stones, covering them

in their rubble of words.

They have been censored

by the ennui of the poor

and the materialism of the mercenary

by the loud and the proud,

by the honey-ed and the money-ed,

by the fountain of youth

that all seek who fear old souls.

Silence for the prophets is not golden tongued,

but a still, small whisper.

And the poets are gathered,

at the still point of the turning world,

but yet to join The Dance.

They await their chance.

Leaden-footed verses pull them down

in their clumsy hopes.

And the poets and the prophets

raise hushed voices to the Sky.

“Deliver us”, they cry.

But their words float up

as the Streams of consciousness

carry them away.

Will the gods some day find

at the end of the World’s Waterways,

a happy band of sufferers,

of seers, and seekers,

and all the least listened to —

Find them at the End,

playing weightlessly in the waves,

splashing each other with imagery and symbols,

fishing for food for thought?

Will the mighty someday look down from their rocky peaks,

and find that they have climbed too high

and the dive down now would kill them?

Will we who ignored the song-writers,

the soothsayers,

the children and the very old,

will we left behind

find that we stopped up our ears

and we hardened our hearts

as we hardened our flesh?

Will we discover that we heard only noise

and spoke only words of deaf prose?

Will we find that we have dried-up all the waters

that would have carried us along

buoyed up with the words of the poets and the seers?

Will we some day see

that our stony hearts,

and our craggy consciousness,

did not bring our statues to life,

but made our idols into dead gods?

Oh, My people!

Will we turn out our pockets and know at last

that the pebbles we kept

and refused to toss in to The Stream,

were only great weights on our souls,

holding us down, down, down, as we rose,

drowning us in our own dry deserts as we drank,

and in our refusal to listen

bursting our ears with the beat of our drums?

Oh, we should have listened

to the old,

to the wise,

to the poets

and prophets,

to the cries of the children,

and the messages of the myth-makers.

And now the

poets and prophets float free.

Finally,

their Truth

and The Way of The Words,

have released them

restored them

rebirthed them.

They have been moved

as they never moved others

into The Deep Watery Way.

Now continually composing

in Never-ending New Creation,

They rise.

Dancing waves suspended

in Eternity’s Ocean,

At last…

As One…

As One…..

Sea Shell Sagacity

Unsplash Vafa Karamzadegan

On our last trip in June, I bought some sea shells from the Sea Shell shop in Morro Bay. I gave a shell to friends and family, to remind us of the important things in life (besides work J) that sea shells symbolize.

Shed anything from the past that won’t serve your best interests today. Just like a mollusk sheds it shell to grow into something better and bigger, we, too, must shed the limiting shells of our past, whether negative patterns, outdated beliefs, or painful experiences.
Don’t let imperfections distract you from seeing beauty in things. Be as resilient as a shell has to be in the big, often harsh environment of the ocean. You have already weathered a lot of storms. Let the shell inspire you to find healing and wholeness even amidst life’s greatest challenges.
A sea shell protects the fragile, delicate being that lives inside it. Create your own protective spaces, carve out time for self-care, and set healthy boundaries.
In all cultures and religions, shells represent life. Remind yourself often that Life is good.
Shells remind me of all my favorite places in all the world; places I have explored, visited once, lived at, and have wonderful memories from. Make sure you find time for special places, and if you can’t get to a special place, go to your memories of those places and be rejuvenated and renewed.

May this sea shell remind you of how special you are –unique in all the world – there is only one you! May it remind you that there are people who treasure you as a family member or friend – as I do.

Let Me Take Your Sorrow

Let Me Take Your Sorrow

By Jane Tawel

June 6, 2024

Let me take your sorrow,

if only for an hour

For I am old, not like you;

no longer armored with pangs of youth.

Let me take the tears you ache too much to shed.

And I will let grief flow through me

as your fast stream flows free,

flows free through my slow-moving sea.

Let me take your anger

until you need it again.

Let me take its energy

and keep it safe from misspent deeds.

And when you’ve rested and had some play,

I’ll give it back again.

Then you may lead the charge

to change the world once more.

Then you may slam the doors

on past and future visions of hate.

And in the house of my own self,

I’ll shut the gate on letting loose

the rage on life’s injustices.

Your anger’s safe with me

until you know its rightful cause,

until you know your strength.

Let me take your fears.

For I am old (though not an elder).

(Elders are wise and I am only willing.)

And though I’m still afraid to fall;

I’m more afraid to see you tumble down too far.

I’m not afraid to stay down there.

It’s often peaceful in the depths.

I’ve loaded up a life with care

and carefully, I throw old baggage out.

And piece by piece, what’s left of me,

must t’wards the end, walk fearlessly.

The greatest fear of all draws near.

And nearer, nearer does Death come.

I have nothing here worth fearing,

Except the nearing end of all the life!

Of All The Life and All The Love!

So let me hold each of your fears.

I’ll hold them close, while we sing lullabies.

I’ll wipe your fears away like baby’s tears,

cradling your fears within my ample heart.

Go! –live your life!- not fearless- No!

For fears protect and fears can guide,

but I will gently rock them,

so you may pick them up again,

when they’ve become at least more stilled.

And when your fears grow quieter,

then you will find their shadow strength.

Yes, you will find the strength in fear.

Yes, you will find dark’s might.

And even Life-Death’s greatest fear,

the fear of endless night,

will be the greatest strength of all,

the strength of how to live each moment, right.

Oh, let me take your sorrow,

your anger and your fears.

I’ll take them all for hours,

for days, and months, and years.

Oh, let me take your tears and grief,

and let me take your rages.

And like a tree with many leaves,

and like a book with endless pages,

you’ll shed the dead;

write more beginnings;

and I’ll keep listening,

keep being willing

to take your pain for just awhile

that your soul can recover.

And even when this life of mine,

has passed away and seems all over,

I’ll still be there beside you.

I trust somewhere,

somehow,

some days,

my spirit will reach out to yours.

For Love will always find a way.

And I will take your sorrow,

and I will take your anger,

and I will take your fears;

and fly them far away with me.

And fly them far away.

And you, oh, little, precious bird,

will live to fly –

will climb as high as you want to climb.

And you will know that suffering,

is yet a strength along The Way.

And you will rise, and fall and rise again,

to live this precious moment,

to love this precious day.

The First Could Be The Last

Thomas Park, Unsplash

The First Could Be The Last

By Jane Tawel

May 19, 2024

The first cup of coffee

The last drops of tea,

The argument you always win

The look the mirror gives back to me

And birds in full cacophony

And trees that hold their secrets

And flowers that always, always die

And smiles, so rare, from strangers

But thoughts of you and them and us

But memories of such and thus

But dreams like intersection lights

But sleeping days and wakeful nights.

Ah, Life! Too short, too short to grasp.

Oh, love too small and love too vast.

Oh, seize the day, seize just this moment.

Awake and breathe. Drink deeply. Love.

This too shall pass.

This morning’s cup may be my last.

And what will be, no soul can see.

This moment is all I’ll ever know

A rare small glory is bestowed

in bird, and tree, and this warm, lovely cup of tea.

Hold all things lightly.

Keep holding fast.

Time passes quickly.

Next moment is the Past.

Yet what I am

that seeps the soul

is what I drink from,

what’s in my cup.

And looking up, to sky and rain

I can not help but hope

that birds and trees and these small hands

that hold your face; hold cups of tea

shall somehow live this moment well

to wake into a world of harmony;

to wake to live again eternally.

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by Jane Tawel

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by Jane Tawel

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Poems on Not Growing Old — But Aging

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