Look, Be, Beyond, Here, Now

By Jane Tawel

January 29, 2024

https://unsplash.com/@baranlotfollahi

*

Look into the mirror that has no form.

Looking deeply, down within the depths

you will find who You were meant to be.

*

Walking amongst,

between, and in,

you will go beyond.

And the shadows will no longer scare you.

And the fears will no longer tear at you.

And you will find you are more — 

More than mind,

More than body,

More than your desires,

More than your beliefs.

You will find you are soul.

You will find you are sometimes

Whole.

But when the parts of you

threaten to splinter or

rise up and rile — 

You will return to the mirror

and there you will find

that all your parts are taking part

in your rebirth.

They only wait for your surrender.

*

Only when you see blessedness

and love in the Mirror,

can you find it in another.

Then you will be a mirror for others,

and your reflections of yourself,

will become the reflections

that others need,

and theirs are that which you desire;

and back and forth,

back and forth,

the world’s mirrors will merge,

to reflect only Faith,

Hope,

and Love,

for only these are real enough

to remain.

*

Today all you must do is — 

Be;

but as you are being,

Be fully alive.

Be fully in love

with Life.

And when it hurts,

be the Father and Mother

to yourself and hold yourself

and cradle the child within your very own soul.

And when you are taking yourself

far too seriously,

then release your grasping,

and hold yourself lightly

in your own frail human hands.

Then you will be able to let go

of what is not meant for you to hold on to.

Then you will have hands open

to lift-up another,

to hold another,

to open to wonder and light.

Then you will let go

and let God and All,

Look.

Be.

Beyond.

Here. 

Now.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2024

My Blog’s Eight Years of Poems are Published

Hello Blogging Pals,

I have published eight years of poems taken from my blog. Yes, it is a hefty tome, haha. Yes, you will need to over look typos as editing / publishing was difficult this time due to technical difficulties in KDP. C’est la vie! It is a journey of some interesting years in the world, 2015-2023. Some of the poems are not so great, some are possibly pretty good. All are explorations in living and in the genre that speaks to Big Ideas and struggles with words — Poetry.

Thank you to all of you who have read my poems (and other stuff) over the years. If you are interested in a copy, there are two, one with some pictures which is more expensive and one with just the poems — on Amazon on Kindle and in paperback.

Here is the link to the one without pictures:

The other can be found on Amazon and is called just Musings and Meditation, A Pictorial Version…

Thank you dear bloggers for all your comments and likes over the years and most of all for all the great stuff you keep writing that I love reading. May today bring you joy in your journey, Jane

On a New Explore in Spaces

by Jane Tawel

“The Path To Introspection” by catmccray is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

*

On a New Explore in Spaces

By Jane Tawel

October 24, 2023

*

I used to follow dogma,

like a person on a short leash,

pulled by my dog-ma,

until I realized,

a person should not be leashed.

*

I was pulled along by men’s straining half-truths,

(And ideas are often skewed,

by patriarchal, masculine, power-needy views).

Of course, as I worshipped at stagnated troughs,

baptized in another savior’s used bathwater,

I became complacent,

but also confused as I marched a rigid path.

In the safe crowd trodding wide roads,

I was more and more alone.

I thought that I was the master,

leading the Dog,

but one day I said to myself,

“Self, it is supposed to be G.O.D. leading you,

not D.O.G.-ma leading you.”

I had it backwards for quite a long while.

So, I left all my old leashes in the pews,

and walked out the door.

And the light of a thousand new suns

was blinding.

So, I walked blindly,

and tried to tune my soul

to listening, instead.

*

What does one’s own heart sound like,

when the sounds of all others are stilled?

What do one’s blind eyes see,

when a thousand suns appear?

*

Now I stride along, and often trip.

My knees are so scabbed they look like

bloodied red Rorschach tests

glued tight on knobby knolls.

But I fall again and again,

and I am finally realizing,

what it really means to

Rise.

*

I pick myself up and look down many paths,

until I choose a path to follow.

And I know I only need to follow a path

for a while,

until a new way,

that is always also the Old Way,

appears.

*

I am an explorer,

exploring outer space

through my own inner space.

Radical!

I am finding new ways to understand,

but more importantly,

I am finding new ways to Not understand.

I am finding new ways to get lost.

Good explorers always get lost.

True seekers always get found.

*

Oh, I am questing

for a clean, well-lighted space.

*

And now and then,

while exploring my own inner space,

and letting the outer spaces of Mystery,

simply Be;

I am finding that

the spaces created between you and me

by the powers that be,

are smaller than the truth of We.

And in some small way,

I am trying to close the gaps,

narrowing each hard, empty space between us,

And bringing us closer to being

One.

© Jane Tawel, 2023

And What Would the Children Say?

By Jane Tawel

Mine Own

And What Would the Children Say?

By Jane Tawel

October 20, 2023

*

And what would the children say?

If they were allowed to speak?

Would they ask the adults,

why they always want war

instead of a world where

each man, woman, child, has enough,

and enough to share?

If they were allowed to speak,

could the children teach us to care?

Would they sing songs of love,

and hymns sweet and long,

singing our world into peace?

*

And what would the children do?

If they were allowed to act?

Would they begin dancing

instead of marching?

Would they play and laugh,

voices raised in loud joy?

Instead of raised voices

of mothers and fathers

and teachers and governors,

and princes and soldiers

would they grab hold of hands,

tear down false walls between lands,

would they show all in power

that it’s more fun to create?

*

And what would the children pray for,

if anyone could hear their prayers?

Would the children say softly,

“Please, please, Someone care.

It seems the world’s crumbling

like building blocks rumbling,

and some times, we’re afraid,

that the mess grownups have made,

will leave nothing for us to repair.”

Would the children lie down

in their beds at bedtime,

and quietly whisper,

a prayer to a God,

a God who still hears

a small child’s quiet question:

“Will you save us, dear God?

Will you save all the world?

Are Your hands, my dear Papa,

big enough to enclose,

my small self, my small hopes,

my small fears, and small faith?”

“I know I’m just a child,

but a wise man once did say,

‘A small child will then lead them’,

and so, God I pray,

make adults see we need them

to stop causing pain,

and remember what it’s like

to be a small child again.”

“And the children of the world, God,

we will help you, dear God,

if you’ll just let our voices be heard.”

Oh, how would the world,

turn around and be changed,

if adults turned their hearts

to the children?

If a child had a voice…

If a child had a choice…

What would children do now?

If they could?

© Jane Tawel, 2023

In Light and Dark, Out of the Garden, and On The Path

by Jane Tawel

“light behind dark tunnel of trees” by Wim Vandenbussche is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

*

In Light and Dark, Out of the Garden, and On The Path

By Jane Tawel, October 10, 2023

*

And waking up to birds in the Garden,

heard not seen.

My mouth, dry as fallen leaves,

thoughts crumbling into dust not swept away, but hoarded

A heart as dry as leaves from an ancient but desiccated Book,

falling apart.

*

My chest hurts,

fluttering helplessly,

like a trapped bird in a cage,

throbbing like a song trapped in a tunnel,

too faint to hear, yet pounding in my ears.

I struggle out of night’s tight bonds,

and the prison of sweaty anxiety-tangled sheets.

Unsolved puzzles of otherness

causing night-fears to cling to my morning,

and morning is already imprisoned

with jello-bars;

thoughts of yesterday, flabby and gel-like,

clinging to today like suckers on a beached rowboat.

My oars went floating out

on the Tide toward Tomorrow.

*

Ah, me!

If only I could reach through the pain

with outstretched arms, not strong,

but lengthening in supplication,

away from the unformed center of myself.

*

Oh, My God, where is the salve

of Your nothingness,

the salve of forgiveness and delight?

*

Salvation is a funny thing,

a flimsy hope,

a solid rock.

The salve of my salvation stings,

and pain heals more than blissful wishes do.

The scabs cover over the relief of treasured addictions,

and for a brief moment,

I rise and float,

like a feather on an unseen wind,

like a small twig floating on a wave.

Nothingness is experienced,

as the unbearable lightness of being.

And my some-thing-ness,

my some-one-ness,

is adrift and moor-less.

*

The path never widens,

but as I scrimp on forging ahead,

I forage for food

to sustain my courage,

The Way seems clearer if not cleaner.

The brambles’ marks toughen my skin,

and heal over to make my feelings

calloused in new strength and some hope.

The fears reside nearer my front door,

but I learn (sometimes)

how to brush the anxious thoughts out,

like sticky cobwebs,

shooed away for whole moments at a time,

banished out of the home of my heart.

*

Shall I create salvation for myself,

and all within the place I dwell?

Shall I embrace my shadow self,

my night-self,

my dark soul?

And finding within the darkness, will I know

the freedom of not seeing but yet,

still blindly groping forward?

Oh, to walk in green valleys!

Oh, to rest by living streams!

*

There is a light ahead,

shimmering just outside the Garden,

and though it may waver recklessly

leading like a foolish and small fire-fly,

flitting along My Path,

I will seek The Light,

and I imagine I will find it not out there,

but within myself.

And when I can not see it,

I will make a friend of the Dark.

And wait for the dawn.

*

I reach for signs along my way,

and I will trust in the pain,

brushing up against it,

my fingers touching

the surface of my pain like rough bark,

scraping my knees on sharp sharded stones

strewn loosely in the road,

scratching my face as I plow through thick thorny places,

secret places of despair,

and fear and the grief that blossoms,

Iike a rose in the world’s heart.

*

As if…

As if…..

As if I keep walking,

through nights of bruising thoughts,

Salvation may come in the morning.

*

The path never widens,

but as I forage for food to sustain my courage,

The Way reveals the place of wholeness

abiding in mystery.

*

Peace passes through the dark

and beyond understanding.

And I let my spirit float,

out and away from the shallows of Life,

floating into deeper waters, and

trusting in The Sea

which holds all waves.

Even mine.

*

“I lift my eyes up,

to the mountains,

where does my help come from?

My help comes from You

Maker of All Being,

Maker of Light and of Dark,

Creator of All Life.

My feet will not slip

as I walk in The Way.

I will be guarded over

in the dark,

and while I sleep.

There is shade in the sun,

and the moon at night.

There are guardians all around me,

and no harm will come to my life,

I am safe, now and forever more.”**

I do not know but trust — 

I do not know,

but keep seeking darkness in Mystery,

light in Hope,

peace in suffering,

and joy in the journey.

I choose to trust.

I am not alone.

You are not alone.

We are not alone.

© Jane Tawel, 2023

**My paraphrase of Psalm 121

It Will End, I’m Sad to Say

Roses growing and dying in my Garden

It Will End, I’m Sad to Say

By Jane Tawel

September 19, 2023

*

And then it will end.

And all will be as never before,

and never again,

and never ever more.

But whether I shall enter something new,

through a small crack in the ether,

or a wide-open door,

my current view is that all things old,

will pass away.

And that makes me sad today.

Yes, it will end, I’m sad to say.

*

Hasn’t anyone ever told you?

It’s okay to be sad.

Grief is the gift we fear most to open,

but once unwrapped,

and held tight in shaking hands,

and viewed deeply with eyes continually filling

with the tears of unshed fears or hopeless hopes;

well, then, grief can become a friend

that helps us fill the moments with music,

the music of our real lives,

that the tick-tock-tick of the clocks

try to drown out.

*

If life is a symphony,

and grief is a dirge,

then only the urge

of our deepest desires,

can transform life and love

into what may inspire

Eternal cognition of a unified whole;

but until then we just have to trust,

in what may be the Soul.

*

Oh, isn’t the world wonderful?

*

Today I saw a poor little squirrel,

whose life was ended by the rush

of someone trying to get to work on time,

someone whose mind was probably focused blindly

on things not present, as mine often is,

whose eyes weren’t seeing what was right in front of her,

and missed the opportunity to save a life.

I murmured as I swerved

around the poor little broken, bloody body.

That squirrel was someone’s child or parent,

or friend. It played once in the tree in my front yard.

It hurt me to see it now dead and alone,

as it pains me deeply to think of all that is emptied out,

all that is alone, all that dies.

*

Life is pain,

and therein is truth to The Way.

Life is precious and oh, so glorious,

and therein is hope for the day.

*

And I saw a rose in my garden,

once red, now browned and petal-less,

and it hurt me to snip it

but I did it, even though it pierced my silly soul to do so,

like a thorn piercing my heart.

I snipped off the dead rose-hip,

in order that some other small flower could have the space to grow.

Everything has to die.

But all must choose to grow.

*

And I wonder, how much of my life,

I have squashed and killed,

or just not taken the time for,

or not let grow,

in my rush to think of something

other than what I was doing?

And I wonder, what might grow from me,

when I am snipped off from Life’s vine?

*

Oh, to live eternally

seems a goal not over-reaching.

And yet, our arms are far too short,

and our faith too short-sighted

to reach the end in sight;

to reach the end in Light.

*

Like a misplaced period.

We stop before the sentence end…

We keep restarting before the story begins…

We are not meant to live desiring eternity

but to live in the passions of this present moment.

Seeking Presence, not presents,

we can gift ourselves

with the continual opening up of

Joy in the journey,

knowing this journey’s end will come,

but not what journey may lie ahead,

with each next step of unearned grace,

around the bend of surrendering to blessing.

*

I grieve for the me that one day

(perhaps even today)

will no longer be the me I think I know.

And every once in a while,

in the embrace of my grief,

I feel the freedom to rejoice,

in what none of us can ever know,

but I can dimly sense,

that someday I might be.

*

And so, in moments today,

stolen from Time’s rushing River,

I make my fears and hopes inert.

As in a dead-man’s float,

I let myself be carried.

I trust in the Unknown Unknowable,

and though I still fight against, fight within, fight on,

I try to let the River take me;

take me just as far as the next wave or eddy,

just as far as a small stone’s throw.

*

It takes a bit of practice to let things die.

*

Creator of New Things,

Please snip off the dead things in me,

so that something new may grow.

And whether I shall ever know,

what lives beyond my grave,

I hope that someday I shall feel

the motion of my small, own wave,

lapping against a bright, new shore,

Alive! as never before,

and reborn, in the Ocean of Your Love.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2023

Walk in Beauty

Just a “few” pictures from Raoul Tawel ‘s and my trip to Yellowstone National Park and Grand Tetons National Park. If you have been to them — you know. If you haven’t, get there by all means, by any means. I now call Yellowstone: “Where Creator Most Enjoyed Playing with Stuff” and I call Grand Tetons: “Where Creator Rested and Still Goes Sometimes for a Break from Everything Humans Get Up To”.


Beauty and delight. Wonder and awe. Lots of climbing and hiking and gazing. A bit of a real scare with a bison. A wonderful boat trip down the Snake River. And a great companion and fellow traveler. We have wanted to do this trip for ages. Now I can’t wait to do it again.


Some of my best lessons from the trip include:
1. “Be like an otter. Enjoy life. Have fun. It’s great to be alive.” (also, probably “fish. good” haha)
2. Try harder (wherever I go) to: “Leave only footprints. Take only memories.”
3. If you wonder how God and Evolution work together, go to Yellowstone National Park.
4. It’s great to have someone to explore with. On one of our hikes when we found ourselves alone in the woods, we were told to keep together and to keep talking so the bears would hear us, so with hearts beating, we took turns talking so the bears would know we were humans (just in case they might think we were lunch). I entertained the quiet woods with the poem “Us Two” by Milne, that Raoul Tawel and I had read at our wedding, which ends: “What would I do?” I said to Pooh,
“If it wasn’t for you,” and Pooh said: “True,
It isn’t much fun for One, but Two,
Can stick together, says Pooh, says he.
“That’s how it is,” says Pooh.
5. Seek more wonder and awe. We are created for wonder and awe. We just have to open our spirits to it.
6. There have been many American saints: Teddy Roosevelt, Ansel Adams, John D. Rockefeller, just to name a few — who have protected some absolutely incredible, nowhere else in the world like them, national parks for the American people and visitors from around the world. It is good that despite the rather bad things we have done, we can be proud and happy with the good things some Americans have done and gifted future generations with. And have you noticed, that when people are in and out in Nature, they are really nice? I think all the leaders of the world should just go on lots of hikes together in beautiful places and then we could just all work together for world peace and enjoy our lives. I hope we can turn our attention to preserving the planet so we can gift future generations with opportunities to see trees, and rivers, and wild, wacky geysers, and otters and beavers, and bison, grizzlies, and eagles, and rainbows and waterfalls and….. so for now, the final lesson to try to remember is: “We don’t inherit the Earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children.”

So, dear friends: Pictures don’t do it any justice at all, but here are some (hopefully) hints to entice you to plan your next trip to somewhere beautiful and inspiring. As a final word of advice from the First Peoples who discovered and lived in and cared for and enjoyed this area: Wherever you roam today: “Walk in beauty”.

(c) Jane Tawel, 2023

I Wanted to Write About Jesus, But…

“Homeless Jesus” by Nicola Barnett is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

*

I Wanted to Write About Jesus, But…

By Jane Tawel

August 7, 2023

*

I wanted to write about Jesus, but….

I wanted to write something about Jesus,

but then I kept asking myself, “Which Jesus would that be?”

I still think a lot about this person,

known to history only by the name “Yeshua”,

and maybe you have heard about him,

and later, people added on the title, “Christ”,

and I think about that,

even though I don’t think about him the same way I used to any more.

*

I no longer wanted to write about

the Jesus that people had invented from their need for a new god,

because they didn’t like the Jew’s God (or the Jews).

And I no longer wanted to write about a Jesus that died,

so that I never had to face what was expected of me,

by that same Jesus, expected of me in order to live the right way.

*

I didn’t want to write about a Jesus that wasn’t human at all,

but whose myth conspired and morphed

into weapons used by millennia of power-hungry people.

I didn’t want to write about a Jesus who came not to heal the broken,

but one who oppressed the very ones Jesus said he loved;

the weak, and poor, and judged, and hungry,

the very ones he said he came to save from oppression and greed.

*

I didn’t want to write about the Jesus who

supported gas chambers or inquisitions

or “detention centers” in places like Guantanamo Bay,

or greedy, polluting pipelines on sacred land.

And I didn’t want to write about the Jesus,

that was hidden away in people’s hearts,

without ever coming out to show me,

Christ’s hands, and feet, and mind, and smile.

*

So, I was left with nothing to write about Jesus.

Then I remembered that the man Jesus,

also had nothing to write about himself,

or others,

or his God.

He never wrote a single word to leave behind.

He once wrote something in the sand,

which saved a woman’s life,

but what he wrote there,

blew away with the next wind,

like dust to dust.

He simply lived,

and loved,

and shared some food, and wine, and conversation.

And maybe that is the miracle –

Maybe that is where the miracles came from — 

that he simply lived and loved,

and shared.

And so that is what I decided to do.

© Jane Tawel, 2023

And Let Me Catch Them Up

By Jane Tawel

Circle Dance

And Let Me Catch Them Up

By Jane Tawel

July 21, 2023

*

And when I go,

Yes, when I rise,

Oh, if I rise

when leaving here,

then let my arms be strong and long.

And let me catch them up.

*

For all those folks,

for those I know and do not know,

who think they’ve found their own way,

I will not trouble my mind about them.

I will not stress

the parameters of my own very small soul

with questions about their destiny.

Especially for those who feel there are no questions left.

I’ll let them trust in what they trust,

and agree that they’ve found their own way.

But for my loves,

my own dear loves,

who have seen too many battles fought

by those who think they own The Way;

for my true loves, my own true loves,

who are scarred into inactivity,

demeaned into a frigid heat of bored anger

by those who put a price on Love,

Love, meant to be free to all;

Oh, for my loves, my precious pearls — 

I do not ask You to change them, but — 

Oh, my God, Oh, my God,

Oh, let me catch them up!

*

Oh, for the ones I hold so dear,

the ones I love,

love more than my own life,

and because in this strange and troubled Time,

I know my loves,

I know with the surety of old wounds,

that they are not sure

what this fresh blood can mean.

We live in uncertain times.

I know my loves and their doubts,

doubting that they have actually found their way,

no matter what they say.

I know their fears that going forward is not an option,

and not just the way of open-ended appeals.

I know my loves, who walk alongside,

with trepidation if there even is a Way.

Oh, for them,

I shall not depart from the narrow path,

even as I stumble and fall.

Oh, for them,

I shall blindly blunder forth,

even though the light is often fading.

Oh, for them I shall not claim I know anything,

anything but that only Love exists

and that only Love will remain.

Oh, for and with them — 

I shall raise a fist of protest.

I shall raise an opened palm of supplication.

I shall raise a banner over them;

and my banner over them will be Love.

And I shall day and night, cry out — 

at the gates of the cities,

at the shorelines of the oceans,

at the edges of dark woods,

at the embassies of the nations,

and to all living creatures

and to the sun, and moon and stars,

I shall cry:

“Oh, let me catch them up with me!

Let me grab onto a little finger,

or a strand of hair,

or grasp a big fat toe.

And let me hold their precious spirits close,

as I go on my Way (I hope to God)

and as The Way, (I pray) leads me on,

and further up and in,

I shall grab hold of them!”

*

And in that moment,

that final moment,

when all is changed forever and a day — 

Oh, may my heart be huge enough,

my soul be meek enough,

my self be gone enough,

my fears and doubts be purged enough,

to carry just enough,

and just enough faith and grace

for all of us.

Oh, may my love and Your Love,

and all my foolish floundering,

but still straight-ish path-ed love of You,

may all of me,

regardless of how small and weak,

regardless of how much wondering and wandering

that still lies within and ahead of me,

may I be enough,

enough to carry them again, as once I did,

(or might have tried to do, if asked),

enough to carry them, as You have always carried me.

And may they not feel my arms,

but feel only Truth and Peace.

*

No matter what is,

or what will be,

of all we do not know now,

may Divine Embrace of hope and love

be enough for me,

enough for all of them.

*

And let me catch them up.

Oh, let me catch them up,

to rise,

to rise,

to rise,

and forever be,

caught up in The Great Dance.

© Jane Tawel, 2023

Instead of Thinking, Create a New Heart

Non-Thoughts by Jane Tawel

“The Earth Delights to Feel Your Bare Feet” by Chiot’s Run is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.

*

Instead of Thinking, Create a New Heart

By Jane Tawel

June 25, 2023

*

I am an overthinker. Perhaps you can relate. Every moment of every day I find myself in a battle of wits, (or is it witlessness?). The battle is “to think or not to think, that is the question”.

I am also a seeker. And like many people, I have spent a life time, seeking answers to questions big and small. I have found many good and helpful teachers along a blessedly long life-line and I have used their teachings, I hope, to change and grow and better myself, because I believe at the heart of every true teacher, religion, spiritual-consciousness, philosophy, and science is the quest to be the best one can be in this life and perhaps even in some life-beyond. And so, some of us, like I, seek and we find. And then, we doubt. And the doubt for some, like I, takes the form of overthinking. Over thinking the past, which is no more; overthinking the future which is not yet; overthinking other people, both significant and rather insignificant to the reality of my reality right now; and beyond all overthinking, is the overthinking of self.

And I think, (although I may be overthinking this), that what I have realized today in a tiny little section of my overthoughtful brain, is that what I need to do, is go back to the very childlike idea that the happiest moments of thinking are when one is asking questions.

As adults, we sort of stop asking questions, maybe because we are still carrying the hurt of questions that have or had answers that hurt; questions that had answers that were rejections, or made us angry or fearful; questions that often lead to a feeling of powerlessness or depression or despair. And so, we begin to fear questions, of ourselves and questions of others, because we fear the answers or we fear we don’t know the answers, or we want to insist that everyone answer our questions in the same way we do (this last one is especially a problem of our supposed answers to questions in our religions and politics, both of which are temporal and always have been incredibly flawed in any one’s idea of logic.) And yet, being adult gets to be all about knowing answers to things. Rather sad, when you think about it, isn’t it? and there we go again — we think about the answer-less-ness of life so much and it pretty much makes us miserable or numb or facile.

But imagine for a moment, you are a child of about three or four. And imagine that instead of being surrounded by adults who get tired of your endless questions of “how?” or “why?” or “when?”; that you are surrounded by a host of imaginary playmates and other questioning children, all content and happy to live in the questions. And so, as this little child, you are living each moment with curiosity and exploration and awe and wonder. Imagine the freedom. Imagine the joy. Imagine you as someone who needs to know or think about very little at all right now, except what you are doing in this very moment.

And so, this morning, I began with a few little toddling steps. (I am after all not yet old and wise enough to be a three- or four-year-old. I am crawling.) I stopped what I was thinking about (that thing that might happen tomorrow, and that thing that she said yesterday, and that scary thing that might happen to me, and that hurt that I refuse to scab over…) and I stopped myself, and I asked myself:

1. What do you see? (Answer: the interesting pattern of my right sock.)

2. What do you hear? (Answer: a moth flying repeatedly into and bashing against the window, trying to go forward. (Stop overthinking the metaphor in that, Ms. Jane, you are three.)

3. What do you taste? (Answer: milky sweet coffee and a ceramic cup-lip against my lips)

4. What do you smell? (Answer: not much, my nose is a little allergy-stuffy)

5. What do you feel? (Answer: cold hands, rub them against each other, better.)

And life was very, very pleasant just to be. I was aware. And my awareness came from asking questions, and answering them. My mind became childlike and it was very, very good. I liked myself. I wasn’t worried. I liked my life. I enjoyed just being alive.

*

When thoughts force their way in to the sanctuary that should be my mind, heart, soul and will (I happen to believe they are all inter-related); and when I can’t stop thinking about immediately irrelevant things, or things I have already answered about what I need to do, or want to do, or why I did do; when any thoughts come crowding in like parasites, hoping to feed off of the only sustaining food I have right now (this moment); when they do, I have started saying this simple prayer, “Create in me a new (child-like) mind/heart, Oh, God.” Create. Inside me. New. Heart. God.

I have also written down a list of questions to ask my over-Thinking Brain:

1. Is there anything you can do about this right now, in this very minute? (If so, do it. If not, stop thinking about it. (Example: Are you so worried about that pain, you should google its possible cause? If not, breathe in and out and stop worrying.)

2. Is there any action you can take about this situation right now? (Example: Do you need to text someone to ask forgiveness? Something I have done. Or Do you need to call your manager right now on a Sunday and tell her your thoughts? Something I would not do, so I should stop thinking about what I am going to say to her tomorrow on Monday.)

3. Is there any one you need to communicate with right now about your feelings? (This involves understanding how I think about my feelings and my relationships. This is a llloooonnngggg discussion for the experts, but in short-hand, I must ask myself: Is this feeling anything any one, other than I, myself, can and should do something about? Is this feeling something that I should act on, or do I need to analyze it more, live with it more even if it is painful, and try to find out why I am feeling it? Is this feeling true-True? And if so, who needs to help me with it or share it with me?)

4. Are these feelings productive right now? (And I mean right now. If so, just feel them. Even something that hurts can be very productive. Just like in the body, in the emotions, a pain leads to an awareness leads to a diagnosis leads to a choice leads to an action or inaction leads to a resolution. Don’t think about anything, just feel. Hard in our Western, worshipping-of -one -kind -of -logic kind of world, but again — be a child. Feel and in feeling, find a new emotional intelligence and a wisdom that may be quite a surprise.)

5. What can I create with the feelings I have right now? (And negative feelings can create insight into new directions, while positive feelings can create a whole new way of knowing what it is to be, and to be content, and to be content with being content, and to know that I don’t have to think anything at all to be of value, and to be worthy, and to be enough. This moment, and myself, are enough.)

6. And finally, what would I prefer to be thinking about right now? What can I think about that is happening right now that will make me feel the way I want to feel, right now, and the way I deserve to feel about myself, and others, and the world. Right now.

*

We have relegated feelings to back burners of thinking, rather than letting them be the matches that light the flame of our creativity in living in this moment. We have given feelings a poor second-place to what we call “logic” and in doing so, our logic has become inflamed with the pus of our overthinking everything that should be excised with the precision of the soul’s surgeon-like release of all that would infect our joy in living.

We have excused our negativity by claiming we need to think about something in order to understand. And we refuse to accept, that most of everything that makes us uniquely human, is in some small or huge way, impossible for us to ever completely understand. Knowledge, to be true, is always flowing forward, and we can never step in the same part of Truth twice. We are, as the sage said, not nearly as afraid of death (absolutely unknowable), as we are afraid of living (over-rated as knowable, and not accepted as wondrously full of mystery and momentary awe).

“Create in me, Dear Self, Oh, God, this moment, a new heart.” This is the only progress, and it is a progression of what seems for a while like regression. As the wisest of the wise said, “you must become as a little child to enter the Kingdom of Heaven”. And the Kingdom of Heaven is nothing more that choosing to live fully, freely, joyfully in the here and now, as all heavenly creations choose to do.

To live fully and freely and faithfully and lovingly and joyfully, is to be “reborn” in each moment. I awake to true life, when I wake to a new moment –“Aha! I was just born. What a discovery! I am alive! How fun! Let me explore. Let me create.”

Sweep out the dust and trash and overflowing “stuff” in the house of your mind. Allow space for moments that are eternal only because they are completely new. New wine will not tolerate an old wineskin, as the wise sage also reminded us, and so, imbibe and drink deeply in this very new wine of this very new minute.

Look. Listen. Smell. Feel. Touch. Taste, eat; for it is all to nourish the very you that is uniquely you.

Stop thinking and question. Let go of all that has no purpose in moving you along the narrow path of this very and only guaranteed moment of time. Do not fear, for your very own holy spirit waits to play with you, as all children of God love play. You were created to create. So, all you need to ask yourself is this:

What do I feel like making and creating in myself and my little corner of this world, right now?

Oh, this feels good, and I created this; and it is very good.

© Jane Tawel, 2023