Still Small Points of Light

by Jane Tawel

https://unsplash.com/@odalv

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Still Small Points of Light

By Jane Tawel

January 30, 2026

*

We — the still small points of light.

Seething. Searing. Standing strong.

Oh, the kaleidoscope of multi-hued effervescence.

Spinning. Circling.

Spiraling in supervenient streams of consciousness.

*

I stand in a silence of admiration

of the phenomenon of dew-drops shining

on leaves on trees.

And a small ant crawls across 

my cloudy, reflective windowpane,

And I hold it in universal fragility on one fingertip,

to release it — to crawl or not;

dropped on the grey pavement

of life hopeful once again.

*

Where are the prophets

of the sand that fills the seas?

Where are the angels that

creep among the weeds and shallow graves?

And if I live or die — 

what sense has there been in all that has been

of me and you and those and them?

*

But here is ever more

and this and that.

And we may not rise

but we may indeed

flow.

*

The fire-flies’ candescence flickers

and skitters through our nights,

dazzling the darkness.

And in their smallness,

minutely a-glow,

they remind us

that all are gifted

with iotas of the Sun.

© Jane Tawel, 2026

Guessing, Confessing, and Blessing

https://unsplash.com/@fedotov_vs

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Guessing, Confessing, and Blessing

By Jane Tawel

*

This will be some doggerel,

from a broken heart and aching brain.

You’ll read guessing and my confessing,

then claims for us all for

a hopeful blessing:

*

What can I do with a broken heart?

Tear it into smaller and smaller pieces.

Give it piece by piece

to the hungry, hurting world — 

“My life’s heart, broken for you;

Take and eat.”

*

What can I do with a boggled mind — 

a mind so ensnared and wounded by fear?

Heal it with laughter

and with many tears — 

“May this mind be in you

of the world’s servant-heroes,

who knowing nothing,

knew the fullness of God.”

*

What can I do with weak hands and sore feet?

Step forwards and backwards

and step side to side.

When you can not keep walking,

start dancing instead.

When your hands lose their grip,

Letting go’s the best option.

Falling down, face-plant forward,

Outstretched hands in the mud.

With scraped knees, scarred with blood,

You’ll be ready for prayer.

Prone and humble — off-duty — 

Crawl, run, walk, fly in Beauty.

“The path is narrow

but The Way is True Life

Fear not! Lift your hands!

Be upheld. Stand upright.

Give your hand to a stranger,

in your weakness is might.”

*

What can I do when my eyes grow dim?

Know that hope needs no more

than one pin-prick of Light.

Your webbed-systems are dust — 

past your fears, you’ll find trust

that while all else may fail us,

Love never will.

And though now we glimpse darkly,

Joy is God’s mystery.

Someday, we shall see.

“I AM in the Creator,

and the Creator is in me.

We are called to be Light — 

The Light of the World.

Take good news to the nations,

Our redemption is nigh;

Our redemption is here.

As close as our heart,

As close as our breath,

As close as God in us,

Holy Spirit — Be.”

*

May the Peace of God’s grace,

Heal your sore, troubled mind.

May your mind in Christ Jesus,

Heal your blind, aching heart.

May your feet walk the straight paths

Even when sight has failed you.

May the palms of your hands

Be engraved with True Truth.

And each time you fail,

(as all humans must do)

May the oil of forgiveness

Multiply in your soul,

And be Light in all darkness.

And in Love’s deep embrace,

May you be free and Whole.

*

All italicized parts are paraphrases taken from the Scriptures, words of Jesus, and the Psalms.

© Jane Tawel, 2026

We Walk the Trail Together

https://unsplash.com/@anniespratt

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We Walk the Trail Together

By Jane Tawel

January 7, 2026

*

Each day before Dawn

I walk the trail with you.

But you keep your eyes averted,

pretending you don’t see me.

Sometimes you talk with someone

who is not there;

but I am passing so close to you,

that I could touch you,

while we are walking the trail together.

*

Each morning we are there,

individuals in a group of early risers,

early seekers of breaking dawns;

still, you pretend I do not exist.

I used to find it annoying –

I used to think you meant to slight me,

that I was not worthy of your smile

or your cheery hello, like some of us share

in the brisk and pre-sunned morning air.

Now I wonder –

Am I really invisible to you

like angels often are to me?

Do you come on purpose

in the darkling light so

none can see your guilt?

Or has your mind so imprisoned you

that you can not free yourself

to see that which surrounds you

in this precious present Here and Now?

What is it that has frightened you so?

Who hurt you in a way you can’t forget?

How do you return to your own home

still so alone, so alone,

without weeping on the way?

*

I used to save my smiles for those

who gladly greet me each morning

with the happy knowledge

that we are so very, very privileged

to have another — one more — day;

that Life is very good

when we can — when just because — we all return

to walk the trail together.

But now I smile at you

as big as my small self can smile,

with no expectation that you will smile back

or that you will even raise your eyes

from this hallowed ground

on which you carefully place your next step.

The smile is not only for you,

Oh yes — I smile also for me — 

for in The Ground of Being

there is every chance,

an angel you may prove to be.

We are but passing through,

yet someday, all trails

will lead to One Home.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2026

Heroes, Not Monarchs

Don Quixote — The Literary Hub

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Heroes, not Monarchs

By Jane Tawel

December 22, 2025

This is my poor attempt today to wrestle with some of the brilliant, enlightening thoughts of Joseph Campbell and Richard Rohr and of course, some of the great myths and stories of questers and seekers and heroes.

*

We foolish mortals who think the prize

is in being a queen or a king

so we miss the boat

and we blind our own eyes

and mistake the Soul’s Odessey

for ego-trips and small I’s.

We search and we search for that one special thing

that will make us feel better than,

mightier than,

holier than

all those who make us feel weak.

And there’s no happy ending

cuz we always want more;

so, we blithefully live with our bane of the poor

cuz we’re merchants and monarchs

in our ivory towers;

and we dirty the water and trample the flowers

and give up the whole earth

for our fantasy kingdoms

Never counting the cost…

Never counting the cost….

Never counting the cost

of not finding the pearl of great price

that we lost.

*

We are called to be heroes

all on the same quest

where the least and the lost

are the first and the best.

We are not dragon-slayers

if true heroes we be,

but we’re slain by the Dragon

and our windmills are tilted

and our offerings are jilted

at the altar until

in our search for the grail

we just fail, fail, fail, fail

because only by losing, we win.

*

True heroes are questing

and searching for more

of the wisdom that comes from

not reaching the shore, but from

Battling the waves, and from floating Inside

All the Mind’s raging tides and

The Heart’s endless strife

as we paddle and drift on the currents of Life.

True heroes are longing

and never at rest

but at peace beyond knowledge or lore.

And they know that in less, they are more;

for true Heroes must journey

in darkness and doubt,

trusting Mystery will lead them Ashore.

*

The heroes in history have found on The Way

that the gate is too narrow for war.

And the heroes we treasure

knew the gift and the joy

of the greatness in suffering

and the love of the voyage

that will end not in conquering

or in showered in crowns,

but in Kingdom revealed

that looked once upside-down

based on monarchs, and money and might;

but when Heaven’s doors open,

Life is now shown to be

only Truth, Beauty, Love and God’s Light.

*

Our great myths are communal.

Our story is One.

And since Time has begun

Heroes’ fingers have pointed

to the True Truths Eternal

of all under The Sun — 

that our treasure’s internal,

Grace-given, not won.

And the Son is the servant

The hero — Our Soul — 

and we toil and we toil and we toil and we toil

not to win, but to die to the self.

Not to rule or defend,

but to die for a friend

and to love ’til the story

has come to The End.

*

Only heroes can know

that there’s no place to go

where the true joy in living

is given for free.

For the quest is the same,

both for you and for me:

The Quest is the sorrowful yearning of love,

but the end’s a Divine Comedy.

To be home in this place — 

Just to taste, hear, and see — 

All the Goodness of this one precious life.

There is nothing to harm us or cling to or flee.

Yes, a transformed-by-Love hero

is what God calls us

to Be.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2025

The Lunacy of Them and the Big If

by Jane Tawel

https://unsplash.com/@yassermokhtarzadeh

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The Lunacy of Them and the Big If

By Jane Tawel

December 4, 2025

*

The lunacy of the world escapes me

as power deranges the minds of the powerful.

I want to throw myself at their feet and cry,

“Why do you want to destroy our beautiful world?

*

The insanity of science alarms me

as knowledge plays with fire,

and smart men fly too close to the sun.

I want to shake them until their many brain cells rattle,

“Why do you want to eradicate human beings?”

*

The ignorance of religion deeply saddens me

as belief and dogma turn inwards

like ingrown toenails;

and snakey tendrils

eat away at the heart of faith.

They have set up their money-changers

at the temples’ gates,

and their egos masquerade as God’s truth.

They cling to victimhood,

ignoring the lives of their saviors and prophets.

I want to weep for them

as a lost chick for her mother hen:

“Why do you not keep seeking, seeking, seeking

when you know deep within you have not truly found?

Why do you not embrace wisdom and love

as you claim your Gods do?”

“Why do you seek ever more of

the temporal kingdoms of earth,

of nations that will dissolve into the sea as all nations do;

why do you settle for these

when you are offered the Kingdom of Heaven — 

shining cities on the Hill — 

and promised that all nations

would be blessed by you?”

*

The greed of the wealthy enrages me

as I walk past today’s lepers in the streets

and think of children — Children! — 

going hungry while the rich fly to Paris and back

for a cup of coffee or a McDonald’s from Spain.

I want to rob them blind and distribute their money

equitably throughout the world.

I want to take great handfuls of cash

and throw them at homeless encampments

and Trash Cities and foster homes.

I want to set the captives free

to raise families wherever they choose to feel safe.

And I want to find a cure for blindness.

And a cure for our lame excuses.

And make nests safe and trees healthy.

And heal the sickened land.

*

Today I saw myself in

that moment’s mirror,

and I was Narcissus looking back at myself.

Today I opened my scriptures and spiritual books,

and there was the mirror once more.

The Book of The Living and The Dead

opened its page to the story of Me

where my judgements of the world,

Revealed themselves,

and as in a mirror darkly,

my judgements of others

uncovered my true Face.

I saw in myself,

the many headed monster — 

It was I who was the hydra — 

Greedy,

Power-hungry,

Egotistical in self-righteousness,

Selfish,

Cruel,

Abusive of knowledge

Afraid of wisdom;

and prone to the insanity

of Me-ness.

And I thought,

I can not kill the triumvirate of Anti’s

or slay the evil in the world,

but I can crucify them in myself.

*

I long to see all the peoples of the world

joining their resources with the delight

in knowing that there is enough and always enough;

as together, no matter our color or creed,

we laugh at fear in the knowledge

that nothing Good is ever truly lost — 

not even in death.

May that longing, create in me a new heart, Oh, God.

*

I long to close-up my need to know

Like closing a trap-door that

Only opens to imprison me.

I long for all to open The Door

to The Way that is given to us to

multiply bread and fishes forever and

bring the Kingdom to Life.

May that longing for openness be mine today.

Create in me a new mind, Oh, God.

*

I long for that promised joy

that will come each morning.

And we will dance in the streets.

And the birds of the air,

and the lilies in the fields,

and the forests, and mountains, and seas,

will rejoice:

“Hallelujah!”

“Namaste!”

“We are Risen!”

“Amen!”

And all the earth and Her peoples,

Become the Holy Temple.

And all is One,

and we sing with joy.

Create in me, a new Spirit, Oh God,

that I may rejoice in Your Goodness and Love.

*

And as the prophet sang,

“You may say that I’m a dreamer,

but I’m not the only one.

I hope someday you’ll join us.

And the earth will live as One.”

*

Oh, Great Creator-Spirit,

Whatever and Whoever You Are,

Mother and Father of Earth and Peoples

and of my small, weak, often-hopeless small self;

Holy Beingness above the me, the I AM ,

Timeless, Spaceless, Nameless One –

I pray once more the only prayer I know:

“Help me. Help me. Help me. Help us.”

“Save me from myself. Save us from ourselves.”

“Free our hearts and minds to trust

that Love will always win and

Love will always Be.”

“May we Be. One.”

And may this be my desire today:

That I may step by step

moment by moment

seek that within myself

that I wish to see in others.

May I use all I am given,

both in material things and talents

in thought, word, and deed,

not for my will, but Thine Alone

and Thine in Love of All.

May it be

that I shall not run towards judgement

but that I shall walk and not be weary

in The Paths of Righteousness and

in the faith of that which can not be seen

but can be trusted.

And as I wait upon the Change

that will only come in the world

as I seek to Be that Change;

may I have the hope

that through my own small vision-seeking self,

our Salvation is right beside us;

our salvation is nigh,

our salvation is here and always here;

our salvation, like a great treasure buried in a field,

is within our very own hearts.

In this world, may I

partake in suffering after suffering,

share in sacrifice after sacrifice,

Releasing of all holding,

Accepting of all happenings,

Faithful through all doubts,

Seeking without knowing,

Loving without acception.

And above all,

May I love the very enemies

of this beloved place and time

as I work to love them as myself — 

because they Are myself.

May I forgive myself today

as I forgive others.

And may I be like a babe in the womb,

knowing nothing, trusting completely,

safe in my Mother’s Love.

And one day I shall be reborn

to what I do not know

but I shall then, with joy unimaginable,

see My MotherFather as They Are

and we will be One once more.

*

Is it not true, after all,

as all the Wise Ones say,

that I create the world I see?

Do not all of my perceptions

come to fruition because I want them to

and therein lies the Lie?

If I seek that “kingdom not of this world”

that is this perfect world in Love;

If I keep my lamp filled

with the oil of anticipation

that the Earth’s Bridegroom will come

and marry our imperfect longing

to perfection forever;

And if as the Light that comes from God,

manages to shine through my mud-encrusted lamp–

and I know that I Am–

the light of the world –

Then “If” — -

Well, then…

What might Be?

What If?

*

I think maybe I’ll try it and see.

It certainly can’t hurt any more than it already does — 

Right?

*

© Jane Tawel, 2025

Wishful Thinking

https://unsplash.com/@jason_edmunds

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Wishful Thinking

By Jane Tawel

November 28, 2025

*

Candid contemplations resounding hollowly,

for who can know the parameters of any single thought.

The heart knows, but has no words.

The heart knows, but has no thoughts.

The heart knows, but as it pounds and beats

with that which can only divine love –

with that which is — only Divine Love — 

the mind steps in to silence it

with rage, or lust, or fear

that masquerade as intellect,

pretending to protect,

but only punishing the heart.

*

To ask the heart to take control

is to ask silence to speak,

love to look,

and caring to control all feckless fantasies.

To ask the heart to understand

is to fall back on humanity’s first thought,

that the only idea at all that is a good one,

is that only God is Good.

*

The mind’s machinations and convoluted fears

are based on the illusions

that the power of merely wishful thinking

can do anything but lead us down

wide, wide, wide brambled paths:

paths that lead from one dream to another.

The heart knows

that only The Narrow Path

leads us Home.

*

Our minds, that we created

out of forbidden fruit and falling skies,

to work or use or strain or stain — 

are simply skipping, broken records of the brain,

or anxious agitations of notyetnotyetnotyet.

We take such pride, we fight so hard,

for what we think we know.

The mind is like a boxer in the ring

always and everywhere trying to prove everything

basing its illusions on its might and solidity,

only to find the terrible, unbeatable opponent

is one’s own supercilious, smugly dissatisfied self.

*

The heart rests, like a cat in the sun.

The heart is quiet, like the moment before dawn.

The heart is full of beauty, as Spring’s first bloom.

The heart is safe and peaceful, as a baby in the Womb.

*

As I have this small time,

Now, and only Everlastingly Now,

through Grace alone, gifted to me,

may my vision and my will

be Grace-bound, full of Light and Love, and freed

from my mind’s prideful prison of ego and need,

until I have become whole-ly Heart-led,

and holy in deed.

And if that is wishful thinking of the heart — 

so let it Be.

© Jane Tawel, 2025

Note: Some of this may come from my working through thoughts after a cool story I heard about some neuroscientists who invented one of those machines that they put on people’s heads to measure their thoughts and brain waves etc. The scientists took this head helmet contraption to a monastery to study the brain waves and thoughts of a group of Buddhist monks, but when the scientists asked the monks to put the machines on their heads, all the monks burst out laughing. When the brain-experts asked why they were laughing the monks told them they had designed the machine incorrectly and that if they wanted to measure people’s thoughts, the machines had to be designed to fit here — and they all pointed at their hearts. 

The Apes of AI Know, but I Do Not

by Jane Tawel

https://unsplash.com/@nicolasarnold

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The Apes of AI Know, But I Do Not

By Jane Tawel

November 21, 2025

*

Take a deep breath;

No let me hear it.

Now relax all your muscles

and repeat after me:

“I do not know”.

That felt hard, didn’t it?

Maybe for some of you it felt impossible.

If you choked on one of the words,

Just try again — 

I.

Do.

Not.

Know.

Now give yourself a little pat on the back.

You just did something ancient and wise

and almost completely forgotten, abhorred, and denied

in our world today.

*

We have a problem.

We have long thought we have to know.

We have long thought we DO know.

And because we are, well, who we are,

Human-doings (and no longer human “beings”),

we convince ourselves that with small effort

we (or our kid, or our doctor, or our teacher, or our leaders)

can know everything; should know every thing.

And those who don’t know what I know

are — 

Just.

Plain.

Wrong. (“Wrong” is a nice word

for what most of actually think and say about those “others”.)

*

And now we have some mechanical monkeys,

invented to know

but not to understand;

Invented to keep humans

from being uncertain,

from exploring,

from resting in unknowing and unknowingness,

or from Wonder, or Anticipation, or Trust

or Awe — 

from not knowing, even for a moment

(which is often the life-span of what we know — 

a moment –then — forgotten.)

*

We have lots of “stuff”

that we can see or hear or say — 

at the tip of our fingertips –

or even better our two thumbs — 

just like the monkeys — 

even our digits have devolved.

*

We can find information

but not Wisdom,

on where to buy the best car,

or how to conjugate a verb,

or when to get married,

or who wore what,

or why –

and yet, when it comes to that most important

investigative, meaningful question of all — Why? — 

we still feel empty and alone and afraid –

because we no longer ask:

Why am I here? Why Am I?

“Know” and “No” — so much spiritual insight,

so much philosophy,

so much paradoxical Truth,

so much Literary device excellence that

only a Word-Nerd could love –

so much in those two words, contained

in two little homophones. (Look it up.)

*

So, we keep watching obsessively,

asking stuff (These are synonyms for “stuff”

which I thought of myself without having to look online:

stuffing, filler, padding, wadding).

We keep on and on and on,

not “training up our minds”*,

but treadmilling them;

asking our trained monkeys,

affectionately called by different names,

(Well, actually, they don’t have real names, do they?

Just acronyms, as if somehow an acronym

could lend mystery to their naked-ape emptiness.

You can ask one of the monkeys what I am ALLUDING

to with that “naked ape” line. It will save you having to read books.

You may also, though, need to look up what the literary device,

“Alluding” is. Hang in there.

Just don’t admit you didn’t know and you will be okay.)

*

AI, is the newest, the biggest, the baddest ape in town.

There is some lazy monkey, beloved of students,

called “ChatGPT”(I refuse to even go near that one;

I am terrified enough for our current generation.)

Grammarly — my favorite nemesis and bugaboo 

(Look those words up, people.

Look them up!) — 

that little monkey Grammarly

especially cracks-up this old English teacher,

so often inserting in her bananas to create a dangling modifier,

(Example of funny dangling modifier — 

although I know you all know — 

“Coming out of the grocery, the bananas fell on the sidewalk.”)

or where subjects should be, not objects

(Example of where subject should be

where Grammarly often puts in

a stupid-sounding object — .

“It was I that you found to be a pain in the neck for

giving you an old-fashioned grammar lecture.” I mean,

I know I was mean to say “stupid-sounding”, 

but do you really want to regress back to saying:

“Me is a pain in the neck”? Think about it — or don’t.

Oh, and “pain in the neck” is considered an idiom.

Look it up.)

Even Siri, that most willing of helpful little chimps

can “unwittingly” (literally — no wits) can send us

down the wrong path.

Ready for another allusion and paraphrased play on words?

(You can do this! I have faith in your uninformed curiosity!)

“I stood looking

only for the brief moment of attention-span I have left,

at two paths suggested by Siri,

diverging between my laptop and my cell phone;

And I, I took the one that had the most battery life left,

and it hasn’t made a bit of difference in my life,

except for getting me faster to somewhere I didn’t really want to go,

and except for briefly taking my mind off

of having to think about anything meaningful 

like poetry.**

*

Oh, I say I laugh,

I seem to mock,

and yet I see myself

like the old, grey lemming I have become

so often in fear or plain laziness,

rushing to “know”;

(and I just realized I am perhaps teaching

some of you to subconsciously understand

how to use a semi-colon);

creeping with anxious tapping fingers,

and breath-less, untrusting, certainty

at the back of the propelled, plodding pack.

There am I (practice makes perfect 

when I comes to grammar lessons, folks),

Searching with the rest of my simian-species,

And blinding myself (literally and figuratively)

with eyes wide-open

blurry with the ever-lit, lambent LEDs

feeling connected to my computerized-community — 

(until someone says something I disagree with or that I know is a lie

and then I unfriend those dummies) — 

As together,

We veer toward the cliff of knowing so very much –

and Understanding

Nothing.

*

Take a deep breath.

Stand at the two paths offered you,

and repeat after me:

We do not know.

We do not know.

Maybe we do not need to know.

*

And most shockingly peace-that-passes-understanding

Amazing of all is that when I do not know,

I experience.

And only experience can truly lead to

Knowing myself,

Knowing The Mystery,

Knowing Wisdom

(Dare I say it? — Knowing God.)

And not knowing how I know what I do not know,

or the knowingness of that which is beyond words,

and yet longs to find words that will for an instant

make a bridge between the subjective and the Absolute

(because none of that is brain-knowledge) — 

This searching-reaching-resting-Unknowing-sightless Vision Quest

is a joyful, peaceful, freeing gift.

Because Truth and Understanding

are not, and have never been, head-knowledge

but Heart-Wisdom.

*

Even after all these centuries,

and all these smart people,

and all these so-called smart machines

it is cosmically comical

what any of us has ever,

does ever,

can ever,

Truly know.

In light of the depths of the Ocean,

in light of the expansiveness of the Heavens,

in light of the marvelous vastness in variety

of animals, and sea creatures,

and plants, and bugs, and minerals,

and yes, the delightful diversity of apes! — 

In light of The Universe,

in light of God,

in light of Light! — and,

in light of what we do not know even about ourselves — 

Unknowing is not, as the poet said, unbearable;

instead it is weight-bearing.

Not knowing, is the weight-bearing raft

that floats our weary souls 

on the Great River of Acceptance, Faith and Hope.

And we paddle our little life-boats, our River-rafts, with the oars of

of curiosity and creativity and contentment with what is,

and all we need to know is that Something — SomeOne

Who lives and breathes and has Being 

in all the Life-Streams

that lead to and are the Ocean and the Oneness

 — that which Is, which is I AM,

and contains the Truest of Truths, 

which we can only faintly glimpse in a glimmer of Glory,

and “holds these truths to be self-evident”,

that Faith, Hope and Love are real and Eternal,

and if we can let go of knowledge, 

we can find Heaven on Earth;

we can find Eternity,

which our brains can not know,

but only the Soul can find.

*

Ignorance can be bliss;

ignorance can be Stillness;

ignorance can be freedom from

the monkey-mind of thinking that we need to know.

Because truthfully,

one thing we do know

is that even those smart apes

can never tell us

the most important thing of all — 

What Love is.

How to Love.

Why we Love.

Only the Heart can tell us that.

Only the Heart can know that.

*

I do not know.

Oh, how wonderful and wonderous-

to know nothing except

how to take the next small step

on the Narrow Path;

how to breathe the next small breath,

in this amazing, mysterious body;

how to look at the next small person,

with humble and kind eyes;

how to touch the very present and only moment,

with hands ungraspingly, un-fisted, unholding,

and a heart as wide-open as the Spaciousness 

of Love-Oneness.

(And maybe if we rename “God” 

or re-name whomever we make our gods, “Love-Oneness”, 

then there will be no more religious or national wars, 

because how can you truthfully worship “Love-Oneness”

and do the same old violent, hateful monkey doo-doo

that we humans keep doing in the name of our gods?

 And maybe we will finally know something important,

about all that we have never known, 

but have used and abused instead.

Just sayin’. But what do I know?)

*

By knowing nothing,

I may just have a wee, small hope

that I may one day

join the wisest of the Wise Ones***

and walk in Love as the Greatest of The Loving Ones,

and I just might evolve back and forward into being

a human Being.

But I can’t be sure;

because I do not know.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2025

*Romans 12:2

** “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost (Look it up.)

***Socrates: “I know that I know nothing.” “The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.”

What Small Part of Oneness Am I?

by Jane Tawel

https://unsplash.com/@cant89

*

What Small Part of Oneness Am I?

By Jane Tawel

*

The ray of light is from the Sun,

it is of the Sun,

but it is not the Sun.

*

The cloud is in the Sky,

it is of the Sky,

but it is not the Sky.

*

I am in Space,

I am of the Space,

but I am not Space.

*

I am in Life’s Ocean,

I am not the Ocean,

but I am a small wave.

*

I am in God,

I am of God,

but I am not God.

*

If I accept the wonderous mystery

of being blind to what lies beyond,

I will be the Light.

*

If I let go of my anxious need

to control the weather of my life,

I will be content with being now — 

Floating, not digging in and dissipating.

*

If I release all my desires

To contain and to enlarge myself,

My Heart will open the cage of my mind

and I will be as One;

Spacious with All.

*

If I, with thanks, set learning aside,

And experience God

In the Unknowingness and Love

Of the God of All Creation and All

I will no longer play God — 

I will be Christ.

*

“Each day, I am looking at my small self as dead

And yet I AM — more alive than ever.

The anxious, painful, over-thinking self is slowly decaying.

I realize the tiny me is no longer only who I AM.

But instead, Suffering becomes Love and Joy

in the small self that is not myself

But a resurrected Savior of Goodness and Peace”**

*

Choose the name you wish to be crucified with –

Be it Krishna, Buddha, or as was chosen for me — 

The Christ.

Die to all that is in you that does not save.

Die to all that is within you that does not heal.

Die to all that is in you that does not forgive.

Die to all that is in you that is not at peace.

Live to all that is Love.

Live to only that which is Love.

*

Let the clouds disperse

and release into the vast mystery

of The Sky.

*

Let the ray of Light dissipate

as it touches the Earth

warming others

and new things will grow.

*

Let the wave resolve back into the Ocean

and come and go

We know not from where or where to

But always at one with the Ocean,

Alive forever in the One.

*

Live, and move and have your being

in God.

And be your True Spacious Self

Be the Light of “just as I AM”*

*

What small part am I

in the ever-moving parts

of this planet’s short life?

In Light of Eternity,

What is Yesterday? Tomorrow? Today?

I am, at heart,

as God — beyond understanding.

But God is even beyond words.

Let me not try to understand

myself or others;

Just as I can never theologize about God.

Let my peace pass my understanding, O God.

You know all my innermost parts.

Create in me a new heart, O God.***

Hold me in the palm of Your Fatherly Hand.

Cradle me in the Womb of Your Motherly Love.

Let me Be no longer a small part,

But Be at One with All Beings;

Be at One with all Beingness;

and Be at One with You.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2025

**My paraphrase of Galatians 2:20

***Psalm 51:10

*”Just As I Am, without One Plea” by Charlotte Elliot

Just Yesterday, If Only Tomorrow

https://unsplash.com/@liane

*

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….

*

© Jane Tawel, 2025

Chirps

by Jane Tawel

Unsplash — Isaac Quesada 

*

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.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2025