Is This my Prayer, my Meditation, my Breath? Who Am I Today?

Prayer for Beginners | Desiring God

Is This my Prayer, my Meditation, my Breath? Who Am I Today?

By Jane Tawel

November 22, 2021

*

Be right.

Be the light.

When darkness comes, breathe it in again and again,

until I am finally able to exhale only light.

Hold all things lightly in my hands,

so that my hands may be open to receive more.

As soon as is possible, and as soon as is right,

 with love for others,

I will seek to depart from the wrong paths I take.

I will shun the wrong companionship

 of hate and fear and anger.

I will seek to return to All that has been True Truth

from the Beginning, to the End of All Time,

and I will choose only

Love.

My faith will be

love of family, love of friends, love of enemy,

love of The Divine and love of self.

Following the One Way, I will Be In…

and there I will realize that All is In

and only nothingness is outside…

and Life is

a Heaven on Earth that I simply call Home.

Peacefully, with self-care,

and with wisdom and care for others,

I will seek to return my wrong self to my True Self.

Within only this single moment, I will seek to find,

and knock, to have the doors opened,

and ask only to live in peaceful harmony within The Question.

Today I find only today’s steps on The Path,

and it is enough to lead further in and further up

to Compassion without suffering,

Liberation without judgment,

Insight without fear,

and Joy without limits.

Inside, numinous and alive,

longing to escape into light and resurrection,

Shalom is wholeness.

Outside, awesome and wondrous,

God is, I Am,

longing to enter in the mystery,

 and begin The Dance.

*

© Jane Tawel November 22, 2021

A Meditation on the Oxymoron of California Rain

A Meditation on the Oxymoron of California Rain

January 11, 2015

By Jane Tawel

Millions of other worlds’ elsewhere- rains later,

Dry heaves of rain drops fall.

Alone in the dripping desert of skyscrapers,

Goldberry’s bastard heir keeps the dance.

She worships the sight of

The spittle of the gods in the gutters.

Genuflecting in baptismal puddles,

She parts the seas of cautious cars.

The pittance of little sparks of firewater,

crackling wet,

Makes a solitary drumbeat

for her dance of The Tribe.

My real world is best lit

through drizzled gorgeous grey.

In a world gone mad looking for the sun,

God shelters me best in rain.