Free from The Beautiful Prison

Hasan Almasi — Unsplash

Free from The Beautiful Prison

By Jane Tawel

February 13, 2025

*

Thoughts embrace me,

not as the lover that I think they are,

but as the ever multiplying,

tightening, restricting coils

of a deadly snake;

which in the end, and endlessly,

goes ‘round and ‘round and ‘round,

sucking out all my life, until it

Strikes!

And all my thoughts and

the “I” of me

will be no more.

*

What a waste of Time

my thoughts have been.

*

Words create and — Oh!

How I love them!

And yet words, when given

so much power

deny the True I AM.

Words create a false me,

deny the Real, and the real me.

So many words,

so little Time.

Words create barriers to my freedom to exist.

Why do we hate it so much when words escape us?

Why do we hold on to words that

we once thought belonged to who we are — 

even if they hurt us?

With our first word, “Ma-ma”,

we make our choice and in our last breath,

we regret words spoken and unspoken.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.”*

Words are lovely as they reach across

the chasms of our communication,

the hopes of our interactions,

the rallying cries as we come together.

Our words create stories that can keep us — 

safe and warm.

We are our own Scheherazade.

Words also keep us apart.

And as they spin

their endless tales of that which was

and fear of that which might be,

they create the webs which constrict

the formless, namelessness of Life,

like a giant spider

we weave and weave and weave .

*

Oh, how I adore a good abstract word,

a metaphor, a sensory description,

a symbol!

Oh, how I long for words that make me feel

Loved, cared for

Seen.

But oh, what better joy

to live in the Spaces

to feel without words,

to Be.

If only I could escape my words.

Words — The Beautiful Prison.

*

Wordless, Nameless One,

Accept my prayer,

with groans too deep for words:

Create in my, Oh, God — just…

Create.

Create me like a baby

with only cries and sounds of joy

to tell you how I feel

and who I Am.

No — Create ME, O, God.

IAM.

Let me be a new and emptied skin-clothed vessel,

ready for the new wine of ***

Being — 

unattached, unthinking,

with only this one thought –

of only this one Word — 

The Word from the beginning,

that was, and is, and evermore shall Be.

That Word beyond Thought,

Beyond Ego, beyond Me;

the only Meaning

that shall never, as I will, die.

“But I, in one short sleep past,

will wake eternally,

and death shall be no more;

death, thou shalt die.”****

Awake, My Soul! and be emptied

to be stilled by Holy Stillness,

and in peace, to live,

As One.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2025

With many thanks for those whose thoughts and words are high above mine own.

*Robert Frost, “The Road Less Taken”

**The Bible

***Jesus, The Christ

**** John Donne, “Death Be Not Proud”

And along with these, thank you to the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh and Eckhart Tolle among so many others.

Crossing the Road on The Way

by Jane Tawel

heino eisner — unsplash

Crossing the Road on The Way

By Jane Tawel

January 26, 2025

*

Resting my head on small, fragile hands,

too fragile to hold the world up.

What would happen if I dropped the world?

What would happen if I gave my thoughts 

 — Up?

*

Holding my heart,

pushing it deeper within.

Stunting or fronting true selves.

Who would I be if I opened the cage?

What would emerge if my heart was set free?

How much Love can a soft heart give?

Why, All the Love that there is.

*

Embracing the shattered,

the least and the lost,

Inside me — 

but also in them.

How would I live?

 if I–

Stopped.

Looked.

and Listened……..

before crossing the road

On The Way?

*

© Jane Tawel, 2025

Right Now, Right Here

Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

*

Right Now, Right Here

By Jane Tawel

January 2, 2025

*

So full of grief for moments past

So anxious for next moment

So bitter that this life won’t last

So rife with pain and mindless foment.

*

I wander blindly, thought to thought

Not seeing, hearing, tasting.

I miss what Is for what is Not

While precious Nows go wasting.

*

This morning as I woke — my dream

did linger in my consciousness

And for a moment, it did seem

I could escape this awful mess

of all the negativity that I allowed to fester,

and so, I set my mind to be an open-minded quester.

I realized what I called my life,

was really just a reverie,

but I had wasted so much time

in future fears and burdening memory.

*

I vowed this day to change the way

that I would think, and act, and live in

this precious moment — just that — no more.

No future fears — the past forgiven.

This Now, I will embrace, explore

with senses full, mean thoughts all emptied,

and previous ghosts of hopeless frenzy

I banish now from my True Being.

I’ll breathe. Take steps. True Self. Vast. Freeing.

*

As Shakespeare said: “Life’s what we’re dreaming.”

The Wise One said: “All comes in season.

As Jesus said, “No need to worry.”

And Buddha said, “Please stop your hurry.”

*

Hello, sweet Now,

I greet You anew.

The Whys and Hows,

I’ll leave to You.

My life is just Right Now, Right Here — 

This moment, — Precious, Treasured, Dear.

I open to the glory of

My Self as just a story of

a birth, a life, a death — and then?

One moment more — I wake — reborn again.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2025

This Perfect Gift

by Jane Tawel

Random Institute, Unsplash

This Perfect Gift

By Jane Tawel

December 19, 2024

*

When I was born,

Someone gave me a beautiful container.

It was perfect, just as it was.

People marveled over it –

“How lovely”, they said.

*

Right from the beginning,

I knew, without knowing,

that this container was a marvel,

an endless delight, to explore,

to caress, to wonder at.

And everyone agreed.

I enjoyed endless hours

playing with my container,

just hanging out and being

with my container.

Even so young, I knew

that to care for this container — 

this vessel of perfect form and function,

this earthy, natural, but divine mystery — 

was a responsibility and a gift.

*

Perfectly formed but oh, so fragile,

the container got its first ding

at two years old,

when it fell against a coffee table.

“Just a little scratch,” they said,

“no need to worry”.

But everyone did begin to worry then.

And suddenly it was very important

to protect my container from any more hurts.

And the container

began to be kept a bit apart from me.

The distance between myself

and my container would keep it safe.

*

When I started school

was the first time I realized

that not everyone knew

how beautiful my container was.

Not everyone treasured it as I did,

So, I began to hide my container,

wrapping it up tightly

concealing its gorgeous curves,

masking its earthy smells,

painting over my container’s natural colors.

I wanted my container to look like everyone else — 

No, better than everyone else.

Because I was told that all containers

were in some sort of contest,

and that the only thing one’s container

was good for,

was being more beautiful, or stronger,

or thinner or sexier or faster

than everyone else’s container.

*

When I got a job

and became an adult,

I often lost track of what I did with my container,

I was so busy.

The container was used

when it had a purpose.

And the life of the mind

which became all of me…

Well,

that is so important, isn’t it?

*

One day I had a child,

and Someone gave her

a beautiful container.

And I wish I could say

that it changed how I felt

about my own lost love of

my container, but…

It didn’t.

And though I marveled

at the perfection of my child’s

own beautiful, perfect container,

and though I tried all her life,

to explain how perfect her container was,

how she could be proud of it,

and how she should love it with all her heart

as the perfect divinely inspired gift that it was — 

Instead…

she saw how I felt about my own container.

She saw and heard and took into herself,

all my fears and insecurities and ignorance

about our containers.

I am still so sad about that.

I am trying to forgive myself.

I wish my ignorance could be our bliss,

But I am just sad,

Because we really did have,

Do have,

Still have,

these perfect, beautiful containers –

these gifts.

*

Now I am old,

And I look at this old container — 

so beaten up and beaten down

so marred and scratched and worn — 

And yet — I see,

it is still so perfect — 

a treasure.

And every day I am more and more aware

of what a gift we are given when

we are born and given our containers.

We come to life

with a perfect vessel,

formed in the forges of unseen Gods.

We are given all we need

as we carry our containers for a short time;

Carrying on caring for ourselves,

Carrying on caring for others,

Carrying on caring for our Mother Earth,

Carrying on and carried in a perfect container.

And now that I am old,

I am once again struck by the

Mystery of my container.

And then one day,

Sooner, but hopefully later,

I will no longer have this container.

It will be gone, returned to dust

as all temporal things must do.

And when my vessel is gone,

Alas!

Forgive!

Acceptance!

Love!

Oh, what will I do,

when this container is no more?

What will I do?

Ah –

That is the is greatest mystery of all.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2024

A Word in a Stroke of Luck

Joshua Hoehne — Unsplash

A Word in a Stroke of Luck

By Jane Tawel

December 7, 2024

*

I shall call You, “Good”.

You are My Good.

You mean ALL for The Good.

I shall call upon You in the night,

“Oh, My Good!”

“Help us, Dear Good”.

I will meditate

on the World’s Beauty of Good.

I will stand in awe

in the World’s Mystery of Good.

I will put my trust in the power of Good.

For You, are a Good, Good, Good-ness.

I will love You, Oh, my Good;

and have faith that Good-ness

will not only follow me and mine

All the days of this lifetime,

but that I shall dwell in the House of Good

Forever and ever.

Amen.

*

Words are funny, shallow, flitting things.

Poor words, they try so hard.

And though they fail again and again,

we pick them back up, dust them off, and try once more

to use them to explain,

to use words to understand,

to take words and try to

put an outer shell to what is inside of us –

What is Inside of All.

*

Poor Words! How exhausted they must be!

They beg us to give them a rest.

But instead, we invent algorithms

to create more and more words

again and again and again

done by computers so words

have less meaning than even the

words of a worm might have.

*

We think in constant gales of words

Ghosts of words of past and future

Words with no meaning at all.

So, we never have to be still.

And the Silence will never touch us

surrounded by,

hunkered down,

lost and alone

in our fortresses of words.

*

Oh, Poor Words!

Words swim upstream — 

light, floating inconsequentially

in the Ocean of True Truth,

in the Ocean of Unspoken Meaning beyond Meaning.

And there they go again!

Lost. Irretrievable. Unspoken. Too late. Too soon.

We only shut up when we’re dead.

*

What a Stroke of Luck for me!

For this morning,

as I grumbled over Past and Future,

A mind consumed in a mire of useless wording,

I happened to be writing something on a page,

And carelessly my mind glitched

on spelling, “God”.

And accidentally adding another “o” — 

A Stroke of Luck in One Small Stroke!

And Oh, my Soul!

Oh, Joy!

I happened to have slipped upon

a banana peel of misspelling

and landed in a Heaven of New Insight!

With my one small stroke of pen,

with one tiny letter,

with one mistake (I thought) — 

I have thrown out a buoy into the

Raging Tides of Time and Space.

And now I think I may make it

to The Shore.

*

Yes, you may laugh

Or shake your head at me

Or frown at my naivety or lack of theory,

And you may still cling to what you need to believe

about a God you want to call your own,

whose name has been taken in vain so many times

that it has lost all meaning.

But for me –

that one change, that “O”,

has quite suddenly!

made all the difference to me.

*

Oh, My Good!

I praise You for the Word,

for one small word to

change my angers and my fears into

a fledgling, hoping love of You.

Thank you for all my broken words,

that like a child with chalk in hand

search for You with fleeting strokes

on the sidewalks of this Life.

Thank you for one small circle

to begin to shape

the circle of this Life

of one small soul,

for All.

Today may I Be.

Still.

And Know.

That You.

Are.

GOOD.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2024

Wilderness

ZA Tourist, Unsplash

*

Wilderness

By Jane Tawel

November 26, 2024

*

In a certain moment,

a peace comes over me,

unasked for,

Gift.

And I am glad to be in the Wilderness

with You.

*

I was part and particle

of the masses and

Mass hysteria

of all that thinks

it knows and is.

The noise filled me

but never fulfilled its promises.

*

But now that I, alone, do wander

through this path-y, spiraling Life,

and wonder through

this endless, fleeting Time,

I know the Mountain never speaks,

except within my aching, still-born heart.

© Jane Tawel, 2024

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

by Jane Tawel

kazuend on Unsplash

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.

© Jane Tawel, 2024

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.

© Jane Tawel, 2024

Morning Promises

Cindie Hansen, Unsplash

*

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.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2024

The Prophets and the Poets

By Jane Tawel, July 19, 2024

Canva

*

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…..

© Jane Tawel, 2024

Sea Shell Sagacity

A close up of a shell on a beach

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.

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.
  4. In all cultures and religions, shells represent life. Remind yourself often that Life is good.
  5. 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. 

(c) Jane Tawel, 2024