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The Child’s and My Circle
By Jane Tawel
October 9, 2021
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Within me, every molecule
is still the little child.
She longs for my protection
but also, to run wild.
She was, but also is now;
and though I don’t know how,
she asks for my tomorrows,
to also let her be.
*
Without,
I gaze with glazéd heart,
upon a world that glistens.
And if I only listen
to what comes whispered,
deep inside the stillness,
all integrates and merges.
Yes, I am on the verge of
Soul and soul emerging.
Then I and All have meaning
if and only if I stop demeaning
The Flow, the Interbeing.
*
My life is not an arc or line.
It is a lovely, broken circle.
And every moment,
point by point,
the circle formless, forms.
Each empty space,
each place misshapen,
asks my adult for perseveration.
The child is offered chalk and ink
to recreate today
the incomplete and always turning,
Circle of my life.
*
Respect and innocence await my adult fear
to give my child permission to
explore, imagine, anticipate,
and often just to rest.
The universe teems
with puddles of hope to jump in,
and Love watches for me to enter The Stream,
raw and ready,
purposeful as an infant to receive.
*
Create in me, Oh, Oneness One,
relation, integration, adoration.
And manifest in me,
a childlike curiosity,
a vision of not what is,
but what might be;
the only thing that is forever,
the real deal,
eternally real–
the insurrection of wonder.
And may amazement of all things,
bright and beautiful,
formless, wordless, true–
be freed in me,
once more to play
in awe of Life,
at peace with other children.
*
© Jane Tawel, October 2021
