Tag: Poetry Spirituality Philosophy wonder life lessons

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The Drop is of The Flow

By Jane Tawel

March 22, 2022

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Is a little drop of water, less important than a wave?

Is a single link less worthy as a small part of a chain?

Is a ray of sunshine, shining, not the reason we are warmed?

And do single clouds contribute to a needed good rain storm?

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We are small parts of the Cosmos.

We are solitary souls.

Yet we share the Heaven’s matter,

and we share Creation’s goals.

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Oh, to ride the Wave as just one drop,

to be within The Ocean;

to find within my own small self,

the reason for the motion—

The Motion of the rise and fall,

The Motion of the light,

The Motion of the great and small,

The Motion of the day and night.

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In God, all life is moving,

and moving ever more.

God is the motion of our being,

The Endless Flow from shore to shore.

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I know not where my speck began,

Nor where my wave will go.

I only trust that in God’s grace,

I’m One within The Flow.

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© Jane Tawel, March 2022

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When Books Were Clouds

by Jane Tawel

January 28, 2022

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When books were read in clouds and trees,

and fame was in the stars,

then we did walk the Earth as guards

and lived in Time just as we are.

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When actions held our thinking firm,

and no one needed walls,

then Man and Woman, and terra firma

as one and One made All.

Why, then, as wise old children, we

lived wholly, on this lovely ball,

not split, not splintered, we lived True

and You were I, and I was you.

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When books were clouds, and we were stars,

then eyes and ears could see and hear

the world and us just as we are.

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Flow back, flow back, all living things,

and simpler world embrace.

Let truth and power return to grace

and Love will take its rightful place.

Flow forth, flow forth, dear human race,

the tale is in the telling,

and like great waves a-swelling,

only our hearts will leave a trace.

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© Jane Tawel, January 28, 2022

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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© Jane Tawel, October 2021