Do Not Let Them In, They Are Not Here

Untitled by Anonymous

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Do Not Let Them In, They Are Not Here

By Jane Tawel

September 16, 2022

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She is not here now.

And when you let her in,

again and again,

you reveal your true insanity.

Not being part of

any true reality,

her presence has driven you mad.

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He is not in this space.

But you have flung open

the entrances to your mind,

and now you have to face the fact,

that though you have allowed

the thief of your peaceful thoughts

almost constant habitation there,

he is dead,

(or would be if you killed him).

Allow him to die an honorable death.

Kill him gently

without leaving too much blood

on the floors in your house,

and then clean up the mess.

Remember he only came because you bid him come

and then blamed him for leaving grey scum

on the walls of your mind’s home.

He does not live here today,

and need not live in the home of your heart

any more.

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They come disguised as cleaning crews,

or helpful guests and family,

pretending to help

with the cleaning-up of calamities

or of my misunderstandings,

but my need for them, not withstanding,

it is a relationship of lies.

For thoughts are just a house of cards,

if peopled by things one cannot see with eyes,

or hear alive in the world that exists outside the mind,

or touch with skin to skin,

feeling the softness of your cheek or the cheek of a ripe peach,

or made with something I can taste or drink

or move with the circles of my speech.

All that would dwell in the shadows

of my darkened house, filled with the

blood-suckers that would steal awakening joy,

these are nothing more

than dust motes of past emotions,

or the fogs that roll in from the future but don’t stay — 

Oh, all of this is nothing of me

in just this place — this day.

Yes, I have invited all of you not really here,

under false pretenses.

But trying to make you feel at ease as my mind’s guests,

serving your phantasmagorical hungers

from the hard labors

of the meals of my perceptions and attachments,

I feel like an alien in my own home.

The people I let in,

who do not really live here in my space,

are dirty and rude

because I allow them

to mess up that within

the home of my heart

and that which should be hallowed

in the hallways of my mind,

and still I find

it is hard to say good-bye to them.

And all that is meant to be preserved for my good,

is filled with the flood,

and mud of thinking on and on and on

about things that are not present now.

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Do not let them in; they are not here.

Kick them all to the curb;

and prohibit them from

the treasure-room of yourself.

Those who used to live here,

or have not yet been born to you,

must take their place

with the other hallucinations

that your mind would create.

We all hear voices.

And yet, we do not stop our ears,

against those who would crash us on the shores,

of wasted energy and emotions

of all and anything that is not love.

Why, oh why, do we feel guilt,

when we release those

who do not live with us today,

those which we would cling to from yesterday,

or yearn or fear for in our tomorrows,

tomorrows which should remain unimagined?

We must stop our remembering

and our imagining,

as we dream of and with only those present,

in the here and now,

dreaming them in the reality of today.

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Let all of them,

all but your best present-presence,

and that which is only alive in you for just this day,

leave your home,

and live where they belong,

in the house of the dead.

Let those who are not here,

take-up their residence where they belong,

and reside no more in your now

where only you

can see God and live.

Yes, there is enough space for only you,

your very present God, and you,

your home, which is yourself.

Be still

and only know this moment

and only in this moment, know

the Truth.

And let all others go.

Set them free.

So that your true self

is not housed,

but truly sheltered.

And Love will then

find plenty of room,

to fill the empty spaces,

that ghosts and chimeras have left behind.

In your home,

may all your past and future

no longer look to you

for tents of understanding build on bogs.

And in the only place you ever need,

the place in you that you call home,

the home that is yourself,

may you live forever-now

in peace.

© Jane Tawel, 2022

How Do I?

by Jane Tawel

“Ocean Wave” by smhowell2 is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

How Do I?

By Jane Tawel

September 9, 2022

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How do I stop blaming myself?

Renaming myself in a thousand ways?

How can I listen

to the tides of my dreams?

And though they may seem

just a whisper — a nudge — 

how do I let my soul

roll with the waves that

The Ocean would send my way?

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I have one name,

One name.

And I will play only the good kind of games,

like a child I will play in the now.

And I will neither blame nor shame — 

and though I may not know exactly how,

I will not project nor expect nor attain

any thing that will harm you or me.

No, not any of you,

nor any of me

will I stop from the Flow of The Ocean.

I will see only who we can be — 

You and me — 

as I seek to become

and to be and be

One.

© Jane Tawel 2022

Set Us Free

A Poem by Jane Tawel

“Monarchs in motion” by farflungphotos is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

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Set Us Free

By Jane Tawel

September 3, 2022

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Set me free from the future.

Set me free from the past.

Set me free to live into

The Truth that will last.

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Set me free from stagnation.

Set me free from my needs.

Set me free to change wholly,

and to set new dreams free.

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Set me free by forgiveness

of the great and the small,

and as I forgive others,

may I forgive myself, all.

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Set me free from the prison

that only I can create,

by attachment to anger

and fear, grief, and hate.

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Let me open the prison doors

and free memories’ hostages.

Give me strength to release,

tomorrow from bondages.

And when I would put

heart or mind back in jail,

May The Spirit of Love for All Life,

fast prevail.

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Freedom is not a longing

for nothing to lose,

Nor is being free, gain

for the ego to use.

Freedom is never greedy,

nor self-serving, nor fearful.

Freedom is never needy,

but in needlessness, cheerful.

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Freedom is the soul’s seeking

of Love’s peace that will still

any hurt, fear, or longing

and by Grace, all is healed.

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Oh Creator, of heaven and earth and of All,

May my spirit be freed from the sins of The Fall.

Let me claim my true power that by You, I’m designed,

to be free to create in me, new life divine.

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May I free those who’ve hurt me

and forgive once — and all.

May resentment and bitter seed,

take no root in my soul.

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Daily let me forgive

those I know and in general.

And as I forgive freely,

make my joy and love plentiful.

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Oh, True Life is just waiting!

Our souls long to be free!

When I loose bonds of judgement,

I free God in you and in me.

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May I use my soul’s freedom

for true care to employ.

And God, moment by moment

set my soul free for joy.

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May my soul find true freedom

in The God who is One.

May our souls be united,

in only Truth, which is Love.

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May I trust in The Word

that brings Heaven to Now.

And though I don’t know how,

let my faith become strong,

that I live now, in God’s freedom,

and for all my days long.

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Let my daily prayer be:

Set me free.

Set him free.

Set her free.

Set them free.

Set us free,

Dear Creator,

Oh, Dear God,

set us free.

© Jane Tawel, 2022

Thoughts for my Blogger Pals: Keep the Faith. Keep Helping.

I posted this famous quote by Fred (Mr.) Rogers today, and then a friend texted me back those questions and concerns that go raging through many of our heads and hearts in this day and age. I thought my own thoughts might be of use to some of my blogging friends who are some of the “unseen, unsung” helpers in my own life. Thank you to all of you who keep trying to help others in these times. I hope you can each believe that you make a difference in the world — after all, isn’t that really why we write?

Dear ________________, 

I am beginning slowly and painfully to discover a few things: 

1. Although I continue to believe as D.L.Moody said that one should have a Bible in one hand and a (valid) newspaper in the other, there is much more opportunity today to endlessly be sucked into “news” and what is ultimately the “junk food” of our times, than to be sucked into spiritually enlightening “food”. There is always bad “news” but I don’t have to believe that it is more powerful or ultimately more true-Truth, than something beyond anyone or any nation or any time and place, whatever people may call the “Other Reality” and what I think of as true Truth and God’s redeeming love for our planet and His children. It helps to say to myself what a friend said wisely to me yesterday, “If it is something that is out of your hands, don’t let it take up too much space in your head.” Hard for me but helpful. This friend is always one of my own “helpers” not just for me but quietly in the world. At the same time, I want to believe that if I do a small unsung kindness here and someone else in the world is doing an unknown kindness over there, then all the little truly unselfish kind things that all the little people do as “helpers” will always tip the scales in the world towards Martin Luther King’s “arc of justice” and towards the mustard seed of faith and the mighty waves created by the power of truly loving hearts. And — 

 2. Sometimes my being the sort of person who is always trying to help others is more about me than it is about them. There is a difference between being ready and alert to help a need that appears than what we often do which is to look for ways to “fix” people or ways to disguise what the human hubris always is in part, a way to assuage our own ego needs. One struggles with comparing one’s “intelligence” or “compassion” with what one assumes is another’s lack of these things, and so the big beam grows in one’s eye. And conversely, I often neglect loving myself enough to be a helper to myself (Psychology 101 is still a distant achievement for me — LOL) 

Anyway, a couple great books to recommend that were recommended to me by some of my “helpers” in the world doing good for others in quiet, unsung ways, “The Wild Edge of Grief” by Francis Weller (helps with grieving for what is happening in the world and on our planet as well as personal griefs). And the other is the Powers trilogy by Walter Wink, which helps put what is really happening in the world in a Judeo-Christian but rather radical context which is both empowering and mind-blowing. 

Love you. Thank you for your kind sweet words. I hope to get to your neck of the woods this fall and actually see you, dear friend.

And so Blogger-Pals, carry your weight today because the only way out is through, but also look up, see the sun or lovely clouds that bring rain or the stars that are out in your own “neck of the woods” and know that our grief makes us human and compassionate and better able to be “helpers” in the world; but our love for ourselves and others and the place in which we live, and the planet which I sure do hope we can help survive — all the love in the world, whether they are tiny drops of water like mine, or big rolling waves like Mr. Rogers’, or Martin Luther Kings’, or Jesus’, or Buddha’s, or… ______________(insert the name that comes to your mind in the blank) — all the helpers are here. May you seek and find them today and then go out and do likewise, 

Jane 

What Will I Do with Love Today?

What Will I Do with Love Today?

By Jane Tawel

July 21, 2022

“Clouds — Summer 2014” by Pam_Broviak is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

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What will I do with Love, today?

What will I do with my love?

Will I open my hands?

Will I walk in The Way?

Will I watch what I say?

Will I trust and obey?

Oh, what will I do;

what now will I do,

what will I do with Love?

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What will I feel with Love, today?

What will I feel with my love?

Will I hurt with a friend?

Will I forgive and mend,

all the fences that others might tend?

Will I suffer the cross?

Will I risk feeling loss?

Will I laugh hard and long?

Will I sing a new song?

Will I to my fears die?

And without asking why,

will I quickly employ

the strong will of true joy?

Oh, what will I feel with my Love, today?

Yes, what will I feel with Love?

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What will I be for Love, today?

Oh, what will I be for God’s Love?

Will I truly embrace,

every person and place,

as the Kingdom on Earth, as Above?

Will I let my beliefs,

take a humble back-seat,

to the needs of the world in this Time?

Will I know The Sublime?

Seek until I, Truth, find?

Will I make the world’s treasures as naught?

Will I with peace, leave every self- thought?

Will I brave the true lessons Christ taught?

Will I be, and not strive?

Will I be freely alive?

Oh, let me be only true Love today.

Oh, let me be all and all Love.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2022

Dead Angels

Angel by Capt Piper

Dead Angels

By Jane Tawel

June 29, 2022

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“Your angels are dying,” She said.

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And so, we found our excuses

to offer to the God,

we had created —  all red, white and blue,

in our own image.

But if we had read it correctly,

we would have known;

there is only One God,

and He is the one who accepts,

no excuses.

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“Your angels are dying,” She said.

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The problem is, angels need a lot of care.

And we were once unwilling,

we are now, unwilling;

the nation was unwilling;

the churches were unwilling;

and so, the Spirit of the Age,

began to shrivel and clutch,

in very wealthy widow’s weeds.

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I don’t know how it is in other places,

but here I know we worship money;

we worship power;

we worship who we think we are.

And we put little God stickers on the outside of it all,

reducing a Savior’s price,

so we can get more buyers.

We pray prayers of helplessness,

to make us feel safer,

to get us off the hook of actually doing anything,

to make sure Jesus takes the fall. Again.

And while outside, our Easter finery is shiny,

like newly minted thirty pieces of silver,

inside, we are rotting like hidden corpses,

hiding from ourselves,

hiding from The Source.

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“Your angels are dying,” She said.

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A Human-being once called us ‘white-washed tombs’.

and while we focus on unfulfilled wombs,

we don’t mind killing, no not at all,

while America’s better angels go AWOL

As long as our left hand is in the till,

our right hand ignores the Pearls — for swill.

And so, the Angels of America writhe.

And while we think we can buy God with our tithe,

we take God’s name in vain.

Our worship is profane,

because we keep leaving out Love,

and the freedom to choose

from the Eternal Equation of

God + me =Living Christ.

Instead, we have made God in our own image,

and not in the image of Them,

and we have left Christ on the cross,

so we can go shopping and buy cheaper gas.

Because who needs angels,

when we have nuclear weapons and assault rifles?

Who needs angels,

when we can blame our inner demons,

on some one who is not like us?

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“Your angels are dying,” She said.

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Now let us bow our heads,

in the prayer of Our Holy Flag,

and place our hope in a worship of past successes,

and the catechism of power-full-ness,

and the holy rites of more-ness-ness,

and the “our way or the highway”

of laws without consequences

for anyone but Lazarus at the gate.

And fingers crossed,

that we can keep believing that our own cross,

is bearing the pangs of the Dow Jones.

And hopefully, angels and demons are not real,

and the Kingdom of some old documents

can take the place of Heaven on Earth.

*

© Jane Tawel, June 2022

**Written with fear and trembling and much gratitude for the works of Walter Wink.

He Bought Every Thing

“A Pile of Money” by veken is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

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He Bought Every Thing

By Jane Tawel

June 12, 2022

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He bought up every thing in the whole, whole wide world.

He bought all the pleasures, the birds and the bees.

And he plotted and planned how to buy even more,

as he gassed the whole planet and chopped down all the trees.

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He bought all the finish lines, so he won all the races.

He bought so many mansions, he couldn’t remember all the places.

He bought a new spouse and he bought a new face,

and when he owned the whole planet, he bought outer space.

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This man for an instant in time was quite famous.

This rich, famous man owned the world — the whole cosmos!

Who is he, you ask? Who is this great mystery?

No one knows any more, he is buried in history.

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The richest and ruling-est here on this earth,

think that profit and power reveal one’s true worth.

But even by owning every thing one can buy,

no one can buy out of the fact we all die.

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The poor man bought every thing, below and above,

But in the end, what he never owned — was what lasts –

only Love.

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“For what is the lasting profit, if we gain the whole world, but in the process lose our souls.” (Jesus of Nazareth, dirt poor but definitely remembered by history)

© Jane Tawel, June 12, 2022

Maybe It’s For the Best

“Tree” by @Doug88888 is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

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Maybe It’s For the Best

By Jane Tawel

June 1, 2022

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I haven’t lost my faith.

No, I’ve just lost my knowledge;

and maybe that’s the best, the very best place to be.

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I haven’t lost my faith,

I’ve forfeited the facts.

And maybe that’s the best, the very best way to see.

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I’ve given up my hope,

in something great, somewhere out there.

But now I’m seeking hope,

in little old you and me.

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I’ve given up on hoping,

that there’s a god who’s for me.

And now I only cling to hope,

that I plus Christ make Three.

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I don’t believe in love,

that’s never enough and never been free.

But with a seed of faith,

and just a finger-hold on hope,

I do believe that Love

abides forever with you and me.

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Sometimes if feels so sad and scary,

not knowing what I believe.

But maybe it’s all for the best,

to give up my knowing and striving.

Yes, maybe it’s for the best,

to give up my fears of living and dying.

Yes, it must be all for The Best,

to seek only the Unknown I Am,

to be in the moment unknowing, but known,

in which all that remains — 

just the faith, hope and love — 

is this moment, — this Now — 

This is where I find rest.

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© Jane Tawel, June, 2022

Jury Duty in L.A.- Reflection #1: You and Me

Homeless Person Vaporized on the Subway” by ramsay stirling is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

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Jury Duty in L.A.

Reflection #1 “You and Me?”

By Jane Tawel

May 17, 2022

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There is no place for me to go.

No place.

No place.

No place.

And I look out at a world not mine,

and no one sees my face.

My face.

My face.

My face.

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What did I look like, years ago,

when I had some of that?

How did I lose it all so fast,

and end up here,

and end up lost,

and end up so miscast?

‘Cuz’ you don’t really see me, do you?

You think I am not like you.

Admit it, it’s true.

You don’t see the slippery slope

that’s been keepin’ you on your side of life’s river,

and I floating downstream on my frail mat,

and alla that, alla that, alla that,

you got, you think that you deserve it?

But one wrong glance, one bad romance, one missed chance,

one person screwing your finance, one look askance,

one little perchance,

one wrong step in The Big Dance,

and there you go, lucky you, not so lucky any more, are you?

No, you are just like me.

You ARE me,

but you don’t see.

There ain’t no you and me –

The Dance is always for Three.

Let them that have eyes, see.

Let them that have ears, hear.

And let them like me that have nothing any more,

Weep and mourn.

There ain’t no joy in the morning,

‘cuz alla you-all are blocking The Light.

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© Jane Tawel, May 2022

“Come Play With Me”, Said God

Mud Puddle Stompers” by clappstar is marked with CC BY-NC 2.0.

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“Come Play With Me”, Said God

By Jane Tawel

March 29, 2022

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There is always so much noise out there, and so much noise within. I let it play within my mind like an endless loop of commercial ads. Increasing the volume, I buy my way to shallows of meaning, hoping to find resurrection in more stuff. My fears are like puddles of mud that I have stepped in once accidentally, but keep on stepping in again and again, as if I could not walk around them. They seep into my soul like vinegar held on a sponge to anesthetize the feelings of the crosses we bear.  And we do all bear them, do we not? –what with the silence that roars with the absence of peace.

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They, (and you know who they are), keep telling me that God is just like me and I am just like God, and while they say that will fill me with hope for a better day and a better me and a better god, most of the time, it only makes me feel hollowed out and angry and afraid.

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Some of us find making words helps to clarify what we mean and the words can act like breadcrumbs dropped from our mouths as we try to find our way back. Back to God. Back to home. Back to ourselves. Crumbs of bread and this is My Bread, given for you. Take. Eat. Follow the crumbs from My Mouth.

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I said to God: “I am not like You, am I? I don’t want You to be like me.  A humanly-god, is too small for me. I want You to be Other.”

God Said to me: “I AM what I am, but you are not yet what you will be. Now you choose to be small, but a godly-human is as big as you should be. I want you to be you and yet not you. Just as you long for Me to be Other, I also desire for you to be Other.”

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I wept and cried to God: “I am sad. I am alone. I feel lost. I am lost. The whole world is sad, and lonely, and lost. It feels like it is always night. It is too much for me to bear.”

God wept and cried with me and said, “You only bear it alone because you choose to. I created day and night. I can bear all sorrows and turn mourning into Morning, and darkness into light. Your sorrow is the path towards Me. I am The God who weeps. Our tears will make a stream. Let us follow the stream of our tears towards Home and there we will live together in joy.”

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I said to God: “I don’t know how to love them without worrying about them and wanting to fix them.”

God Said to me: I love you without worrying about you or trying to fix you. Love as I do.”

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I raged at God: “I hate. I fear. I am so afraid that it makes me angry. I don’t want to die.”

God raged with me: “It is unjust, I know. It makes me angry, too, but not afraid. I am never afraid. Be One with me, and fear not. Know that in My Spirit, when you die, you are only then reborn. All is for The Good in Me. All is open and anticipating, like buds to rain and sunlight, ready to bloom into glory, ready to grow tall and strong under the canopy of My grace.”

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I searched for something more to say and something true to pray and the words were not in me but where of me and I could not frame the words because they were not of my frame, but I knew the words because they were of my spirit-soul.

God Said: “When you are able, stop looking outwards, you will not find Me there. Stop following your doubts, and trust The Way of faith. Stop your words and know My Word. Stop looking for your worth out there, and look within. And there you will find My Spirit within you. There you will know Our peace.”

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 I knew I was a human of unclean lips. And yet, I spoke to God the only word that is: “Love!”

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And then, without words, I was.

And when I had nothing left to say to God, I finally had found the vision of Who God Is and Who I am becoming.

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“Come play with Me”, said God.

And so I put on my big-girl boots, and began the Great Creation Dance; a dance with God in puddles, and messes, a rain-dance and a sun-dance, and an embracing of all the hurt and pain and laughter and happiness of growing. And all my words were childish joyful scribbles on the palette of World-Soul. And I began to see my muddiness as the fertilizer of Our Spirit.

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And with very few words, God and I began to Become.

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I am becoming a child who seeks the God Who Hides. And in my wordlessness, The Word finds space, and I find my becomingness and worth.

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God was silent and it was good. It was very Good.

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God was still.

And in the stillness, I found The Hidden One.

And The Hidden One found me.

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© Jane Tawel, 2022