Tag: Spirituality

My Blog’s Eight Years of Poems are Published

Hello Blogging Pals,

I have published eight years of poems taken from my blog. Yes, it is a hefty tome, haha. Yes, you will need to over look typos as editing / publishing was difficult this time due to technical difficulties in KDP. C’est la vie! It is a journey of some interesting years in the world, 2015-2023. Some of the poems are not so great, some are possibly pretty good. All are explorations in living and in the genre that speaks to Big Ideas and struggles with words — Poetry.

Thank you to all of you who have read my poems (and other stuff) over the years. If you are interested in a copy, there are two, one with some pictures which is more expensive and one with just the poems — on Amazon on Kindle and in paperback.

Here is the link to the one without pictures:

The other can be found on Amazon and is called just Musings and Meditation, A Pictorial Version…

Thank you dear bloggers for all your comments and likes over the years and most of all for all the great stuff you keep writing that I love reading. May today bring you joy in your journey, Jane

In Light and Dark, Out of the Garden, and On The Path

by Jane Tawel

“light behind dark tunnel of trees” by Wim Vandenbussche is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

*

In Light and Dark, Out of the Garden, and On The Path

By Jane Tawel, October 10, 2023

*

And waking up to birds in the Garden,

heard not seen.

My mouth, dry as fallen leaves,

thoughts crumbling into dust not swept away, but hoarded

A heart as dry as leaves from an ancient but desiccated Book,

falling apart.

*

My chest hurts,

fluttering helplessly,

like a trapped bird in a cage,

throbbing like a song trapped in a tunnel,

too faint to hear, yet pounding in my ears.

I struggle out of night’s tight bonds,

and the prison of sweaty anxiety-tangled sheets.

Unsolved puzzles of otherness

causing night-fears to cling to my morning,

and morning is already imprisoned

with jello-bars;

thoughts of yesterday, flabby and gel-like,

clinging to today like suckers on a beached rowboat.

My oars went floating out

on the Tide toward Tomorrow.

*

Ah, me!

If only I could reach through the pain

with outstretched arms, not strong,

but lengthening in supplication,

away from the unformed center of myself.

*

Oh, My God, where is the salve

of Your nothingness,

the salve of forgiveness and delight?

*

Salvation is a funny thing,

a flimsy hope,

a solid rock.

The salve of my salvation stings,

and pain heals more than blissful wishes do.

The scabs cover over the relief of treasured addictions,

and for a brief moment,

I rise and float,

like a feather on an unseen wind,

like a small twig floating on a wave.

Nothingness is experienced,

as the unbearable lightness of being.

And my some-thing-ness,

my some-one-ness,

is adrift and moor-less.

*

The path never widens,

but as I scrimp on forging ahead,

I forage for food

to sustain my courage,

The Way seems clearer if not cleaner.

The brambles’ marks toughen my skin,

and heal over to make my feelings

calloused in new strength and some hope.

The fears reside nearer my front door,

but I learn (sometimes)

how to brush the anxious thoughts out,

like sticky cobwebs,

shooed away for whole moments at a time,

banished out of the home of my heart.

*

Shall I create salvation for myself,

and all within the place I dwell?

Shall I embrace my shadow self,

my night-self,

my dark soul?

And finding within the darkness, will I know

the freedom of not seeing but yet,

still blindly groping forward?

Oh, to walk in green valleys!

Oh, to rest by living streams!

*

There is a light ahead,

shimmering just outside the Garden,

and though it may waver recklessly

leading like a foolish and small fire-fly,

flitting along My Path,

I will seek The Light,

and I imagine I will find it not out there,

but within myself.

And when I can not see it,

I will make a friend of the Dark.

And wait for the dawn.

*

I reach for signs along my way,

and I will trust in the pain,

brushing up against it,

my fingers touching

the surface of my pain like rough bark,

scraping my knees on sharp sharded stones

strewn loosely in the road,

scratching my face as I plow through thick thorny places,

secret places of despair,

and fear and the grief that blossoms,

Iike a rose in the world’s heart.

*

As if…

As if…..

As if I keep walking,

through nights of bruising thoughts,

Salvation may come in the morning.

*

The path never widens,

but as I forage for food to sustain my courage,

The Way reveals the place of wholeness

abiding in mystery.

*

Peace passes through the dark

and beyond understanding.

And I let my spirit float,

out and away from the shallows of Life,

floating into deeper waters, and

trusting in The Sea

which holds all waves.

Even mine.

*

“I lift my eyes up,

to the mountains,

where does my help come from?

My help comes from You

Maker of All Being,

Maker of Light and of Dark,

Creator of All Life.

My feet will not slip

as I walk in The Way.

I will be guarded over

in the dark,

and while I sleep.

There is shade in the sun,

and the moon at night.

There are guardians all around me,

and no harm will come to my life,

I am safe, now and forever more.”**

I do not know but trust — 

I do not know,

but keep seeking darkness in Mystery,

light in Hope,

peace in suffering,

and joy in the journey.

I choose to trust.

I am not alone.

You are not alone.

We are not alone.

© Jane Tawel, 2023

**My paraphrase of Psalm 121

It Will End, I’m Sad to Say

Roses growing and dying in my Garden

It Will End, I’m Sad to Say

By Jane Tawel

September 19, 2023

*

And then it will end.

And all will be as never before,

and never again,

and never ever more.

But whether I shall enter something new,

through a small crack in the ether,

or a wide-open door,

my current view is that all things old,

will pass away.

And that makes me sad today.

Yes, it will end, I’m sad to say.

*

Hasn’t anyone ever told you?

It’s okay to be sad.

Grief is the gift we fear most to open,

but once unwrapped,

and held tight in shaking hands,

and viewed deeply with eyes continually filling

with the tears of unshed fears or hopeless hopes;

well, then, grief can become a friend

that helps us fill the moments with music,

the music of our real lives,

that the tick-tock-tick of the clocks

try to drown out.

*

If life is a symphony,

and grief is a dirge,

then only the urge

of our deepest desires,

can transform life and love

into what may inspire

Eternal cognition of a unified whole;

but until then we just have to trust,

in what may be the Soul.

*

Oh, isn’t the world wonderful?

*

Today I saw a poor little squirrel,

whose life was ended by the rush

of someone trying to get to work on time,

someone whose mind was probably focused blindly

on things not present, as mine often is,

whose eyes weren’t seeing what was right in front of her,

and missed the opportunity to save a life.

I murmured as I swerved

around the poor little broken, bloody body.

That squirrel was someone’s child or parent,

or friend. It played once in the tree in my front yard.

It hurt me to see it now dead and alone,

as it pains me deeply to think of all that is emptied out,

all that is alone, all that dies.

*

Life is pain,

and therein is truth to The Way.

Life is precious and oh, so glorious,

and therein is hope for the day.

*

And I saw a rose in my garden,

once red, now browned and petal-less,

and it hurt me to snip it

but I did it, even though it pierced my silly soul to do so,

like a thorn piercing my heart.

I snipped off the dead rose-hip,

in order that some other small flower could have the space to grow.

Everything has to die.

But all must choose to grow.

*

And I wonder, how much of my life,

I have squashed and killed,

or just not taken the time for,

or not let grow,

in my rush to think of something

other than what I was doing?

And I wonder, what might grow from me,

when I am snipped off from Life’s vine?

*

Oh, to live eternally

seems a goal not over-reaching.

And yet, our arms are far too short,

and our faith too short-sighted

to reach the end in sight;

to reach the end in Light.

*

Like a misplaced period.

We stop before the sentence end…

We keep restarting before the story begins…

We are not meant to live desiring eternity

but to live in the passions of this present moment.

Seeking Presence, not presents,

we can gift ourselves

with the continual opening up of

Joy in the journey,

knowing this journey’s end will come,

but not what journey may lie ahead,

with each next step of unearned grace,

around the bend of surrendering to blessing.

*

I grieve for the me that one day

(perhaps even today)

will no longer be the me I think I know.

And every once in a while,

in the embrace of my grief,

I feel the freedom to rejoice,

in what none of us can ever know,

but I can dimly sense,

that someday I might be.

*

And so, in moments today,

stolen from Time’s rushing River,

I make my fears and hopes inert.

As in a dead-man’s float,

I let myself be carried.

I trust in the Unknown Unknowable,

and though I still fight against, fight within, fight on,

I try to let the River take me;

take me just as far as the next wave or eddy,

just as far as a small stone’s throw.

*

It takes a bit of practice to let things die.

*

Creator of New Things,

Please snip off the dead things in me,

so that something new may grow.

And whether I shall ever know,

what lives beyond my grave,

I hope that someday I shall feel

the motion of my small, own wave,

lapping against a bright, new shore,

Alive! as never before,

and reborn, in the Ocean of Your Love.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2023

I Wanted to Write About Jesus, But…

“Homeless Jesus” by Nicola Barnett is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

*

I Wanted to Write About Jesus, But…

By Jane Tawel

August 7, 2023

*

I wanted to write about Jesus, but….

I wanted to write something about Jesus,

but then I kept asking myself, “Which Jesus would that be?”

I still think a lot about this person,

known to history only by the name “Yeshua”,

and maybe you have heard about him,

and later, people added on the title, “Christ”,

and I think about that,

even though I don’t think about him the same way I used to any more.

*

I no longer wanted to write about

the Jesus that people had invented from their need for a new god,

because they didn’t like the Jew’s God (or the Jews).

And I no longer wanted to write about a Jesus that died,

so that I never had to face what was expected of me,

by that same Jesus, expected of me in order to live the right way.

*

I didn’t want to write about a Jesus that wasn’t human at all,

but whose myth conspired and morphed

into weapons used by millennia of power-hungry people.

I didn’t want to write about a Jesus who came not to heal the broken,

but one who oppressed the very ones Jesus said he loved;

the weak, and poor, and judged, and hungry,

the very ones he said he came to save from oppression and greed.

*

I didn’t want to write about the Jesus who

supported gas chambers or inquisitions

or “detention centers” in places like Guantanamo Bay,

or greedy, polluting pipelines on sacred land.

And I didn’t want to write about the Jesus,

that was hidden away in people’s hearts,

without ever coming out to show me,

Christ’s hands, and feet, and mind, and smile.

*

So, I was left with nothing to write about Jesus.

Then I remembered that the man Jesus,

also had nothing to write about himself,

or others,

or his God.

He never wrote a single word to leave behind.

He once wrote something in the sand,

which saved a woman’s life,

but what he wrote there,

blew away with the next wind,

like dust to dust.

He simply lived,

and loved,

and shared some food, and wine, and conversation.

And maybe that is the miracle –

Maybe that is where the miracles came from — 

that he simply lived and loved,

and shared.

And so that is what I decided to do.

© Jane Tawel, 2023

And Let Me Catch Them Up

By Jane Tawel

Circle Dance

And Let Me Catch Them Up

By Jane Tawel

July 21, 2023

*

And when I go,

Yes, when I rise,

Oh, if I rise

when leaving here,

then let my arms be strong and long.

And let me catch them up.

*

For all those folks,

for those I know and do not know,

who think they’ve found their own way,

I will not trouble my mind about them.

I will not stress

the parameters of my own very small soul

with questions about their destiny.

Especially for those who feel there are no questions left.

I’ll let them trust in what they trust,

and agree that they’ve found their own way.

But for my loves,

my own dear loves,

who have seen too many battles fought

by those who think they own The Way;

for my true loves, my own true loves,

who are scarred into inactivity,

demeaned into a frigid heat of bored anger

by those who put a price on Love,

Love, meant to be free to all;

Oh, for my loves, my precious pearls — 

I do not ask You to change them, but — 

Oh, my God, Oh, my God,

Oh, let me catch them up!

*

Oh, for the ones I hold so dear,

the ones I love,

love more than my own life,

and because in this strange and troubled Time,

I know my loves,

I know with the surety of old wounds,

that they are not sure

what this fresh blood can mean.

We live in uncertain times.

I know my loves and their doubts,

doubting that they have actually found their way,

no matter what they say.

I know their fears that going forward is not an option,

and not just the way of open-ended appeals.

I know my loves, who walk alongside,

with trepidation if there even is a Way.

Oh, for them,

I shall not depart from the narrow path,

even as I stumble and fall.

Oh, for them,

I shall blindly blunder forth,

even though the light is often fading.

Oh, for them I shall not claim I know anything,

anything but that only Love exists

and that only Love will remain.

Oh, for and with them — 

I shall raise a fist of protest.

I shall raise an opened palm of supplication.

I shall raise a banner over them;

and my banner over them will be Love.

And I shall day and night, cry out — 

at the gates of the cities,

at the shorelines of the oceans,

at the edges of dark woods,

at the embassies of the nations,

and to all living creatures

and to the sun, and moon and stars,

I shall cry:

“Oh, let me catch them up with me!

Let me grab onto a little finger,

or a strand of hair,

or grasp a big fat toe.

And let me hold their precious spirits close,

as I go on my Way (I hope to God)

and as The Way, (I pray) leads me on,

and further up and in,

I shall grab hold of them!”

*

And in that moment,

that final moment,

when all is changed forever and a day — 

Oh, may my heart be huge enough,

my soul be meek enough,

my self be gone enough,

my fears and doubts be purged enough,

to carry just enough,

and just enough faith and grace

for all of us.

Oh, may my love and Your Love,

and all my foolish floundering,

but still straight-ish path-ed love of You,

may all of me,

regardless of how small and weak,

regardless of how much wondering and wandering

that still lies within and ahead of me,

may I be enough,

enough to carry them again, as once I did,

(or might have tried to do, if asked),

enough to carry them, as You have always carried me.

And may they not feel my arms,

but feel only Truth and Peace.

*

No matter what is,

or what will be,

of all we do not know now,

may Divine Embrace of hope and love

be enough for me,

enough for all of them.

*

And let me catch them up.

Oh, let me catch them up,

to rise,

to rise,

to rise,

and forever be,

caught up in The Great Dance.

© Jane Tawel, 2023

Create a Space

by Jane Tawel

“Wide open space, taking it all in” by PeterThoeny is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

*

Create a Space

By Jane Tawel

Juneteenth (June 19, 2023)

*

Take today,

just this moment, in fact, is all you need.

Take this moment

to create a new and empty space inside of you.

Do not fill it with all the crowding thoughts.

Leave a space that is bare

and tidy of all thought of things.

Create a space,

as naked as a baby ready to be cleansed,

naked of all your emotions.

Become unadorned.

Divest your very soul

of anything you think of as yourself.

*

Create an open space,

and leave it empty.

Leave a space that is free and open

to whatever Love may choose to fill it with.

And with Love within,

even within a very small, but clean and empty space,

you will find you are full-filled.

© Jane Tawel, 2023

If-Only’s, What If’s, & Now

by Jane Tawel

“Doors” by robynejay is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

*

If-Only’s, What-if’s, and Now

By Jane Tawel

May 24, 2023

*

The “If-only’s” stuck inside

create a life-time of regret.

We become unaware

that we have created our own unhealthiness — 

Re-gretting. Re-griefing.

Re-gurgitating.

And we bring it all back up,

again, and again,

like bile, like vomit,

like hiccups that never end.

We drink the dregs left from the past,

and our insides ache,

but we keep sucking it all down,

and spewing it all out again.

Like carbonated bubbles,

we keep burping back up past wrongs.

Heart-burn as choice.

We come close to letting go,

but step away,

as if the perfume of freedom,

freedom from the past,

is too heady a scent,

too strong to wear now.

We re-fuse to re-alize

that all of us must leave

the past at the altar.

Kick it to the curb.

Close the door.

Re-lease ourselves,

from the past,

once and for all.

If-only we could leave the past at the altar,

the altar where we forgive ourselves all,

in the same way we forgive others, all,

we would never look back.

We never would look back.

We can never re-turn,

but we can, with re-joicing, re-pent.

Repent! which is just another word

for turning around and turning a new leaf,

and turning out our pockets,

where we hoard past judgments.

We re-place the thoughts of yesterday,

With awareness and love of today.

We can stop.

We can re-fuse the refuse of the past,

in order to sit still,

to be,

in order to walk ahead.

*

Living with the “What-ifs”,

is not a life of hope;

it is a life of fear.

“What if this happens?” “What if I don’t — ?”

“What if she does — “ “What if they — “

“What if?”

Fear of tomorrow,

is a cornered animal,

a dream spent in anxiety

about the un-real.

And the fears

that multiply like choking weeds in my mind,

kill the living garden trying to grow

within me, today.

The worries pound,

like a headache at the door of my heart.

And I bring them all in,

“Make yourself at home.”

And they crowd in like an unruly mob,

fighting for my mind’s inattention.

Trying to gather the slippery slopes,

the thoughts of the future,

is like trying to grasp and hold on to

wisps of smoke.

I peer ahead, through the mists of what-ifs,

blinded by them to today;

they blind like smog, like fog.

Seeing but not seeing,

imagining but not knowing,

wishing but not hopeful.

My mind is a shimmering chimera,

real only to my doubts of what is true,

what is real and true, only in the now.

I look at what-ifs,

as if they exist,

but it is like drawing funny faces on a mirror,

faces without humor,

and I look at my reflections,

as if the reflections are myself

and not an image I have created out of lies,

for things that may never be,

are as much lies, as things that were then,

but are no longer now.

Only the present is Truth.

*

Why do I imbue the present time

with so little valued meaning?

Why do I keep my accounts from the past?

I have already paid them in full.

Why do I invest in days and hours

that might never be?

*

The soul cries to self:

“Rejoice! Today, you may yet live!”

*

Today waits for no man,

and yet it waits for my embrace.

Today’s possibility

stands knocking at the door of my life,

as truly as my heart knocks against my chest.

Spirit whispers, a still, small voice

that calms the storms of yesterday,

that blows away the cobwebs of yesterday,

that comforts the whimpering fears of tomorrow,

that sings to rest, all that should be laid to rest.

The Voice is not heard by the mind,

but speaks to our spirit, our hearts,

as only true feelings, true love,

can communicate:

“Behold, Love stands at the door and knocks.

If any one opens the door,

Love will come in to her, and they shall feast together — 

eyes, ears, smell, touch, taste — feasting.

Present.

Being.

Loving.

And if any open the door,

Love will abide with you

and together,

right now,

you will find peace.”

© Jane Tawel, 2023

Love is the Ocean. Jump in!

by Jane Tawel

https://unsplash.com/photos/Ha4Mrwo04C8

*

Love is the Ocean. Jump In!

By Jane Tawel

May 19, 2023

*

They say in heaven there will be no more seas.

And I thought, “That would be a loss.”

Until I realized all Truth speaks metaphorically.

There is no need to see an ocean or a sea,

if you are in one.

There is no need to dip a toe in the waves,

if you are one.

*

Love (or God, whichever you prefer to call Her) — 

Yes, whatever you want to call the Power of Life,

that which powers all Truth,

that which lives in all Living things,

that which loves all, because it eventually is All — 

This force in life, this force in each of us,

calls us to live life fully,

freely,

truly,

joyfully,

completely,

whole-ly,

peacefully,

at One.

God-Love is not for someday-somewhere.

Love is for you today, and when you have love,

you can love. You are love.

*

When you become aware that you are only filled with love,

you become a wave

in the Ocean of Love.

A wave may ebb and flow,

but that is just a wave’s way of becoming something else,

of becoming something reborn,

as every drop of water does

when it is in The Ocean.

Every drop of Love becomes something else,

when it is in The Ocean of Love.

And so, nothing that is Love ever dies.

Everything that is born of Love remains;

love remains rebirthing as Love, forever.

*

Do not be afraid of jumping headlong into the Ocean of Love.

By loving yourself and others, you live in Heaven on Earth.

Jump in. God is Love. Jump in. The water’s fine.

*

Today heaven comes to earth,

not when we stand on the shore and look to some distant horizon,

but when we humbly and bravely acknowledge,

that we are loved. We are made only to be love.

And just as an Ocean can not exist without the waves,

so too, the waves do not exist

unless they are part of something greater than they are alone.

A wave is created in the image of an Ocean,

and we are created in the image of Love.

We can only be ourselves, when we love being ourselves.

Love yourself today; without you, there can be no Ocean.

And love all others, for they too, are waves, and without them,

there can be no Ocean.

Be a wave at One with all Life’s waves,

for the Ocean is the waves, and the waves are The Ocean.

*

We are but waves in the Ocean of Love,

and someday, even if we shall be no more,

The Ocean in which we live, shall remain,

Forever.

*

Someday, there will be no more seas to conquer, no ocean to fear,

no depths, nor heights of tides or time to scale or suffer.

Today we can enter into what will one day be only and all,

A Kingdom on earth as it is in Eternity, where only Love exists.

*

Jump in! Feet first! Hands out! Eyes open!

The Water is Good.

The Water will hold you.

*

Jump in with me.

And we shall have no need to watch the tides or times,

for we shall be as One,

eternal,

in the Ocean of Love.

© Jane Tawel, 2023

Returning True Self to True God

A poem by Jane Tawel

“Primordial” by Patrick Gensel is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

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Returning True Self to True God

By Jane Tawel

May 4, 2023

*

I lie down in fear and awake in fear,

the fear of not being enough.

I stumble over the thoughts that trip,

the memories or doubts that trip me up.

And then I sit by my window sill

and quiet my mind and my wandering thoughts,

and then — of a sudden — my soul is stilled

and I close my eyes and open my ears

and the symphony of life in the trilling birds

returns my true self to me and true God.

*

We’ve made up so many false theories and prayers

about gods and their communications.

We fight for our gods for religions we’ve made.

We confuse our gods with our own nations.

We love to make gods who require so little,

or a god who’ll judge others with no chance of acquittal.

We’re so busy in judging our foes, friends and peers,

unforgiveness returns in our own hellish fears.

We believe in a God who will angrily choose

to send us to heaven or hell,

and we don’t see the life we are living right now

is already a hell or a heaven in which we now dwell.

*

Look around. Stop death’s fear.

Quiet down. God is near.

Be at peace. Don’t ask how.

God is Good. God is here.

God is now.

*

There’s a God Who’s as close as a song in the dawn,

as close as the stranger I meet.

There’s a true God, as present as our doubts and our hopes;

there’s a God Who’s alive in every heart-beat.

There’s a God Who is playful and full of deep joy.

There’s a God who is born anew in each girl and boy.

There’s a God who cares nothing for our theology,

for God’s too busy loving us — loving you, loving me.

*

There is not a God Who’s at a distance above.

There isn’t a God causing judgment or fear.

For how could that be? When God is only True Love?

For how could that be? When God is right here?

*

My thoughts go in circles and fearful formations,

when I think that I know or am knowing.

But if only I find peace and awe in creation,

then there’s only real Love to and from me that’s flowing.

*

The poet sang, “Be Thou my vision, Oh, God,

here, yes God, True God of my heart”.

Oh, Be Thou my ears and my hands and my eyes.

Be Thou within me today and tonight.

Be only Love in me, for me, and from me.

Be True Love only, for eternal life.

Be my True God, with no knowing required.

And may only my true self be God’s true heart’s desire.

*

© Jane Tawel, 2023

Hold on to Doubt

by Jane Tawel

“Run wild, run free” by Images by John ‘K’ is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

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Hold on to Doubt

By Jane Tawel

April 22, 2023

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“They are not allowed to judge you,” I tell myself. “Not anymore.”

“Not then, not now, not ever,” Truth says to me.

“I allow them to judge me because I had, I have, no faith,” I say to Truth.

With Her reply, Truth holds my breath, and I feel my heart has either stopped or is racing:

“No, you are wrong,” Truth says.

“You let them judge you because you had, you have, no doubt.”

“Doubt what they told you and what they tell you about the world, about what is real, and most of all, about yourself. But above all, do not believe what you yourself tell you about yourself.”

And now, the judges, the liars, those who meant well, and those who loved me most, they all appear within the hurricane of my thoughts, tossing judgements at me like cast-off clothes that no longer fit me.

Truth appears within the swirling thoughts and forces me to look only at what is right in front of me.

“What you do not realize,” Truth whispers, “is that their judgments, just like constricting, mismatched clothes, have never fit you. Neither are your judgements suitable for them or you. Do not follow the fashions of emperors in any clothes that mask the naked truth. Tear them off your body and be naked in the wonder of how you were wonderfully created. Remove the hat of lies that tightens around your head, constricting thoughts of freedom and truth. Step out of shoes not meant for walking long distances in comfort and let your toes and heels feel the earth and know that even what you think is solid ground, is just a symbol of what always moves below, above, and within your very heart, and soul, and mind.”

I felt the urge to free myself, but stopped once more, to turn to Truth and ask, “But how then can I ever know what is real?”

Truth receded from me but with a smile, She asked, “Are you sure you need to know?”

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And so, I began to seek doubt. To let myself immerse myself in doubting all I thought I knew. And when my thoughts rose up against me, claiming their rights, claiming their importance, claiming that I needed them, I gently shook free of them. I pried myself free from the lies of knowing, the lies of judgement, the lies of fear; and from their grasping, gasping, gawking specters, I began to run, to float, to fly in the freedom of doubt. And in freeing myself into doubting all I thought I knew, I found a little inkling of what was always truly meant by faith.

“You are not real,” I tell my thoughts, my judgements, and my fears. “But I will take you, nonetheless, and make and mold of you something useful. I will take the lies and judgements and fears; I will take the thoughts and feelings and wisps and whispers, and all that I imagine to be real, but which are only symbols of The Real, and with them I will create only beautiful things. Beautiful things for others. Beautiful things for me. Beautiful things for Truth. Because that is what real human beings do.”

And now, let Us create something beautiful.

And Truth stepped aside in hope that Wisdom would stay awhile with me. And as Truth left me here, just here for a little time longer, She gently sung:

Only Love is real.

Only Love is real.

Only Love is real.

© Jane Tawel, 2023. from reflections on The Fifth Agreement, by Don Miguel Ruiz and Don Jose Ruiz