Vote – Carmel Mawle

Moving Within

admin — Wed, 05 Nov 2025 02:24:04 +0000

A child walks through the forest on a snowy night to bring carrots to a hungry rabbit. This is an illustration from my children’s book, The Golden Rule (the first book of the Ardea Herodeas Books “Collected Wisdom” series).

Each morning, my husband and I start the day with a short reading and meditation. We cycle through books by Thich Nhat Hanh, Robin Wall Kimmerer, or other inspirational writers, and then we read from Coleman Bark’s A Year with Rumi: Daily Readings. Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī was a Sufi mystic and a prolific poet from the 13th century. Craig and I are often struck by how his words ring true in our current time. Here’s Rumi’s poem for today:

Move Within

Keep walking, though there’s no place to get to.

Don’t try to see through the distances.

That’s not for human beings. Move within,

but don’t move the way fear makes you move.

Yes, it’s November 4th, election day. Fear has permeated our national and international politics. Rumi’s poem is a good reminder that we don’t know what the future will bring. Still, we keep putting one foot in front of the other. Get to the polls; cast our votes. But the poem resonated in other ways, as well.

Renovation-in-process. Panhandle Creek Press will be based in the area over the garage.

As many of you know, we have been living in a small cabin for over a year while we complete the addition to our cabin over Panhandle Creek. It’s taken much longer than we expected, but that’s the nature of most renovations (especially at 8725′). We had hoped to be in by the holidays, but yesterday we learned it will most likely be January or February before we can move back home. Disappointing, but we’re grateful to have a roof over head and plenty of firewood for the stove. My books will stay in boxes for a couple more months. In the grand scheme of things, this is a small setback. Do I sound convinced? I’m getting there!

The back of the cabin viewed from up the ravine.

Completing Denver Publishing Institute was the catalyst for tremendous movement within. I’ve known since Writing for Peace what kinds of books I wanted to publish. DPI gave me new tools and greater clarity of vision. To that end, we’ve added two new imprints:

Ardea Herodias Books which aims to cultivate unique voices in children’s literature and develop beautiful books that challenge young readers to grow their capacity for empathy.

North Fork Publishing will serve as the hybrid press, providing support from initial book concept to developmental, copy, and line editing, from book design and page layout to publishing and distribution. North Fork Publishing provides authors with the flexibility to design a program that best meets their publishing needs, and replaces our previous hybrid press, “Panhandle Creek Publishing.”

Both Panhandle Creek Press and Ardea Herodias Books will operate as a traditional press.

When Craig bought me watercolors last Christmas, they opened up a whole new world of possibilities. I began painting the natural world—my home in the Rocky Mountains, childhood memories of the Alaskan wilderness where I grew up.

With the increased hostility toward immigrants and cultures from around the world, the books being purged from schools and libraries, and the political move to remove empathy and compassion from faith, I knew I wanted to create a children’s book about “the golden rule.” My time at DPI also helped clarify my vision for the book and a “Collected Wisdom” series of children’s books written by authors from within many cultures—children’s stories that pass knowledge through the generations. I’ll be honest, the illustrations are a stretch for me. It’s taken much longer than I had planned!

The first book in the series, The Golden Rule, shares simple quotes from various faiths, cultures, and traditions. The illustrations tell a story of how one small kindness spreads on a wintry night. The book will release on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, November 25th.

And on Tuesday, December 2nd, we’ll celebrate another launch for author Nancy Johnson’s book, Essence of Our Humanity: Portraits of My Beloved Psychiatric Patients. It’s a small, beautiful, and very unique book. I’ll tell you about it next time!

Back to Rumi’s poem. Though so much is at stake now, and so many of the sign posts along the way are darkly foreboding, Rumi’s wisdom still holds true. Genuine strength is found in empathy and compassion. Without knowing the future, we resist fear and walk on, acknowledging kindnesses and adding our own where we can.

Another Modest Proposal, in memory of those lost

admin — Wed, 24 Aug 2022 01:20:27 +0000

On Memorial Day, I hiked our property’s wildlife trail with Max and my three-year-old granddaughter. We descended the rocky path into the ravine, wove through aspens and the dense stand of lodgepole pine, then scaled the granite formation we call Moon Temple. There, she released my hand to climb from one boulder to the next.

“Are you going to be a mountain climber when you grow up?” I asked.

She nodded, her eyes fixed with fierce determination on her next hand-hold. Watching her climb, my heart ached with love and the knowledge that across the country other families were grieving the loss of their children.

Since the Uvalde shootings, when 19 children and two adults were murdered by an 18 year old with an assault weapon, the death tally continues to rise.

I know many on the right believe more guns in the hands of the “good guys” will protect the innocents that our trained police could not. Gun sales spike after every mass shooting, and we will never get real solutions from lawmakers funded by the National Rifle Association.

I believe in the power of the written word to change minds. I’ve ruminated over taking the approach Jonathon Swift did in his 1729 satirical essay, “A Modest Proposal.” During that time, Irish families couldn’t pay their high rents, let alone feed or cloth their offspring. Much like today, the propertied elite were indifferent to the suffering caused by their greed.

Jonathon Swift proposed that, rather than watch their children starve, the Irish should sell their babies to feed the wealthy. He goes so far as to suggest recipes for infant flesh, “a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled.”

Swift’s proposal raised awareness and inspired activism. I thought something similar might shock both the left and right into working together to end this insanity. The parallel to Swift’s satire would be a gruesome scenario something like a “whack-a-mole” game at a county fair, but here the moles are school children cowering behind their desks. The exorbitant fees for this game would be paid directly to the 2nd Amendment-supporting representative of your choice.

But I couldn’t write it.

It was too horrible to imagine. If the facts of gun violence in this country aren’t shocking enough, my fiction never could be.

Are there words that could sway gun lovers, those who value their imagined personal safety (or sport, or collections) more than the lives of innocents?

I suppose this is the dilemma for all writers who hope to change the world through their words. Reading fiction can increase empathy. Writing for Peace was based on that premise. We shouldn’t give up transporting readers to new understanding and compassion, but sometimes the best course is to write and call our legislators, opine in our local papers and on social media.

When our children’s safety is on the line, the most powerful writing we can do is register to vote, to show up at the polls, and to elect representation that will protect our democracy and human rights—representatives who refuse to accept money from the NRA or the gun lobby.

So here is my very modest proposal:

I challenge my writer friends to keep searching for the right words, and to keep working for change…

…for the sake of our dreamers and future mountain climbers.

Hopeful Imaginings

CarmelMawle — Mon, 05 Nov 2018 18:03:13 +0000

It’s Election Day Eve morning. The temperature has risen to 34, and the snow is dripping off the metal roof faster than it’s accumulating. I find myself wondering if this unforecasted warmth is a sign of the much-discussed “blue wave.”

No way to know until we know.

Either way, change is on the horizon. So we wait.

I try to keep myself busy. There’s a lot to do. Still working on getting our house in Fort Collins ready to rent. Still sorting through 22 years lived in suburbia, separating what will go to the kids, be donated, or go to storage, from what will fit into the cabin with us.

When the snow started this morning, it quickly went from tiny swirls to thick heavy flakes blowing from the north. The layer of clouds over the south were thin enough that the snow was illuminated in sunlight, though no blue sky shown through. Knowing better, I search the sky for meaning, for signs or omens, and this well-lit blizzard seems hopeful to me, too.

When the blue finally appears, I watch the clouds go their separate ways, and scribble a poem.

On the Wind

The clouds swirl and churn
in westerly gusts,
translucent and opaque,
sunlit whites and rainbow tinged,
roiling across the deep static blue.

The clouds are story-tellers,
masters of the unspoken
spoken word.
Petroglyphs and cave drawings
in motion on blue lapis.

Dragons and horses and ravens,
hunters and warriors,
whirling dervishes, and wizened orators
dance and change places,

a choreography of lives and deaths,
real and imagined.

If you weren’t able to vote earlier, tomorrow is your day. Brace the lines and make your voice heard.

So much depends on it.

Rocky State of Mind

CarmelMawle — Thu, 11 Oct 2018 19:21:49 +0000

Over the last couple of days our Moon Mountain palette of deep greens and golds has transfigured into crystalline whites. Against the snow, the evergreens look nearly black, shadows glow in shades of blue, and the faded yellow of dried grasses and aspen leaves stand out in sharp contrast. The sunrise is reflected in the snow caught on branches, and outside my window, individual snowflakes sparkle on the thick blanket of white.

I started the fire this morning, and sat in the dark with my hands wrapped around my mug as pink light slowly defined the horizon. And then I threw on my coat and boots and stepped into the snow to capture the colors with my camera, just as a bull moose strolled by.

I’m soaking up all this beauty like hot spring mineral waters. The last couple of weeks have left me feeling like many survivors – triggered, sad, and depleted. In the aftermath of Dr. Ford’s brave testimony, I’ve felt again the silent and helpless little girl within. I’ve been shocked and outraged by the corruption and cruelty of this administration, felt the gut-clenching response of my karate training as I watched a victim of sexual assault be mocked by the president of our United States. It’s not a self-defensive response to physical danger, and the adrenaline surge leaves me further drained. But I am grateful for that ingrained reaction. It is a reminder that I am not helpless, that powerlessness is an illusion.

Years ago, I became consumed with a situation in Iraq. A group of Kurdish men, women, and children, locals who had aided the U.S. during the first Gulf War, were hiding in a barn as Saddam’s troops rolled through the village in tanks looking for traitors. They had a limited supply of food and water, and mothers were covering the mouths of their babies in fear that their cries would give away their location. I couldn’t sleep for days, trying to rally the city’s church council to support a bipartisan effort to save these people. As the minutes ticked by, then hours and days, they were running out of food and water, waiting for help from a government that had deserted them, and I increasingly lost any sense of distance or perspective.

Most of the activists I know have suffered some degree of burnout. Empathy may be a gift that allows us to connect with others, motivate us to compassion and activism, and lead to a kinder, more peaceful world, but it takes a toll on our bodies and mental health.

In Alcoholics Anonymous, they say “don’t get too hungry, angry, lonely, or tired (HALT).” It’s a saying activists would also do well to remember. In order to maintain the energy levels needed to keep going in the face of what can seem at times hopeless, the body, brain, and soul must be nourished. It may be tempting to grab fast food on the way home from the protest, but what our bodies really need is healthy proteins and colorful foods rich in antioxidants and complex carbohydrates. Anger and despair lead to sleepless nights and loneliness (we’re not alone, we’re in this together), and all of these will deplete energy reserves, leading to depression and burnout.

For generations, nurses have told new mothers to sleep when their babies slept. While it might be tempting to use that quiet time to clean the kitchen and do the laundry, if we don’t take care of ourselves first, we won’t be able to take care of anyone else.

I learned something about myself and my limitations in that experience. Just as my grandmother used to say “garbage in, garbage out,” I had to examine where I was spending my energy. Instead of focusing entirely on the negative – war, famine, climate disaster, injustice – I needed to find a way to shift my energy toward solutions, developing the skills in myself and others to work effectively for peace and justice – writing for peace.

I’m not always successful, but shifting my focus towards positive change, away from the explosions and death cries, I am able to hear that still small voice warning me of low reserves. And that is when I stop and look around at this mountain where I live, or listen to snow-melt dripping off the roof, or Max’s quiet snoring.

Beauty and goodness and love are food for the soul, and they are all around us. We are not alone. We are not powerless. Far from it. So do what you need to do to replenish and stay strong. Eat your vegetables, get a good night’s sleep, meditate or pray, seek out your friends and loved ones, and find the beauty that is all around you. Moon mountain is a state of mind.

November is just around the corner. When and how will you get to the polls? Do you need to take the day off? Daycare? Do you or anyone else you know need a ride?

Take care of yourself, and start making plans.

Thanks for visiting me in my Moon Mountain home. I hope you’ll join me here regularly by subscribing to my Rocky Mountain blog. Wishing you strength and resilience… Carmel