I smelled money suddenly as I walked,

And looked down about a block and saw a bank.

It made me wonder what kind of trees they’re making money from these days.

Now I know they say money doesn’t grow on trees,

But I’m not sure.

This fresh aroma that I smelled

Was deep verdure

Of aspen tree or cottonwood,

Mossy oak or the spoken word of a willow.

But as I grew closer I could see

A maintenance man was just ahead of me

Trimming a holly hedge,

And what I’d detected was the bittersweet 

Life force of the fruit and stems

From being trimmed,

And the sweat of the working man’s brow,

His duties pruning him, as well.

There is a peace that passes understanding.

There is a knowing seated deep

Within our DNA.

Nothing is ever destroyed or created.

Nothing is ever lost or gained.

It’s only light and sound and smell and feelings

Bouncing off a mystic screen.

Nothing is ever saved or spent,

Except our sacred energy,

And we would do well to know when to say when,

And store our treasure by some other means,

If we can only find out how.

-jenn

 Jayna Pancake was born, they say,

 On a reservation in the sky,

And everyone marveled at her beauty,

And many people urged her to go to Hollywood ,

That she could make it as a movie star,

But Jayna Pancake knew that she

Could never die,

And therefore she lived a different kind of life.

Many have a mystic hope,

But it is like a rope of sand,

But Jayna Pancake had a silent power.

Hours passed and nothing changed,

But when the target came in range,

Jayna would rise without a word,

Put an arrow on her bow and shoot,

And she could’ve taken down the entire herd

With the magical strength she had,

But she only ever did

What was needed.

Jayna heeded a sacred way

That none of the rest of us could even see,

Much less understand.

But her kindness and ability

To change a situation for the better

Inspired us,

That we might, too,

Become the hand of the divine

And shine on others as the sun,

Just as Jayna Pancake had done

For us.

Jayna Pancake was a friend of mine.

No one else was ever truer.

Yet hardly any of us really knew her.

She was quiet and reserved.

Her actions spoke without words

The mystery of Life.

And now she is a ripe old age,

Still with the power of a Sage or a young tree,

Still a beautiful soul,

An unspeakable friend to me,

Yet still I barely know her.

They say the mother goddess spells

The words of life up on the sky,

And if you show her deep respect,

And gratitude for the letters she writes,

She will string the letters out to make good words,

And things will go better for you.

And Jayna Pancake still looks up,

But she seems to fills her cup from the mother goddess herself.

She keeps her bare feet on the ground,

And let’s only the sounds

Of rocks and plants come out of her mouth,

And lives a different kind of life,

Because she knows that she can never die,

So she does what she wants,

And lucky for us,

What she wants is to be peaceful, loving, and joyful.

-jenn

 In jr high we had a coach

Who was a wonderful rascal.

She was boyish and loud,

But quietly instilled in us

The conspiracy of contradiction that exists in this world.

The Cherokee in me would say that she

Was a sacred clown.

The team would be in the locker room,

Inevitably bickering as 13 year-old American girls are wont to do,

And we would be donning our team apparel,

Some worn out hand me downs the high school basketball team had shucked.

It didn’t even seem that they’d been washed.

But as we spatted and jeered at one another,

And some of us would hide in the bathroom stalls to avoid the bodily comparisons and shame,

Our coach would come bustling in

From wherever she had been 

Turning in our names and numbers and eligibility,

And she would tell us all to “HUSH”

And “get ourselves together,” 

And she would chide us if we said off color words,

Even something as mild as “CRAP.”

She would insist we replace that word with something else, like “GREEN BEANS.”

Then she would remind us all that we were on the same team!

And urge us again to “get it together!” 

And then she’d have us join hands

In a big circle 

In the center of the locker room,

And weaving our way around the benches,

And standing wherever we could to maintain our hands together with our fellow sister basketball girl,

We would bow our heads and recite The Lord’s Prayer together:

“Our Father

Who art in heaven

Hallowed be thy name 

Thy kingdom come

Thy will be done

On earth as it is in heaven 

Give us this day our daily bread

And forgive us our trespasses

As we forgive those who’ve trespassed against us 

And lead us not into temptation 

But deliver us from evil

For thine is the kingdom 

The power and the Glory

Amen”

And then without behest from Coach,

There was silence in the locker room 

For just a minute,

A holy pause,

Until someone would finally speak

Because they could not find their shoes

Or something serious like that,

Or someone dropped something

Or someone began to dribble a basketball 

On the concrete floor.

And then we went out to play our game.

And many times I thought that we should win every time ,

Because we had prayed to our father in heaven

And he surely had ordained it,

But rather mostly we would lose.

But I laugh today, now,

That in those losses were major victories, 

And how much more we learned in basketball 

And from our coach, 

The Sacred Clown,

And from her simple insistence that we not say bad words,

And that we pray together before each game,

Than all the other subjects combined 

In the classes and lectures we endured at our school.

-jenn

 This is how I get my sun these days

Not by laying out

But a ride about 

I no longer get my kicks on Route 66 

But on Chautauqua Avenue 

And how bout you?

What do you do for fun?

There’s an ancient principle 

All work and no play 

That’s what they say makes Jack a dull boy

But it makes Jill a bitter pill

So.. what’s your plan?

Truly

What will you do for fun today?

-jenn