I long to wake the sleeping mother deep inside of me,

And so I knock and knock and knock 

On the door of puberty.

Awake to me.

My time comes slowly. 

I see the buds of breasts are growing 

On the other girls at school.

I see the sexuality becoming real,

And yet for me my tenuous limbs

Are long and thin,

With no hint of curves appearing.

But I’m knocking, knocking, knocking, 

On the door of puberty.

Awake to me, Divine Mother.

Mother Mary, come to me.

Great Ganga, churn the Milky Way.

Open my eyes, because I see 

Greater Things still dormant in me,

A spiritual ability to be expecting,

To unfold the springing greenness

Of transcendental maidenhood

And give life to the great creative

Waiting patiently for me to be ready.

Awake Divine Mother and set me free to sail

Across the teeming, pregnant sky,

With the darting dragonfly,

And to swim with the silver fishes up the stream,

To change direction on a dream,

So that I may stay with the gracious moment where

The bears are and the mighty fir,

Where you are

When you are fully aware of me,

When the vibrations alight the Christmas tree

And a child is born,

A miracle.

Let me be a part of all this beauty,

All this peace, receptivity, and divine growth.

-jenn

 Yes we were quite left behind

Because our hearts were made of mud,

And we found we could not fly like they did,

And so we set about to cut the stones

With a device they’d used to make their thrones of gold.

We made what started out to be a monument,

But as needs often be we used it for an armory and a shelter from the storms,

And later we dubbed it “Mugdock.”

But our eyes were blue

And they fly through the starry sky,

Still chasing the who, the what, the why,

Still learning the will, the wonder, the way

With our battle cry fresh on our ruby lips,

“Ne Oublie!”

“Do not forget ….”

Do not forego.

Forgive ye, well, the debtor’s debt,

But don’t forget,

And as you troll the bogs at dawn

From a fortnight long and drawn

And see the ivy twine the walls of Mugdock’s stone,

You’re not alone.

You have your will.

The only friend, 

The only enemy to your soul.

Do not let yourself be degraded

by your own self-will.

Do not gamble and do not bet

Against your self.

Do not trifle and do not pay

For any debt you do not owe!

Ne oublie!

Do not forget 

From whence you truly came

And for what purpose…

-jenn

 I just want to be happy 

So I take time to fold my Towel 

I take time to sit down on it

And stare at the ocean 

The vast currents of consciousness 

I just want to be happy

So I take time and fold the consciousness into squares 

I throw my towel in

But I don’t surrender 

I measure the dissatisfying ways before I go and put a toe into the water

This is only my retreat

Where I am safe in stillness and in quiet

In the constant changes of the tide

I just want to be happy

So I find a way

Even in this choppy day of wind

I see the loving-kindness

Slowly 

I see

It is what wins 

And I am only here to stay

I am only here to say:

I just want to be happy 

-jenn

 Like a snail, I move through the cosmos,

Like a kid

In a candy shop

Taking in every possibility.

So many strange and wonderful confections I see!

Maybe too many to choose only three.

Maybe I will never eat any of the candy. 

Maybe I honor the candy this way.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror behind the glass case.

My face is that of a snail.

My upper tentacles are cute bug-eyes, and

Childlike, like puppy-dog ears,

But my spiral shell is tattooed

With a dark gray and light gray yin-yang,

Yang-Yin,

Eternally going out and in.

When did I get to be this way?

When did I get this said tattoo?

Who painted me?

Part of me so naturally exudes the substance that I need

To glide through this existence,

And yet another part seems less than true.

But I’m exiting this candy shop, slowly,

Some might say “unscathed.”

Its bright lights and mirrors create exclusivity,

But it is the murky in betweens that issue to me the call I heed.

They offer me inclusion,

And I yearn to cast my bread upon their waters and be at peace,

Free from hopes and free from dreams,

And maybe even leave the cosmic currents free 

To pick my three boons out for me.

And now I’m riding on a turtle’s back.

This seems very fast to me.

The thrill is just almost too much.

It makes me yell out, “WHEEEE!”

Yes, maybe I better let someone else make my wishes for me.

-jenn

 In the beauty pageants of our minds,

The ones we’re drug to,

And forced to compete in,

We grudgingly prepare.

But when we get a glimmer of ourselves 

Just as we reach some personal best,

And some critic pops in to say

That we’ve ended our sentence with a preposition,

Then must we know

We are getting close.

Raise your hands In victory!

Speak using the language of light!

Even your dna is unwinding,

And you will be alright, Grasshoppah.

Anything IS possible 

We CAN become an ant, or BETTER!

We can flip any script and see

A new way to enhance every fiber of our being:

Our bodies,

Our minds, 

Our energy.

We can even learn to unlearn,

And learn that it’s ok

To misspell things that don’t exist 

Except upon white pages,

Like words,

And maybe someday when we’re strong,

We can even be brave enough to end our sentences a preposition with!

But what will happen in the talent round?

How will we fare in Congeniality,

If we do not get ourselves sifted in the first rounds

Of the beauty pageant,

Especially the ones that only exist in the white pages of our own minds?

-jenn