Name one drunk on which the Paris lights refuse to shine,

Or the stars, whose faint lights reach,

Every grain of sand upon the beaches of the River Kwai,

And every other place this side of the Milky Way and beyond,

Or the Sun whose mighty rays grace everyone and everything alive or dead,

And me, and you.

The rain falls on the just and unjust all alike,

And we should be glad,

For truly, we aren’t wise enough know 

Which category it is

That we might be lumped under,

If such categories were made to exist in real life, 

In anyplace but our own minds.

But only for now,

We can rather fall in love,

And under the optimistic hope

That logically believes: 

With all this manure,

There’s bound to be

A pony in here somewhere.

-jenn

 They say you can’t love the unwilling,

But you can,
Just as you can wish upon a star.

It’s just that some people have to be loved from afar,
But there is not a man
Woman or child
On this planet
Who does not need Love.

-jenn

 (If it’s not perfect 

It soon will be)

Can we be thankful for everything 

Things we have 

Things we don’t

The way things are

The ways they are not

The way things change constantly 

(If it’s not perfect 

It soon will be)

Maybe even I can make a small step toward peace

And at least be thankful for what I have

And what I am now

Instead of seeing aspects of my life as problematic bits and pieces 

Let me see it in all its integrity

Let me be happy with it

For doesn’t every opposition carry a seed

Of agreement 

And in the great evolving dynamics….

A mystic beauty 

*IF* it’s not perfect

(And….

It truly may be

*If* I can learn to see it that way)

What if at the very least

I could learn to believe 

That:

IF it’s not perfect

It soon will be

-jenn

 X marks the spot in the sky,

But it’s a long ride to that space,

And there’s not a trace of Jacob’s ladder these days.

But what we can do is meditate 

On how far apart some places may be

And yet how close,

And the possibility that whatever the case may be,

How much room there is for you and for me to grow!

How our own requirements are met

By seeing we don’t have to fret because of what others do or have,

But you and I have so much room

To do and be 

That greed or envy should never find a way to enter in

To eat away at our joy,

Our creativity for making our own life grand.

An no one else can own our lanes,

The ones that straight-away connect

Each of our various beating hearts to that X in the place

That marks the spot where our treasure is.

-jenn

 We walk on the side of the mountain 

Bird song wraps around us tight

It builds a nest  to protect us

From the storm 

The bird song has a way of going out 

And coming in 

Brings us worms to eat 

And nourishes

Our souls

The bird song builds diamonds in the sky

We can see them, but not when we try

Only when we see that everything is going out and coming in as one thing 

And we are walking on the mountain side 

But we are the mountain 

We have come to ourselves and now we see

The bird song going out ahead of us

To protect us from all harm 

To create a space for us

A sacred space anywhere we go 

Where we can be happy and at peace 

No matter what

-jenn

 The yin and yang start out so clearly defined 

But is it the motion created within by their own polar design 

That they become so cleverly entwined 

That we cannot discern?

The very thing we say we hate,

By the time we take to point it out,

We’re actually pointing now at something we claim to love.

But why make claims?

Maybe it is our petty distinctions

That leave us deaf and dumb and blind

To the vitality that exists 

In the midst of opposites.

-jenn

 There was a spider in the sink,

And I was just a fly,

But in the time it took for me to think,

I had become entangled.

And try as I might,

I could not shake the association. 

And then, suddenly! divine intervention!

A human being entered the bathroom 

And turned on the light,

And then shrieked at the sight

Of a big hairy black spider

Struggling, now, to crawl

Against the striking white backdrop of the sink.

And she screamed again at the brash duality she perceived,

And called for her son,

Who came and turned the water on,

And the itsy bitsy one went down the drain.

But alas, did I hope in vain?

For just as surely, though just as surely an afterthought,

The one heel I had which was caught

Held fast

And drug me down the drain, struggling, too,

Striving but, at last,

To no avail.

Maybe in my next life I’ll return,

As anyone should

Who hasn’t learned:

All things are One.

And maybe I’ll realize I’m still a part of that spider.

But maybe the spider will return

As a beautiful blue heron who sings from the center of the river,

And maybe I will be the river 

That runs as a web of sparkling rivulets over his winsome feet.

-jenn