Plan For Peace

My time alone is my plan for peace

Where I fill myself up with love.

Do not be misled

That spiritual growth happens in these moments

Of quiet nourishment.

As a mother

And a friend

A daughter

Mostly a lover

I feel like I am always triggered.

Somebody

Is attacking me

And bringing up what I try to bury.

It takes me a while to realise

It is an old sword

It is an old story

And I am only attacking myself.

It is in those moments

When I feel like hope is lost

When I disappear for days

Into the dark

And I emerge to remember

Love is never lost.

My time alone is my plan for peace

But that is not where the magic really happens.

- Jenny Wren

Forgiveness

Forgiveness is for me

Not for you.

Forgiveness is the wisdom

Of not letting the wolf in through the door

But admiring him from afar

With a certain detachment

For he can't help what he is.

As you calmly

Methodically

Secure your inner and outer worlds against him

With the boundaries you had to grow up and learn.

Forgiveness is not having

Anything to prove.

Forgiveness is choosing to let go

Of the canker of anger and resentment

Which would gnaw you inside

Like his very own jaws.

Forgiveness is asking

The Mother of all

To cloak him in her protection

And guide him to remember

That he can choose a different path.

A job you hand over to her

Infinite love

With relief.

Forgiveness is a whisper of freedom

A feeling of nothingness

We have gone beyond

Like or dislike

We are souls dancing

In the lessons of this life

Tapped into the eternal

Divine.

- Jenny Wren

Wild Girl

When my hair hung

Like heavy ropes from my head

They thought that made me light.

"Hey, wild girl," the boys would say

"Come save me from myself.

I've been waiting for one just like you."

Almost verbatim, I promise.

Oh,

You had me so wrong.

Because the woman who wipes the mud and grass

From her feet

Before she paints her toe nails

Is unbearably heavy.

Like the pounding of the waterfall

The roots of the plant

The anchor of the ship

The weight of the lover

The child in the womb.

You wanted me to teach you to be free

And instead I made you

Face your fears

The emptiness you try to run from.

So I began again.

We women make our own initiations now.

Now I wrap my fairy tendrils

Tenderly

With arms burned by the sun

Crown myself wild woman

Not girl

And now you can look

But

Can't

Touch.

- Jenny Wren