Cancer Full Moon

The cancer full moon

Was one of endless tears

As I gave birth to myself again.

An agonising leaping from the ovary

Of Moon Mother.

When the breath comes quick and the

Extremities are cold

My heart pounds and my third eye throbs

When I wonder if I will ever be "well"

In the way that the patriarchy wants me to be

Numb to my womanhood

In the way that I remember before my thermostat

For emotion broke free

Of the factory default settings they put in me

Once and for all.

Something that is so precious to me-

There is a man who can weather storms

And can steer a ship,

Finally.

I spin and dance through the agony of my soul work

And I wonder again if I am too much, if I've crossed the line somehow and I just know

I was killed for something like this

Hundreds of years ago.

- Jenny Wren

My Ritual Bath

When I have finished my bleed
I have a ritual bath
Tonight was the night.
As the kitchen sat full of dishes,
My daughter sat on my lap coughing
Playing with my necklaces
Threatening to flick me
I felt irritation rise like a flame in my throat.

She coughed and her eyes began to close
Something in her wanted to be close.
I've packed up her night-time nappies and last year
Weaned her from the breast
This was my first Christmas in so long
Without a baby wanting me and only me.

This is my ritual bath
After she coughed so hard she threw up all over us
And I praised her as my hand filled up with vomit.
She protested there was not any on her sock
As I tried to undress us both
There was.
I bribed her with my last bath bomb
To come in the bath with me.

So now we sit in a pink paradise
Eye to eye
Smelling each other's feet and telling each other
We smell of roses.
I fondly wash the leg that used to kick me inside
And now kicks me outside
In four year old exuberance.

We made the house a sacred space
With a spray of ylang ylang and bergamot
She chose and insisted on using
For the cleanup.
(The former her favourite
Since she used to call it "orangutan")
It wasn't goddess chants and mood lighting
But it was real
And I live for these moments
Where motherhood and spirituality
Intertwine.

- Jenny Wren

Talking with our dearly departed dead

Talking with our dearly departed dead

Yesterday I spoke with my friend Sally who has passed over. I often feel her presence near and when I saw my psychic a few weeks ago he noticed there was a new spirit with me, a woman whose name began with S. He said to me "she is one of us, her hair is big again, she is barefoot and dancing" and I burst into tears.

When she was living we only met in person once. The most beautiful, happy, fairy-like woman, an absolute ray of sunshine. She met Autumn-Violet in the womb. We stayed in touch and her messages would always reach my heart effortlessly. When I found out she had passed over I sobbed and sobbed and felt myself consumed by this huge grief.

Since then I have carried on talking to her, relationships never really end with passing, and yesterday a mama who I am currently on call for sent me a message that she suddenly wanted to make a Christmas cake, but she didn't even like it!

My relationship with this mother is very special to me, to watch her go through her pregnancy guided by the moon and the planets and her deep sense of what is right. I replied - have you ever heard of a groaning cake? Very similar to a Christmas cake.

It was traditionally made by a mother and her midwife when labour began. The smell was said to ease the sensations of labour. The cake would then be handed out in pieces at church.

It was a lightbulb moment. My client's deceased grandmother, who she had named her daughter after, was very holistic and naturally-minded. We both instantly knew that grandmother was close, was whispering her best advice in my client's ear as she prepared to birth her baby, as the birth portal was beginning to open.

Do you listen to the whispers of the dead?

Do you partake of their wisdom?