Under the lilac and tree beings — Im listening but the birds are beautifully bold. I’m writing but I spell beautifully — “beautiffully.” I’m listening but Miracle looks at me with her big Universe eyes. I’m writing but I’m turns to “T’m.” I keep listening though, I keep writing through the mistakes. All of this moment I…

All we have is Now — We go through our days flying through our moments, which are more valuable than anything anyone can give you, or anything you can trade. There is nothing more miraculous than this now. Here is a home for our nowisms in words. Here is a place we can turn the gift…

I’d like to turn this into a poem, so I can dance between the spaces instead, because after four decades on the planet, I still don’t know how to define myself in words. So, here I go. Jenny, the loving? Jenny, the changer? Jenny, the encourager? Jenny, the artist? I…

On encouraging, support, help and being a Creative in our fucked up society — As I say in my About Me, in how to define myself — Jenny, the loving? Jenny, the changer? Jenny, the encourager? Jenny, the artist? I am a Creative, through and through. Since knowing I was a being, I have been drawing. Since I could create symbols to represent sound…

Hot. Believe it or Not. — Imagine this, if you can, it’s wild, I know. And believe it or not, this is a true account of a 1997 visitation. I was seventeen years old. Anyone who knows me, knows I’m woo. But this was even a little extra woo for me. A waking memory I will…

He's warm He's cold He’s hot He's mine belongingness of satisfaction contention of content he's black he's white he's mine I'm bathwater I'm his Euphoric early morning moonrises waves of wonder I'm grey I'm his he's rough he’s soft he's sharp he's mine Passion of pretension rage of love He's…

If I had the ability to heal your wounds with words — I’d start with an S, trace it along your skin. Speak its long breathe, and add one more connection to make it infinity. ♾️ With radical love, Jenny Lane ~namaste~ 🌈💜

Thank you Universe for all our blessings — Birdies speak my sound, while I draw my own breath into creation with these curved and straight lines. Windchimes speak my sound, as my heart finds the thoughts into the hum of the day. Breeze touch my lover's lips and blow them across mine, across the angels dip, so when…

The pebble day — The names have been changed in this memoir to protect the innocent. Jenny Lane is my birth name, though. Nearly four decades later I must confess, it was I, mischievous little Jenny Lane, the pebble chucker. Dear Mrs. Falfee, I’m so sorry! Mrs. Falfee, you were and still are grace…