5:30 a.m.

This morning wakes with melancholy.
Her hair teased across the sky,
pink, grays, blue hues,
in strands and tufts.

The moon smirks behind us
and hummingbirds shoot
like stars
through our middle world.

The drum circle of crickets yields
to the first sirens of crows,
and the last owl plays its bass note

Gazing out over
the curve and dip
of ridgeline, seeking the silhouettes
of early hunting coyotes
dotting the open hills
before her fire continues to rise.

And I sit, with the mystic song of coffee
rising up like incense.
Captured in the clear, cool, sweetness of air.
Simply bewitched,
as a trail of sparrows flutters by.

copyright 2013, jennifer brinn

A Spoonful of Sugar: The Medicine of Our Time

A Spoonful of Sugar: The Medicine of Our Time


In indigenous cultures if a member of the community has an emotional or physical ailment, the entire community gathers the person and brings them to the shaman or medicine person of the village or tribe. They gather and collectively hold healing ceremony because each person has a role to play and each person is an integral piece in their community. So if one person is ill it is a threat to them as a collective. Can you imagine this happening in our society? What would happen if you fell ill, were admitted to the hospital and an entire city stopped what they were doing and held healing prayers and ceremony for you? Continue reading A Spoonful of Sugar: The Medicine of Our Time

How the Redwoods Schooled Me in Forgiveness


How the Redwoods Schooled Me in Forgiveness

I just got an article published on Elephant Journal about my retreat into the redwood trees and how I learned the deeper gift of what forgiveness brings.

I recently went “underground” on personal retreat for two days. The objective was to restore, replenish and call back the energy that was sent in a million directions over the year.

Driving down into the coastal redwoods along the ridge-back of King’s Mountain, I began to feel the majesty and mysticism this land held. There was a veil of afternoon fog allotting for about 50 feet of visibility along Skyline Drive as if to say, “almost, but not yet.”