Love Letter #18 – How the Power of Magic Can Rock Your World

Love Letter #18 – How the Power of Magic Can Rock Your World


“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you
because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places.
Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”
~Roald Dahl

To My Friends Who Believe in a World of Magic,

There are people on this planet whose presence can ignite and disturb the energies that have been playing too low and too slow for way too long. You might know some of them.

You are likely one yourself—an Ignitor, a Lightworker, a Truthteller, a Love Warrior. We wear many costumes.

And so this letter is for you.

You might’ve noticed how we’ve been doing a tremendous amount of emotional, mental, energetic and physical house cleaning this year–personally and collectively. This is the agreement we made to clean house within and without to create the spaciousness for greater love and light.

For some of us, the clearing has been hard, experienced through our depressions, our addictions, our allergies, our body issues, our job loss, our cancer, our breakups, the death of loved ones, and the death of dreams. Each of us has been called to take stock and look at it all while making way for a new vision, a new dream.

It would seem that where we’ve been trapped is in the old three-dimensional way of thinking that manifesting the new dream is often about the vacation, the bank account, the home, the relationship, and the career. In the old model, we’ve been taught that the newest modalities, vision boards and affirmations are gateways to the deepest desires of our heart.

Yet if this were true, the trillion-dollar wellness industry would have had us living in our versions of paradise on Earth by now.

Instead, we’re going through a massive heart-opening that is allowing us to access technologies that have remained dormant within, waiting for this precise moment in our human evolution to activate.

The time is now to raise the vibrational rate of our human experience in a lifetime designed for us to express the joy of being human as much as it is to express the joy of channelling the inner world of the soul through our physical bodies. 

The ego and the soul are on friendlier terms than you might imagine.

But some will question how can we feel so much joy, gratitude and wonder for our human experience and our physical creations when some are suffering so greatly?

The Magician, the Light-bearer, and the Freedom-Seeker in us know that at the level of the soul, we are already liberated.

At the levels of emotion and energy, when one of us moves through our pain, space is created for others to do the same.

Each time one of us transmutes trauma into creativity sourced from love, our angelic natures light up a grid already cast around this Earth, shortening others’ walk to freedom.

We are sitting at the precipice of the Full Moon in Taurus tomorrow night (November 3/4), a stitch in the eternal tapestry, but one whose shimmering threads remind me of the magic that makes the story of our evolution so compelling.

Taurus as the Master Builder invites us to connect now with Mother Earth, our ancestors, the angels and the ascended masters, our guides and our gods and goddesses, the fairies, the elementals, the multidimensional collectives, and the devas to feel their immense love and joy flood our systems helping us to find new streams of wise, compassionate guidance.

They have messages for you, accessed from your soul, exquisite images of new dreams to be birthed, something seemingly concrete and tangible to hold onto in the spacious chambers of your inner world.

Angels. Angels everywhere.
All sorts of light beings around us, constantly communicating.

Our job is to participate in the conversation.

What stops most people is fear.

Some of us have memories of being ostracized, ex-communicated and killed for playing with magic, so rest your mind, my friend, your fears are understandable.

We can learn to use fear as a guide who indicates when we are pushing an edge, moving past a boundary.

Each intuitive session I hold, each Love Letter I write, each post I publish, I access anxiety stored in my cellular memory created from experiences in this lifetime as well as past incarnations where being vulnerable as a writer or an intuitive resulted in rejection, criticism, and even persecution. However, I’ve learned to embrace that anxiety as a gift to feel fully, giving myself the opportunity to clear that fear.

It takes courage to rise to the next level of our light work, of our becoming, to call up any fears or judgements we have in invoking practical magic in our lives, especially in a society that needs to learn to encourage authentic self-expression through doorways such as art, love, spirituality and joy.  

So feel the fear and do it anyway: open the windows and invite the fairies into your homes, the angels into your meetings, the ascended masters into your decisions, the goddesses into your relationships. Open yourself to the wondrous worlds of that kind of support. 

The more you trust in the intelligence and the multi-dimensional support inherent in the Divine Plan, the more you will see the explosions and the heartbreaks and the illnesses are all creative ways of releasing pain and transmuting trauma so unconditional love can fill the cracks.

In being human, having the experience of limitation, disappointment, failure and grief is as necessary as having the experience of freedom, bliss, achievement and joy. 

Maybe when we are willing to feel it all, have the courage to be fully human, we can embrace the totality of the human experience with compassion, getting off the ride of the breathtaking highs and sudden death lows of the emotional roller coaster most of us have been riding—repeatedly.

On this Full Moon and whenever you feel called, bring your hands to your heart and breathe in unconditional love. Exhale streams of light and beauty until they touch each part of your life. When you feel each space infused with the light, breathe in and out to that grid covering the Earth and to the people and places you intuitively feel drawn to. Know that your love-work is a stone that sends ripples of love in the Ocean that is our Home.

This is the power of magical thinking and some of the real manifestation work we are here to do, helping us understand what types of magic we truly are in touch with at all times.

The dramas that reel us in, the labels we use to separate ourselves from one another, the emotional roller coasters we ride, and the messes we seem to muck about in will no longer appeal to us from this heart-centred place in service to unconditional love that intricately connects us all.

All of my love (from my place in the grid),

Love Letter #18
November 2, 2017

Magical Image Credit: Charlotte Bird


Love Letter #17 – Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Love Letter #17 – Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

You have not danced
so badly, my dear,
trying to hold hands with the Beautiful One.

To you Lovers of Love,

How many of you have had your life ripped apart by a broken relationship, addiction, abuse, an attack, an earth-shattering betrayal, or a chronic illness? 

Yes, me too.

The lives many of us have lived have created a serious trust deficit in others and in Life, but most importantly in ourselves.

And I ask you, “At what cost?”

Your clarity? Your truth? Your creativity? Your peace of mind? The freedom to live YOUR Life Plan? To know True Love?

I am grateful for the relationship I have with Chris, an incredibly kind and conscious man, but my lack of self-trust kept us apart for many months after we first met.

I had given some of my power away to an old story that I couldn’t be trusted in choosing a romantic partner and then gave some more of my power away to people whom I believed could and would make those decisions for me.

Why did I do that?

Truthfully, I never reflected on the fact that I had given my power away in the first place until I felt the constriction of not feeling like I was in choice.

Maybe I believed I needed the strong boundaries imposed by following another person’s rules and someone else’s vision for my life. Possibly I wanted someone to point to or to blame if the choices I made did not turn out how I envisioned. Most definitely I was scared that I might feel the pain of choosing wrongly.

So how do we repair and rebuild trust when it has been broken? How do we know someone is trustworthy? How do we know when it is time to trust ourselves again? 

I myself have struggled with these questions—perhaps more than any others I’ve asked.

Maybe you have too.

In our innocence and in our desire to form meaningful connections and to feel enveloped in love, we place our trust in others and then inevitably that trust is broken as we are imperfect in how we are human.

The emotional and psychological scars run deep, so we question our own powers of discernment. We chide ourselves because we should have known better. We should have been smarter.

Better, the scared voice says, to default to playing small in love rather than conceiving that Higher Love could be the life force, the guiding force, running through our veins and fueling our inner GPS.

When Chris and I met, we loved each other quickly. Our first three meetings had left me with the absolute knowing that I wanted this person in my life for the rest of my life. However, I was afraid because the feelings for him had come that quickly and run so deeply.

Conveniently as life lessons go, I had set it up so that some people who I allowed influence in my life decisions would also think this relationship was moving too fast and in their opinion was not for my highest good.

I went back and forth with whether or not I should have Chris in my life, angry at myself (and at God if I was honest about my projections) that I was in this position of loving someone but too afraid to take a risk, concerned that the costs of being wrong would be too much this time.

In some of these heated conversations with God, I reminded myself that I had spent two years with no romantic relationship at all, searching for answers about who I was and how I wanted to love and be loved in return.  By no longer sweeping the limiting programs under the rug of no-looking back, I had indeed started to trust myself–slowly.

Absolutely I had chosen partners in past relationships who were not an ideal match, but I learned through waves of self-awareness and self-forgiveness that held me in a deep ocean of compassion those relationships were ideal in what they taught me–and I taught them.

While a large part of me was in conflict about what to do with this glorious human being who had walked into my life, this Wiser part knew that even if I was making a mistake, then let it be a big one to expose where any other false programs disguised as love lay. I was done playing small.

I would rather risk loving again than risk not knowing what it would be like to trust in the possibility of the kindest of love and the sweetest of truths this time around.

Once I consciously committed to this Higher plan of Wiser and Larger love, I experienced a profound sense of liberation.

I broke up with my relationship history, the limiting mindset I had, and the path I’d been walking that had become too narrow and too fear-based so I could make way for greater love on the path of a romantic relationship.

I trusted that I’d been given the opportunity to break down some walls, so I can intimately love another human being who wants to break down his walls too.

Not only did Chris and I work through what we needed to so we could come together and love, respect and support one another in partnership, I learned to trust that I could make decisions based on what MY body wisdom, MY inner sight, MY inner hearing and MY inner knowing had to say.

Trusting ourselves is one of the greatest gifts I think we humans can ever experience in this lifetime.  

Of course, some of the fear-based programs return and old stories resurface because I’m human. However, I know I’m in good hands because I’ve surrendered to knowing and living the truth about love.

How about you? 

Love Jenn


Love Letter #17
July 6, 2017



Love Letter #16 – Calling All Angels: Why Hugh Didn’t Die

Love Letter #16 – Calling All Angels: Why Hugh Didn’t Die

Dear Friends,

On a flight from Vancouver to Winnipeg, I sit beside Hugh, a young man who shares with me before the plane takes off that he’s going to visit his family whom he hasn’t seen for almost a decade.

The reason? He has just spent the last several years in jail for drug trafficking. In fact, he informs me, I am the second woman he has spoken to since his release from prison the day before.

I am instantly drawn in, recognizing the familiar feeling of butterflies in my stomach that this seat assignment has a gift in store for us both.

I can tell by the smile in his eyes that he is relieved I haven’t judged him, but I sense he is still nervous. I make some small talk about the weather and our shared destination in the hopes that he feels a little more relaxed.

Hugh does, indeed, open up.  With trembling lips and a sweat-soaked brow, he begins by sharing the deep terror he feels about flying. I tell him I used to feel the same way, but I have sought out many tools that now allow me to enjoy the entire experience of flying, including meditating at the beginning of each flight, calling on all angels to bless and protect the plane, the crew and the passengers.

He sits up straight at the mention of the word “angels.” He probes me about what I do for work.

He is enthralled with my tales of the Other Side and I am caught up in sharing with such an attentive listener. For 45 minutes, I deliver a one-woman show to my one-person audience until I look outside the window beside him and realize we are in the air and according to the flight attendant have been for over 25 minutes.

This high-flying conversation has transported us somewhere in which the laws of time and space as we know them have collapsed, evidenced by the fact that we did not realize we have moved off the tarmac, down the runway and into the air.

Hugh looks outside the window to confirm we are sky-born, jumps out of his seat, his hands slapping the armrests hard. He looks at me with as much as intensity as he can muster, proclaiming out loud, “You are an angel.”

I laugh at his words. However, Hugh refuses to let me so casually brush off what we have just experienced. He leans over the middle empty seat, whispering in my ear, “I know you are an angel. I had another angel visit me in prison the night I was going to kill myself.”

A lump instantly grows in my throat and tears spring to my eyes.

For thirty minutes, he tells me the relevant details of his life and how he drifts into the dark world of drugs. He was a child when he immigrated from Vietnam, feeling disconnected from others because of a language barrier and his own low self-worth over not feeling smart or good enough—too short, too Asian, too stupid—in his words.  He has experienced abuse in many forms about which he doesn’t delve into too much detail, but I can tell by his pain-filled eyes, he’s still hurting, still remembering.

In his early teens, he finds connection and community by joining a gang. His status in the gang is low-ranking, but he doesn’t care. When he is with his “brothers,” he no longer feels alone. When his family shares their drugs with him, he willingly accepts and enjoys being high. He feels braver and stronger he tells me. He begins to commit bolder and bigger crimes to find the money to buy the drugs he is now hooked on. When his “brothers” ask him to start delivering some small packages around town, he doesn’t blink an eye. Over the course of his high school years, he graduates into higher levels of trafficking until a police crackdown takes him down, eventually sending him to jail for a lengthy prison sentence.

In prison, he grows depressed. He spends much of his time caught in a painful loop of thoughts that relentlessly plays the tape of what a bad person he is and how he has shamed his family. A lifetime of unchecked, unexamined and undigested pain catches up to him and he begins to feel as if he is drowning in his unworthiness and his despair.

He has contemplated suicide often, believing that if he is no longer on the planet, he no longer has to feel the pain. He tortures himself with this one terminal possibility for his life.

One night in his cell, he has come to a dark, dark place where he has decided to kill himself. He tells me how he begins to sob in part with the relief of making the decision but still a part of him doubts this course of action. In a desperate plea, he cries out for help and asks God to please send an angel to help him.

Moments later, a flash of light appears outside his prison cell. Hugh looks up to see a figure whose light is so bright that Hugh has to cover his eyes. He cries out with outstretched arms, Are you my angel?”

Hugh’s angel is the prison chaplain who has heard Hugh’s cries and has come to offer him comfort, mercy and hope. He addresses Hugh as “my son,” asking him why he is crying. They talk for some time, Hugh seeking answers for why his life has been so hard and how he can move through his pain and shame of a life that he can no longer endure.

Hugh notices the chaplain holding a small green book in his hand that he hands to Hugh to read. The book? Rick Warren’s The Purpose Driven Life.

I haven’t heard of the book, but a quick Google search later reveals that millions of others have, making it the best-selling non-fiction book in history for over a decade.

The nightlong conversation and the book that the angelic chaplain gift to Hugh are so impactful that Hugh’s plan to kill himself changes course. He will dedicate his life to finding meaning in his life and sharing with others what he learns.

At the end of the flight, Hugh takes my hand and kisses it. He thanks me for my time, says he will write a song about his experience with the angel lady on the plane and I will know the song is for me because it will have the name of our airline flight. He then incredulously hands me his book The Purpose Driven Life.  I refuse it at first because this book has been his lifeline. I know his tears have soaked these pages. He has underlined it and written in his mother tongue. But he insists and I take it.

Writing about Hugh now, I choke up. I suspect that his life has been blessed not just by one angel but many. The police officer who arrests him. The judge who sentences him. The man who writes the book that affects Hugh so deeply that he learns to forgive himself and those who have hurt him while committing himself to a life filled with meaning and service. It’s been four years and I have no idea how he’s doing, how his reunion with his family has unfolded, if he’s still feeling inspired to be a living example of the God of his understanding.

Like Hugh’s story, over the years I have listened to children and adults tell me how they were tortured and abused on every level imaginable and do not know how to move through the memories. I understand their pain, even empathize on some personal level with what they are sharing and how they often think of ending their life—some have tried, some have succeeded.   In those precious hours with them, I can cry and try to connect them with the professional help they need while offering them a modicum of comfort, maybe some insight and some tools to address the pain. However, they are the ones who go home and struggle with their thoughts, making choices moment by moment how and if their life story will move forward.

Angels abound, we are still in choice every moment of the day whether we live or we die, whether we give or whether we take, whether we hate or whether we forgive, whether we isolate or whether we reach out.

I am not sure of the exact steps to heal this tragedy of despair and potential loss of life. I do know we have to become a more deeply caring and compassionate people that give and give of ourselves to others, taking the time to reach out to those who are struggling and create the space to have the hard conversations.  Maybe we stumble with our words and we are awkward with our gestures, but soul to soul we do what matters most—love.

It’s been one of my most heart-wrenching challenges in working with people. No neat and tidy “how to” lists could ever begin to address the nightmare ripple effect that abuse and suicide inflict, but I do have this one story in which a young man’s life was saved by some divine intervention and that gives me some comfort and some hope.

Please, I invite you to before you leave here to share any resources (like Hugh’s chaplain did) that you have for people who may be in a similar place and might need some direction and hope themselves. What stories do you have or books you know of that might inspire those who need to hear about those from you? Thank you.

So much love and hope,

Love Letter #16
April 24, 2017


Love Letter #15 – How to Live Your Love, Skinny Legs and All

Love Letter #15 – How to Live Your Love, Skinny Legs and All

Dear Friends,

On a daily basis, we make choices—some deliberate and some by default—that reveal our stories. A few days ago, I told my partner Chris a story of mine that I had not shared before.

I am ten years old, running through the playground being chased by a boy who I am told has a crush on me, which makes me excited, because I have a crush on him.  I am new to the school, so we haven’t spoken much in the classroom. But outside of the school’s walls on the concrete playground, no rules for engagement exist so we do what ten-year-olds who like each other do—we play tag.

After about five minutes of chasing each other back and forth, weaving in and out of the playground equipment, I let him pin me against the wall. I am excited because we are actually touching each other, the most direct contact we have experienced to date. Even though he is smaller than me, he is strong enough to keep me against the wall. I halfheartedly struggle to break free, but then his hands reach for the hem of my dress, lifting it up to my hips. The angel-faced boy with the liquid dark eyes looks down at me and shouts, “Your legs are fat.”

I look down at my stomach because I am sure he has just punched me, his words hit so hard. I smack his hands away from my body, feeling a fire red heat snake up my lower back all the way to the top of my head. I do not say anything—not one word. The buzzer rings. Recess is over.

I carry the weight of his words my entire life. Since I was ten, not a day goes by that I haven’t scanned my body with a critical eye, searching for the imperfections. Each morning for as long as I can remember, upon awaking, I take part in a cruel ritual in which I take the flat of my hand to see how much my stomach has risen or fallen overnight.

The sad part of this story is when I look at pictures of myself, wearing the short skirt, the bathing suit and the volleyball shorts, my legs seem perfect to me—strong and lean and solidly feminine. Up until I am 25 years old, in fact, no extra fat can be seen on my body which ranges from thin to underweight. I attempt bulimia several times from the age of 12 onward but most often engage in the weight loss method of severely under-nourishing myself. After I turn 25, my weight fluctuates and no matter what the number is on the scale or on a pair of jeans, the Judge is always present and the Eye ever watchful.

“and I said to my body, softly, ‘I want to be your friend.’ it
took a long breath and replied, ‘I have been waiting
my whole life for this’”
~Nayyirah Waheed

This story is hard to tell.

I feel vulnerable telling Chris whose thick, muscular thighs are celebrated because in our culture his masculine body is deemed powerful. A fearful part of me wonders in the moments after I reveal to him that my Achilles’ heel is in actual fact my thighs, will I be any less attractive to him?

I trust in our love, however, so the thought evaporates in the intimate space we have created to discuss the tough stuff, allowing us to share with each other in ways both of us have not known before.  I know it is time to quiet the inner Voice and close the critical Eye on the shape and size of my body—every day, several times a day. I have wanted this prison sentence over for years.

Twenty-four hours after sharing this story with Chris, I am sitting on the floor of a meditation room, in which we are being led through an exercise to create intentions and rewrite some old stories. I regularly engage myself and my clients in this type of reflection and intention-setting process, so I am curious about whether or not anything new will reveal itself in areas I feel I often probe. Serendipitously, we have come to the part of the exercise where we will create new intentions about our bodies.

I close my eyes and instinctively draw my hands over my heart. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. The question gently arises: What do I long for in this relationship with my body?

I drop in quickly and my mind takes me to the playground where I am ten years old and the boy who everyone says likes me has me pinned against the wall. “Your legs are fat,” he blurts out.

But this time, I don’t freeze. I have something to say. I can see my ten-year-old self standing partly in the shadows of the building and partly in the light of the sun, but it is the adult me who steps forward and uses my voice to protect this precious little girl. I gush a stream of angry words while waving my arms in his face. He cringes as if my hands hold magic and I have cursed him.

Who the fuck do you think you are? I mount another attack—this time it’s personal, criticizing his legs that are pencil thin and his height that cuts off at my shoulders. I feel the rising power of justified rage until it peaks and then I rest.

It is at this point in my meditation, a bright light explodes from the sky behind us and above us. Kuan Yin, a Goddess of Compassion, appears and lightly touches both of our heads.  Instantly, the movie reel of my mind shows life is tough at this boy’s home.

His mom and his aunties tell this beautiful boy in one breath what a heartbreaker he will be, but on their collective exhale, they break his heart by telling him he’s too small and too skinny, so he will need to man up one day. His embarrassment at their teasing sears a false belief in his subconscious that he is not good enough just the way he is.

I see and feel how the boy’s own hurt seeded my lifelong pain. It is within this moment of grace the story falls away and I feel empathy for him and for me as at one time according to our birthright, we both expected to be loved and adored for who we naturally are.

I had given so much power to four small words that attracted to me throughout my life other unkind, wounded characters and similar hurtful incidents, threading together chapters to a not-so-nice story I have had with my body—a story which had begun as a single sentence.

Thankfully, I have arrived at a place in my life where the desire to be kind in my thoughts and in my words outweighs any intent to tell the old tales that no longer and never did serve. How about you?

What painful childhood stories are you still telling? How do they still play out in your life? The stories we share matter as story holds the ancient power to shape who we are, what we believe and what we experience.

One of my new clients asked me earlier this week, “Why do we dredge up all this crap from the past? The past is the past.” I say to her, If you are you are still talking about it in the present, you most certainly have not left it behind.”

I believe when we surrender our lives to serve Love, it is a beneficial practice to ask our powerful, lion hearts to illumine where the cracks lie in the tales we are telling.

I believe immense value lies allowing the love medicine of truth, compassion and kindness to pour forth like liquid honey all over those tough earlier chapters of our life story so we can find the cure in the pain and the gift in the wound. In this way, we can write and live word by word page by page new epic stories that reveal how we made love matter more than we ever did our pain.

All my love,

Love Letter 15
March 22, 2017

Love Letter #14 – Days Like These

Love Letter #14 – Days Like These


This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

from “The Guest House” by the iridescent Rumi

Dear Friends,

Each year when the New Year rolls around, I am hesitant to add to the mountain of messages that offer people insight on goal-setting and processes on creating a year to remember.   You can breathe a sigh of relief—this is not that type of letter.

I made a claim in Love Letter 12 that I am here to be honest, show up as authentically as I can. I love playing with words and images and am intimate with their power to create and destroy, so as those who know me can testify, I choose them very carefully. And so it goes.

However, there are those days when the most honest and most eloquent thing I can say is, “What the fuck?”   I do. I swear. A lot on those days I feel anger for being hit hard by the eighteen-wheeler of doubt—again—on the freaking roller coaster of I’m not enough—again.

Sometimes the word “fuck” is the love medicine I need to heal. And sometimes I need an effing large dose of it.   Like many of us, we desire to throw off Fear’s carefully stitched cloaks of self-doubt, humiliation, and failure to do what we love in a way that has profound meaning for us and for those who are in our lives.

I work equally as hard to move through those days where we feel like we are being stretched a thousand different ways far beyond what we think our bodies, our minds and our hearts can endure.  Moments do indeed arise in which I question what I am doing and whether or not I should walk the road previously trodden, the path more taken. I see spirits and feel angels and channel their loving words, but sometimes it doesn’t matter how beautiful that part of my world is because even though it’s sunny outside, I’m going through a cloudy day.

Now I don’t sit in this space for very long. I am here for the inner and outer revolutions—mine, others and this planet’s. However, for the time that I’m in that low, I’m in it knee deep and sometimes waist high.

I used to beat myself up for going to those less than inspiring places because of the nature of my work and the trajectory of my dreams, but I’ve learned that we’ve come here for the storms just as much as we have come for the sunny skies.

It’s the stuff that revolutions are made of. And deep down I feel we know this. I’ve out and out declared I’ve come here to risk it all for a life of radical authenticity, sacred inspiration, mystical adventures, the deepest of belly laughs followed by the sweetest of kisses, soulful intimacy and the truest, bluest of love.

Fortunately, I have developed a will, a why and a way that pulls me through. Supportive friends, a kick-ass playlist, courageous clients who want to step up, make love, make art, make meaning—I know what it takes  to fire me up, laugh again and feel the preciousness of being human and gratitude for doing what I do.

I have a strong faith and a strong partner who respects the process of this type of creative tension between the highs and the lows and acknowledges my ability to wake up and rise up and if I need a hand, I’ll ask for the warmth and kindness of his.

May this Love Letter be that hand for you so that you know I understand what you are going through on those days you just don’t want to get out of bed. We came here to experience it all and find our way through together—you doing your thing over there and me doing mine over here.

Sometimes on the path of overthrowing the tyranny of “This is as good as it gets,” “It’s too much” and “I’m not enough,” the greatest achievement of that day is being able to shut the doors on rationalization and rekindle the spark of the revolution and dance in the fire.

Love Jenn

Love Letter #14
January 12, 2017

Photo from @genessapana at

Love Letter #13 – The Director’s Cut: Tales from the Womb

Love Letter #13 – The Director’s Cut: Tales from the Womb


Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.

~From the poem “Our Children” by Kahlil Gibran

Dear Friends,

I realize that this Love Letter won’t be for everyone and yet I feel compelled to share this story with you all. It’s about a conversation I had with the youngest teacher I have ever known whose mother, Lauren, gave me full permission to write what happened here. I truly hope it serves you.

I wasn’t always aware of my intuitive capabilities. You’ll never read in my bio how as a young child I was the kid in the hood who knew which neighbors were having an affair or which ones would contract some fatal disease as has been the case in the biographies I have read of so many intuitive types.  However, since I was 11 years old, I have long been fascinated with the mysterious “Other Side” after reading my aunt’s astrology book on sun signs.

Ironically, it wasn’t until my late 20s when I had come to a point of surrender, my life path significantly changed. My life had come to the point where I was unhappy with virtually all aspects of it. I didn’t have much faith and very little hope that I could find my way out just by prayer alone as I used to when I was a little girl.

However, some resilient albeit frustrated part of me engaged in a conversation with the “God” of my understanding in which I asked—no, I insisted—that if a Greater Source or Consciousness truly existed, I wanted to be shown—in a beautiful, and I stressed, non-scary way. And if this Source could prove to me that there was life after death, that if I could see angels, speak to my guides, feel healing energy come pouring through my hands and be able to tap into the lessons from my past lives (all topics that I loved to read about but had not yet experienced myself), I would spend the rest of my life teaching and speaking to people who wanted and needed this information, too.

The prayer was heard. The rabbit hole opened wide and opened big.

At first with a little serendipity here and a glimpse of something moving over there, I began to sense that someONE or someTHING was trying to grab my attention. I went to metaphysical stores. I read the books. I did the exercises. I practiced affirmations—for months. Then my body became involved and I started to feel my students’ physical, emotional and psychological issues in the chakra centers I had been studying. This provided me with the ability to ask these teens more probing questions, allowing them to express themselves more easily about what was troubling them. The insights I was receiving were startling.

I was passionate and intent in learning more. I worked with various oracle card decks and watched the cards I was meant to read flip over as if by magic and saw them fly across the room in some cases, leaving me with the clear message that there were Forces out there beyond what I could see with my physical eyes. The more I studied about life after death, past lives, angels, the energy body and the like, the more the messages from the Other Side came and the more I began to trust myself that what I was experiencing was real. My vision began to change and I could see movement in solid objects and the light around plants and trees, then people.

People who had passed on (and some who were still living) came to me in dreams to ask me to deliver messages to their loved ones. The Skeptic in me initially ignored the Messengers the first time they would show up in a dream, yet the Mystic and the Believer in me were stronger, so I stipulated that if he or she would come to me three times, I would pass on the messages to their loved ones. And so they did and so I would relay the messages, trusting that on some level if the recipients were willing to listen to what I was communicating, then a part of them most certainly wanted to know.

I started to see flashes of beautiful multi-colored lights everywhere, trying to decipher what they all meant. One time a seven-year-old girl asked if she had a guardian angel and two little white lights flickered behind her. She beamed when I told her she had two. Over time, the beings became brighter and the messages got louder to the point that no part of me could ever deny that we are indeed walking among angels and dimensions exist beyond what many of us know.

What a journey it has been these past 15 years, yet it’s just been in the last year that I realize what I’ve been doing is building a life based on what I love, allowing myself to follow my heart and letting the Guidance show me how to give and receive Love in and through greater measures.  One of the most significant witnesses to the gifts of listening to the voice within my heart just recently occurred during a Reiki session I was giving to a woman named Lauren in which I met the new Teacher I had mentioned at the beginning of this Letter.

Although it is normal for many different guides, angels and loved ones to come through for clients who desire this type of transmission during an energy session, the being with whom Lauren wanted me to connect hadn’t even been born yet, just twenty-eight weeks old in Lauren’s belly. In fact, James, as his mama calls him, is not scheduled to make his world premiere until January 2017. I had told Lauren I couldn’t promise her anything but was willing to try to connect as she had requested.

As soon as Lauren became comfortable and I laid my hands on her head, I heard the words as clear as someone said them in my ear, “Do you trust her?” I was delighted and surprised to receive an image of this little being with a scrunched-up face, pounding his teeny fist on his mom’s belly, demanding to know if she had consented to this energetic exchange. I incredulously relayed the message to Lauren, who laughed and immediately rubbed her belly, soothing him with her words, “I trust her.”

That was all he needed to hear. James, whom I affectionately call “The Director” promptly took over the entire session. The messages poured out of this Little Master, initially revealing his goal: to model for others Unconditional Love with the help of his mother. He talked about their soulmate connection, having been best friends, siblings, and lovers in some of their past lives and with this deep connection they had some work to do in this incarnation. And even though he acknowledged the bond with his mother, James was not playing favorites, saying, “I am here for Dad, too.”

Lauren was in bliss as message after message poured out. When I didn’t relay things quickly enough (James being an enthusiastic communicator) or I attempted to edit what he was saying, he would wildly move around in his mom’s belly and my third eye would intensely pulse until I directly told her what he was telling me. Tears streamed from my eyes as I spoke–this boy’s Love was so strong and pure.

James is coming into the world in the next several weeks already knowing his purpose and passionate about fulfilling it. I imagine what a wonderful gift for every person on this planet to know as James knows that we are here for a purpose and that purpose is to do what we Love for Love. I think about this little Master being born and wonder how many other little Masters disguised as Angels will walk with him to remind us to connect to our hearts and what it is that lights our soul on fire, bringing us back to the path of True Love.

Many would agree I’m sure that we seem to have arrived at a crossroads in humanity where we have swung so far away from the Innocence in all of us that we have to find that part of ourselves again because the Innocence of our hearts knows what inner transformations need to take place and knows how to lead us through wise and compassionate action to honour each other and this planet.

My meeting with the Director was one of the most surprising and beautiful experiences of my life, for I was reminded about what it was I truly wanted to know and to have when I was in my 20s—a life purpose, one deeply rooted in doing what I love. And it’s one thing to understand at the level of the mind that we have a Life Plan dedicated to the most powerful force in the world—Love—but another to feel and then live it at the level of the heart.

Living in Love (the best way I know how),

Love Letter #13
November 28, 2016

Photo Credit by Drew Hayes