Remembering Jenny
November 2001
Yes, my sweet Jenny,
At the end of your small huge life
you attained the ananda of divine union
and I bow to you. I do.
Yes, propelled suddenly
by shakti, by full moon and brain chemistry and karma,
by the grace of the God you so fiercely adored,
into the innermost chamber of the Beloved,
you danced there, the crazy dance of ecstatic love,
while helplessly we watched your hands
weaving mudras in the air,
your smile so radiant
it blasted open our hearts
and changed us forever.
Yes, as the child bride of God,
you became the divine mother.
Yes, I believe this to be true and I bow to you.
Your most ardent new disciple, I do bow to you.
And also, my sweet Jenny,
I am a mother
who has lost her child.
In the midst of terrible beautiful unbridled mothering
I am suddenly childless.
I cannot find my way through a world
that does not have my girl
at its center.
I do not understand.
I don©ˆt get why you did not make it through
the hurricane season of adolescence,
why the vessel of our love,
of our ferociously devoted love,
did not carry you safely back to me.
Make space, Oh Life.
Open impossibly like the Red Sea
and make way for
the miracle of this loss.
I cannot accommodate it except by magic.
I am swallowed and swallowed whole.
I am on fire. I am flame.
I am broken and I am broken.
Even as my child has become perfect.
Yes, my sweet Jenny, the ones who see assure me
that you have completed your work on earth
for now and forever
and that you are dwelling in pure bliss.
That you have permanently escaped
the wheel of samsara,
slipped over the garden gate and are free.
That you were called and you answered,
flying straight to your beloved,
and that your chariot could not come back.
I saw your face when your empty body was brought to me.
It was luminous with rapture.
I could see that you did not suffer and I give thanks for this.
Yes, my sweet Jenny, I give thanks, too, for these ten years
I was given the grace to be your mommy.
In a lifetime of spiritual questing
that began when I was exactly your age,
you have been my single greatest teacher.
Badmash. Rascal.
Uncompromisingly direct and tenderly loving teacher.
The most intense relationship of my life.
The human being who has most radically challenged me
and most richly rewarded me.
The single soul I have loved
most passionately, most unconditionally
and at the highest possible cost.
And yes, my sweet Jenny, I melt in the fire
of this terrifying loss.
You were only 14,
filled with the fury and beauty of blossoming,
angry and brilliant,
stubborn and hilarious,
radically independent and intensely determined to be original,
your exquisite woman's body unfolding before our eyes
like a flower mistakenly thought to be extinct,
your child's spirit still vulnerable and soft.
You wanted to be a doctor,
to heal people with your clear intuition
and sharp analytical skillfulness.
You were picking out colleges,
choosing tropical landscapes,
falling in love with boys on beaches,
reading excellent literature,
developing a unique and outrageous style,
cultivating spiritual practice,
expressing yourself with brutal honesty,
bestowing your compassion carefully
and with unutterable tenderness.
Your sense of humor was quirky and bright,
your intellect exceptional.
You were on the verge of becoming
a remarkable woman
with hopes of helping to save
this troubled planet,
a woman I was so much looking forward to knowing.
Yes, my sweet Jenny, I will celebrate you
and I will mourn you
for the rest of my life.
And I will tell your story.
Eulogy written by Jenny's mother, Mirabai Starr
