The Invitation and the Promise

An introduction to Jenna's Journal and the sacred practice of becoming

Welcome to the threshold.

Not everyone will find this space.

But if you’ve arrived here — if you’ve found me, you’re already inside the portal.

Perhaps it was fate, or chance, or your soul that guided you here. Either way, I bow to you in deep reverence and respect for the life you’ve lived.

What I need you to know is that this is, and will always be, your choice.

The question I invite you to ponder: Will you answer the call?

Photo by Chris Dolberg

My name is Jenna. By trade, I’m a writer and Reiki Master Teacher. By any other standard, I am simply a soul on a journey of life like any other, and this is my journal.

More than anything though, I’m an eternal student of the sacred creative process.

I stand in this liminal space with you, not as a guide, but as a person answering my own call—a keeper of the flame that lives in story, in dreams, in becoming.

I am a woman who closes her eyes and sees the deities of her ancestors waiting at the edge of the unknown and beckoned to them through the echos of curiosity and skepticism.

What I share may look like entertainment, but I have a feeling you’ll see it for what it really is: invocation.

These words are an invitation and an intention.

To soften. To unravel. To awaken.

To release what once felt stuck.

To move through the shadows and come home to ourselves.

Often before we feel ready, these words will plant the seed.

And if you let them, they will change you.

Maybe quietly. Maybe in screaming clarity.

They will stir something ancient inside of you — something that’s been waiting for the exact right moment to return.

I know, because this is what my journal does for me.

This is not a performance.

This is raw.

This is an intensity only some souls yearn for.

And I’m sitting in the fire with you.

Burning with you because I don’t know how not to.

This is mythos.

Phoenix-rising transformation.

Veiled in poetry,

anchored in devotion,

lit by lunations,

kissed by serpents,

and haunted by the wild, holy ache of becoming.

This is both my warning and my promise:

If I’ve touched you through words or proximity, you will not leave the same.

I do not say this to be dramatic, but to be honest, even if brutally so.

This is who I am.

I owe you this: the option to say no. To turn away.

But if you’re still here—still leaning in—then I promise you this: I will stand beside you in the liminal space of becoming.

I will be your mirror and your witness.

I’ll meet you at the edge.

Thank you, I love you.

Jenna