"Rally Cry" a poem written by Jess Coffman

Come Lovers…

Come Practitioners of Empathy…

Come into a Field of Dreams

And meet your Family. 

Come Belonging, 

Come Rest, 

Become, unironically earnest,

Becoming Our Best. 

Come Noble Citizens,

Celebrants of Connection,

Seekers of Wisdom, 

Of Creative Invention. 

Now, Come meet our eyes, 

Come into our Vibration, 

As we sing out our Gospel 

of Artful Restoration. 

Come into our Giving,

Come slowly and Let Go. 

Become the One 

We hang focus on,

The Stars of our Show. 

Come into the Present,

Come Relax and Come Sanity,

Come Transform Yourself, 

To Believe in Humanity. 

Come Trusting, Come Accepting,

Of one more chance to get it right,

Come Humbly here with Purpose,

To exchange Love and Unite.

Come Offering and Listening,

Come Refreshment to the Spirit,

As exclamations from the heart scream, 

"Let me open, Let me Hear it!"

Come Electric Vibration, 

Come Timeless Expression,

Come Selfless Collaboration,

Come Harmonic Progression. 

Come My Family, 

Let’s Jump in and Swim, 

Come Nourish Yourself, 

Come Follow Our Whims. 

Come Kind and Come Honored, 

Come Looking for Magic,

Come Whole and Joyous,

Or shattered and tragic. 

Come steep in our bath of emotion,

Come Wild Delight, 

Come Laughter,

Come Warm in our Hug of Devotion,

Come Happily,

Ever After.

JESS COFFMAN

Hello Dear Friends!

I am so honored to share these words with you. 

Some of the actual words and phrases in "Rally Cry," were taken directly from the mouths of my fellow creators and performers, of our final show of the season with Transcendence Theatre company. On our first day, these artists that created The Gala Celebration, were asked why they were excited to be in Sonoma working for Transcendence. I listened and  wrote down as many words as possible of each of their individual answers. In this particular group of artists, there was only one woman that was new to Transcendence...the dynamic, bold, laughing, loving, storytelling firecracker of Broadway, Felicia Finley. Because everyone else was a returning artist, and a bit more seasoned in experience and age, "Rally Cry" ended up being so beautifully deep and thoughtful. 

 I began this tradition of writing down everyone's responses during the orientation of our spring show, "Best of Broadway." I hadn't intended to do so, but everyone's answers to the question "Why Did You Get Up Today," posed by Artistic Director Amy Miller, were so inspiring. I was compelled to write them all down, not knowing what I was going to do with them later. 

On the final day of our show, I decided to look back at those responses that I had written five weeks earlier on our first day. In five weeks, there had been so much learning done, on and off of the stage. That particular group of artists, had many loves and losses experienced during the rehearsal and show process. That morning, after I had completed my morning rituals, I looked at the overall themes expressed by the responses that the artists had given, and I rather quickly and thoughtfully wrote the poem "Wonderlove." I was allowed to read it before our final show, and unexpectedly cried along with most of my friends. What brought me to tears was the opportunity to record time and sentiments from the past, emotions and special moments, epiphanies from one day of my friends' lives, and read it back to them. I gathered their happinesses together and made something that represented us as a whole, and it was sacred and beautiful. When it received much appreciation, I decided to do it with each group of artists for each show moving forward. It has been a beautiful success. 

"Rally Cry," is a poem, that is just that, a rally cry to gather artists and their audiences together. It is an invitation to build, create, sing, dance, rest, spread joy, and support one another, to reciprocate love and appreciation; that beautiful exchange that happens between artist and audience. I wanted it to feel like Teddy Roosevelt's "The Man In The Arena," which is Brad Surosky's personal rally cry. Before each show in our beloved Jack London State Park, he pumps up his team of artists and volunteers, by reciting this speech. It is honestly one of my very favorite parts of my show experience. This poem is dedicated to all of the artists, all of the volunteers, all of the donors, all of the audience members and supporters and especially to my boss and friend, Brad Surosky. Thank-you to all for your love, thoughtful words, and devotion. 

If there is a man who has taught me to follow my dreams and my path, 

no matter how crazy is it to other people, it is my Dad, Jeff Coffman. 

He is a man who loves a rally cry, and who delivers one with ferocity, passion and boldness. 

Thank-you Dad, for being a man who is "in the arena."

Peace, Presence and Poise,

Your Jess

"A Letter," a poem by Jess Coffman

Her heart is weeping,
No thoughts are at rest. 
Though she's been blessed, 
Yes, she's been blessed. 
But a letter hangs 
heavily on her back,
Illuminating a trust attack. 

A body desired,
with humble breast,
She contemplates each earthly test.
She starves herself of any kiss,
Lonely steps towards heaven's bliss.

Her lips, though wanting
only speak
As timeless waters
fulfill the creek.
Their fingers dip in waters
refreshed.
She's been blessed,
Yes, she's been blessed. 

Open arms once delighted,
fall.
Spinning heart absorbs it all.
Her revealing path reveres the Sun. 
Never meeting the elusive "one."
Never exclusively one to keep.
Sterile body,
Lonely sleep.

Smiles set,
countenance collapses,
She tried to love greater than her needs.
But when careless words ripple far beyond,
Her purpose halts, while her joy bleeds.

She held herself when the night was warm.
Her every desire left unexpressed.
And never were her ears fulfilled.
But she's been blessed.
Yes, she's been blessed.

The crickets score the draw of eve,
She sips up breath, and sighs forlorn.
She mourns the undue letter placed,
that sends dishonor and reads disgrace. 

But never will she bow to guilt,
There will be no falling to her knees,
Anger makes the hurting blind,
And stings the innocent like vengeful bees. 

Stung and swollen, she stands still,
Swallowing the unjust pill,
She crossed no man, and blurred no vow,
Though she's wiser to the test now. 

She'll stay the course of solitude,
Loving purely with hands serving,
Which will ensure, she never endure
the shame of letters undeserving. 

JESS COFFMAN

"My Darlings," a poem by Jess Coffman

Your Music resounds within me, 

Swirling Lavender, pulsing Soul.

It transforms old faces into new, 

It buries roots,

building Harmony,

Making Whole. 

Your powerful voice thunders through me,

Sighs of longing, escape under the sun. 

You have melted the numbness,

Surrounding my heart.

And my heart you have expertly won. 

You are stunningly beautiful, under the lights.

Your magnificence is wild.

I catch your smile in the air, 

And it makes me giddy like a child. 

You helped me give a gift, on the wind.

We blew it out together like a wish.

We whispered love into their ears,

We offered a choice,

In the face of their fears.

We shook them with laugher, 

And moved them to tears. 

We offered them change,

In the face of their years. 

We have opened our arms to their hiding.

A “Welcome Home!”

Forever on our lips.

A Reawakening,

might be a souvenir,

Where the adventures are epic,

And the wine drips. 

There is always newness to discover,

Someone or something, to bring back to life.

With a pioneer’s heart you’ll uncover, 

A focused fluidity,

Imbibed in the pioneer’s strife. 

With shameless and fierce curiosity, 

We seek the rocks to build our foundation.

And with Spirits full of excitement, 

We nurtured a freeing love, and collaboration. 

To call you my friend is an Honor.

To be a Child with you, 

A Gift.

You’re forever written in my story,

However long, however swift. 

There is magic infused within our bones, 

Pure euphoria, beats with our blood.

We’ve transcended the likely story.

We’ve danced among trees,

And played in the mud. 

We’ve created happiness together,

Cause you have seen me, 

with Knowing eyes.

And with palms Overflowing with color,

You’ll paint over dreary goodbyes. 

I’ll let go of you, masterful and shining,

Cause we know with whom we belong.

And tomorrow, I’ll hum the sweet melody,

Of the hope we aroused with our song. 

JESS COFFMAN

"My Darlings," was written to honor some beautiful friends that I made while performing for Transcendence Theatre Company. The cast, crew and musicians that inspired this poem, were from our Fantastical Family Night show, that just ended last weekend. On our first day of rehearsal, our brave leader Amy Miller, perched on a wooden picnic bench, under knowing oak trees, and asked us all to tell the group why were were excited to work for the company. 

Most people said, something along the lines of "because I get to be with my tribe," or "the nature here is stunning," or "I need to recharge away from NYC, to remember why I love performing." Whatever the reason, people come to Sonoma to work for Transcendence, and they fall in love. They fall in love with other like-minded individuals, they fall in love with nature, they fall in love their craft, or they fall in love with themselves. The air is so clean, it's like food for the lungs, the wine is flowing and the generosity here from the community, is endless and inspiring. 

I know that I get to be the best version of myself here, that is the reason I am always excited to work for Transcendence. I get to keep the harmony within myself. The "mother wolf," inside gets to nurture, the child gets to explore and frolic and the growing artist gets to work. I am my most calm here, my most fed, my most actualized. 

Thank-you to everyone in my Fantastical Family Night cast, who help me be a fuller version of myself. It was so fun to play with you. I am honored by your love and talent. May you keep listening to your inner child, always. 

Peace, Treasures and Green Kazoos,

Your Jess 

"Suffocation," a poem by Jess Coffman

It's as though the air has been sucked out. 

vacuum sealed, without space for 

mistakes or creativity,

squeezed tight, without freedom 

or grace. 

Regret all over my face. 

But with determined eyes to be "right"

Having lost sight of the gratitude.

Lying flat, and suffocating

With a mask of resilience, 

I stay stuck. 

Fucked, by my own stubbornness

and self preservation.

I take a deep breath 

and blow the plastic protection 

surrounding me, 

away from my lips,

pushing air out and through 

what feels like an inflexible balloon. 

Labored breath, and with frustration,

I try with all of my will, to create 

a bubble of understanding.

It's so difficult, even though 

I want desperately for it to be easy.

Exhausted, I just stop.

almost without choice, 

I stop pushing.

I rest.

I close my eyes and give into the squeeze, 

but instead of feeling claustrophobic,

I allow my limbs wrapped 

around myself, to feel like a

full body hug. 

I relax into the tightness.

As my heart beat slows,

my breath is calm and shallow.

An inner warmth felt like the 

eye contact held with an infant, 

melts the imprisoning armor around me. 

As it falls, peeling away the impurities 

of my guilt and frustration,

I feel a birthing.

A chance at new choices,

a cleansed and free body.

When I open my eyes, 

he is 

still there,

looking fresh and new too.

Tentatively, we each 

take a step toward one another.

Recognizing the other's ready and 

listening spirit. 

With steady heart beats in alignment

we gracefully navigate,

through the summer wildflowers, to the 

Trees of Life. 

JESS COFFMAN

 Hello Dear Friend! 

Thank-you so much for reading "Suffocation." It was a poem I could help but write, after an argument I had the previous night, with someone I truly care about. Though we didn't end the conversation in anger, we also couldn't end it with a hug either, due to being in two separate places. When I woke in the morning, I felt as though I had an emotional hangover, which was a feeling I hadn't felt in a very long time, possibly never. So though I should have been focusing on learning new music at work, I split my attention and wrote at the same time. In my experience, when emotions meet inspiration, it is an unstoppable force that compels me to write, and I don't allow anything to prevent me from accomplishing the piece of work that is trying to be born. This is why I always carry around a journal, pen and phone, ready for when inspiration comes whispering in my ear and knocking on my heart. 

Peace, Whispers and Trees of Life, 

Your Jess

(P.S. The photo of the marble sculpture above was created by Belgian artist George Minne, in the late 1800's. The name of the sculpture is "Adolescent I," and is meant to depict the emotions and posture of self-protection and defiance, as well as shame and anguish. I was so uncomfortably moved by this sculpture, when I saw it at the Getty Museum in Los Angeles. I feel like it is a perfect representation of the way that I felt during my emotional hangover. 

The photo of the beautiful sunnies, was taken at the Sonoma Ashram. As I was looking up at them, they seemed to look down on me with a curious and knowing presence. I loved it.)

"Mother Nature's Release," a poem by Jess Coffman

Beautiful Elise,
Beholding Nature's Release.
With raw Womanly hands,
She opens to Spirit's demands.

She releases every woe, to Receive,
Every gift of her grief.
And through a womb that's bereaved,
She Beholds her gifts of Belief.

She Believes in a life this is whole.
She cultivates growth with the seasons.
She sustains her body with goodness.
She doesn't wither with reasons. 

With Grace, she opens to healing.
With Honor, and reverence to time,
She judges not her own feelings,
She knows her process as "Mine."

A femininity pure and strong,
With a mind fastened to story,
She offers herself and her gift,
To be enveloped in Glory. 

Surrounded in Light she's Received,
Made out of Love, never alone.
Her curious heart never concedes,
As she nourishes the seeds of Home. 

On a morning soon, she'll smell,
The soft sweetness of a bulb's bloom, 
Her Joy of Creation swelled,
And the Mercy of Mother Nature's womb. 

JESS COFFMAN

This poem is dedicated to my Beautiful Elise. May your heart, soul and body, be renewed and refreshed. 

Peace, Space and Ease,

Your Jess

This bronze sculpture was created by Italian artist, Paolo Troubetzkoy in 1912, it is entitled "Dancer." The dancer being honored here is the famous Russian pianist and dancer, 

Countess Tamara Swirskaya. 

I love how Troubetzkoy was able to capture the femininity and playfulness, 

in Tamara's movement. 

This sculpture perfectly accompanies "Mother Nature's Release," because the artwork depicts to me, the dancer's freedom, release and reverence of her body to her unseen Creator, 

and the future unknown. 

"The Flow," a poem by Jess Coffman

A summer leaf calls to me, 
Falling...
Right before brushing the meager creek's head,
A satisfying illusion!
She becomes a yellow Butterfly!
Flitting up into abundant beauty,
Flirting with my inspiration.

The slightest breeze, fills my lungs,
carrying delicate messages of acceptance and validation.
In this moment,
I know.
I am exactly where I am meant to be.

Kindred Oaks,
loom in abiding mercy.
Their tender leaves
twinkle a dainty "hello."
My tender heart, speedily beats a "hello," right back.

The merry, unwary Butterfly bounces,
Uninhibited.
In all of her boundless
freedom,
Stretching and Flapping
and Soaring.

Yet choosing to stay,
Musing away,
in her beautiful creek home.
Gracing every wild mint,
mossy rock,
and rejoicing bird,
with Her Elegance.
She exists in that Oneness World of...
The Flow.
She thrives within it.

Climbing higher with exuberance.
Then Gliding, Sweeping and
Riding the breeze, in her
natural state of Joy.

Neither food, nor sex nor compliment,
could transport me into
The Flow
like I am in this moment,
with this boundless Butterfly,
and steady Sun on my back.

A smile is wide, in my Being.
And I'm Full.
Fulfilled like before,
When I was first invited into,
and dazzled by the majesty of
The Flow

Time stops.
I am beholding, adoringly,
the steadfast,
yet precarious and exhilarating wait,
for the next breathless moment.

I am for now,
simply an Observer of
The Flow
Though, some unknown and glorious day,
I will join it.
I will Be.
I will know...
The meditations of the wise rocks,
The romances between the leaves and the winds,
The secrets in the heart of the inspirited
Yellow Butterfly.
This will Be.
I will Be.

JESS COFFMAN

"Shadow," a poem by Jess Coffman

Long ago love...
how you still wound.
I have forgiven you,
but the pain of my
wasted youth remains.
Which,
does not allow me
to take a chance on anything,
that reveals even a sliver, of a shadow
of you.

I was unseen in those days.
silent and of little worth,
except for my wild outbursts
and bare skin.

His syllables,
legato loose tongue.
His ability to soil a sacred cloth
'round my waist.
Somehow the bitterness of you
has vanished,
You no longer leave
distaste.
But a warning lingers,
like a familiar scent, 
I can't place.
Dissimilarities trick me.
vanishing faith.

Again, my words hold no weight,
They could come and go of my lips.
I would be nothing of value,
If I were just a head, with no hips.

All is a well, All is a well.

It seems I've learned again.
My role as an open woman,
In the game of selfish men.

I'll play alone from now on,
It's always better when I do.
My arms open to the masses,
Without just one man to belong to.

If I gave myself to the whole world...
My Treasure, an equally traded gift.
My Soul a sacred space,
Never neglected or split.
My Feelings, always discreet,
would never be disregarded.
My Love a golden arrow,
Buried safe, could never be discarded.

Maybe then, I'd be truly contented,
Loving all, and never one.
I'd pray to the moon, amid smokey star shine.
Or bathe in the breath of a naked sun.

JESS COFFMAN