Jennifer Brookins

Author of Tharon Ann, Living Under the Weavers Hut, and India with Backpack and a Prayer

About Jen

Author and poet Jennifer Brookins is a former Broadway and television actress living in Princeton, New Jersey with her husband, musician Doug Brookins. They frequently travel to India, and based upon their experiences, she wrote India with Backpack and a Prayer - the sequel to her first book Tharon Ann. She is also the author of Living Under the Weaver's Hut - an illustrated book of poetry.

A Memoir

5/5

A beautiful story of bravery, tragedy, independence

Tharon Ann, by author Jennifer Brookins is a wonderful read! A young woman begins her journey to chase her dreams from the Deep South to Hollywood, enduring a number of difficulties and overcoming the hardships of single motherhood to a wonderful ending and to the lovely woman known to us today. She teaches us to reach for our dreams, and though life sometimes seems senseless, in the long run good things do come. I highly recommend this book to anyone that loves biographies or for just a delightful read. Check this out!” 

-C.C. Cole

Click here to read more reviews of Tharon Ann

An Illustrated Book of Poetry

5/5

Inspirational

“Lyrical and deeply moving. These poems speak of the soul’s journey back to its Source. Love, longing, loneliness, joy. These are things we all share throughout our journeys through this life and beyond.”

Ginny Byham

Click here to read more reviews of Living Under the Weaver’s Hut

A Spiritual Journey

India with Backpack and a Prayer
5/5

A deeply affecting travelog of a spiritual life


“I loved this book, the intimacy, the sense of the spiritual world close by, the interiority of the poetry, and most of all, the mystery of her four adept friends. Highly recommended.”

-Stanocles

Click here to read more reviews of India with Backpack and a Prayer

walk with me this afternoonno particular plan just fresh mountain airwild roses gone wild; nest where mockingbirds had babieswhen breathless we stop and watch clouds

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sometimes I face the sunother times the amber glow of dawnseeding earth with prayer in the chill of early dayI wrap your essence around my

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I hear winter rain falling as wild mountain roses it’s you hiding behind the moon if you stay away my heart will turn into shards

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I got up early this morning when darkness still covered the land; just had a feeling the stars would still be shining. Not good to

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what would I do without you in cold wintry months when honeysuckle sleeps on the vine cranberry fields bow low their auburn heads casting shadow

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on this cold winter day aviaries of black birds feast on summer leavings white tail deer munch in my garden vagabond neighbors always welcome at

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Jennifer Brookins, author page

Author
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Now available on Amazon: "Living Under the Weaver's Hut" a book of poetry, and "India with Backpack and a Prayer", a sequel to my memoir "Tharon Ann".

Jennifer Brookins, author page

Jennifer Brookins, author page

1 day 11 hours ago

GOOD MORNING WORLD I bow to you winter moon mosaic that all stars in heavenly darkness lay their heads to rest another rising sun wraps her dreamy arms around our land from ho-hum to wow. For a moment I considered getting my groove back but your hand moves like sweet molasses Beloved Nomad Ji, you rock my soul jb

Jennifer Brookins, author page

Jennifer Brookins, author page

2 days 12 hours ago

GOOD MORNING WORLD doubters only believe what they see you know the type dark sunglasses at night for a better view Oh Weaver, guard my arrested heart from neighbors who wonder what type illness has come over me now that I wear mistletoe in my hair they say I'm eccentric hardly ...just bring on the hand cuffs you're welcome to everything in my old closet early this morning before the sun had yet to rise I heard you say, "Daughter, have you seen my new act? We are the infamous bullfrog quartet free to all who would dare my kind of loving" Beloved Ji, there is a lion in me so easily provoked rears it's head each time a stranger attempts to enter it's cage without knocking when the sweet silence of heartache is disturbed jb

Jennifer Brookins, author page

Jennifer Brookins, author page

3 days 11 hours ago

GOOD MORNING WORLD sometimes I face father sun; other times the amber glow of dawn seeding earth with prayer. In the chill of early day I wrap your essence around my shoulders to cover a heart no longer mine. You disguise yourself as snow falling on my windowsill. I hear you say, "Daughter, be still and listen to the flutter of dragonfly wings, clouds passing by without shadows be still and know who I am jb

Jennifer Brookins, author page

Jennifer Brookins, author page

5 days 11 hours ago

GOOD MORNING WORLD At first I had little interest in spending so much time away from Dera, but I quickly learned its value. Baba Ji wants us to have a better understanding of the ten Sikh Gurus who taught the philosophy of Sant Mat. The construction of the Golden Temple began in 1588 by the fourth Sikh Guru Ram Das, and was completed in 1604 by the fifth Sikh Guru Argan Dev Ji. uru Nanak was the first of ten Gurus, followed by nine others, each appointed by their predecessor. Those great Gurus of past years have stories that legends are made of. Not only were they spiritual giants, but warriors who taught their followers the Mystic way at a dangerous time in Punjabi history. The Golden Temple is regarded as the most sacred place of worship for the Sikh religion. Sikhism has its genesis in Mysticism as do all great world religions. When money, politics, and power corrupt and faith becomes commercialism, the fountainhead of philosophy devolves into religion. It is a sunny cold day in Amritsar as Baba Ji's driver takes us to the entrance of this famous temple open to all regardless of religion, creed, or color. The rules of behavior are explained upon entering. no shoes are allowed for the duration of our visit. We're led to a small pool of water where we must wash our feet. Afterwards, I drop off my cowboy boots beside a long line of shoes waiting to be picked up by their owners. No alcohol, meat, or smoking is allowed inside the shrine. All visitors must cover their heads as a sign of respect. We always do this when we sit before Baba Ji or listen to his satsangs. I wear a white lace scarf Mary always wore when she sat before her Master Charan Singh Ji. The Gurdwara* attendant gives Doug an orange handkerchief to wrap around his head. One rule, however, makes me laugh considering the freezing cold weather. We are told to cover our bodies and not wear shorts. As we enter, there is a feel of humanity in our pilgrimage. The water surrounding the Golden Temple is referred to as a pool of nectar with sacred healing properties. Men bathe in open public areas, women in a private enclosed space. From my perspective it is love and faith that creates such miracles. The Golden Temple is awe-inspiring not so much for its ornate, albeit incredulous architecture made of marble with gold plated exterior, upper floors protected from attack with a dome gilded in 750 kg gold, but for its symbolism. Lord is within all his creation. This makes sense to someone like me who has asked so many questions for so long a time. I’m beginning to understand why Baba Ji arranged this trip. We walk the circumference of the Golden Temple and visit museum rooms where excerpts from holy books are written on scrolls that hang on walls. Who is to say what attracts the…

Jennifer Brookins, author page

Jennifer Brookins, author page

1 week 1 hour ago

I love Lucy but what happened to Lucille Ball? An excerpt from "Tharon Ann" a memoir One morning, I get a call from my agent who tells me that last week, Lucille Ball sent someone to check me out in a play I’m in called Blue Denim. Apparently, she wants me to join the new repertory company she's assembling at Desilu Studios. What a break! Lucille Ball wants to meet me. On the day of my appointment, I'm more than a little nervous about meeting her as I vividly recall the Lucy of my childhood. A week never passed that I didn't watch I love Lucy on our newly acquired television set Uncle Zack won in a poker game. I remember spending the first week just trying to figure out how people could move and talk inside that little box. Meeting a memory in the flesh is no small thing. Waiting here, my thoughts retrogress to the time when Joan Crawford, Aunt Lowee's pet red hen, sat on Uncle Zack's shoulder and never missed an episode of I Love Lucy. That hen was Lucille Ball's biggest fan. I'd love to tell her about Joan Crawford but she'd think I'm stupid, that I'm making up such a crazy story. I'm so nervous waiting here outside her dressing room for my interview, hives are starting to break out on my face. I try reading Daily Variety to calm my nerves. It's hard to believe I'm about to meet Lucille Ball ... my Lucy. Suddenly, I hear a loud, strident voice coming from her dressing room. I've no idea what my expectations are but this couldn’t be Lucy screaming. I'm trying hard to convince myself that no way is this shrill voice coming from the Lucy of my childhood. I'm startled to hear a rough voice scream, "Well, don't stand there like a bump on a log. Get in here!" Is she talking to me? She must be, there's no one here but me. I cautiously walk into her dressing room and stare, not knowing what to say or what not to say. I didn't ask to be here; she invited me. I begin to go back and forth with myself, thinking that surely this voice belongs to someone wearing a Lucy mask. No such luck. She cuts right to the chase, beginning her pitch in a hard voice, that if I sign the contract with Desilu, I’ll get more theatre experience. The carrot she's dangling is the promise of putting her repertory actors in the many sitcoms she and Desi are grinding out at Desilu. This is no big turn on for me, even though she’s already hand picked and signed up quite a few actors. I’m loyal to my heroines but this one is going down fast. My trusting nature, or whatever naivety is left in me, has its heels put to the fire with this encounter. I watch her ultra red lips moving against a mop of freshly dyed fire…

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