The Owl is Witness: ZEN

Some songs don’t just sound beautiful — they feel like something, like magic, or better, like Zen. “Zen” by Jennie isn’t just another track to me. It speaks to the part of me that wanders through thought spirals deeper than casual conversations, to that side of myself that finds comfort in tuning into subtler frequencies, tracing the threads — of the universe, of the self, of perception itself.

When I’m in that space, alone or in rare company that "gets" it, I talk about… a lot, honestly — how explaining something can sometimes take away the essence of its magic, but not explaining it can feel like a silent scream. The tension between being understood and being true. That line — ‘I'm what you think about me’ — is her way of saying: believe what you will, she’s not here to correct or convince; Zen embraces this effortlessly — balancing soft strength, presence and mystery, power and peace. I do want to keep away from saying this but a perfect blend of feminine energy.

And then — "Present. Bless." Two words. No frills. No long verses. And yet in those brief, glowing moments, she captures the very essence of bliss. Presence — being here, fully. Bless — gratitude for that presence, and the choice to change your now into a different future. That’s the power of awareness. Of simply being.

Then comes the line — ‘Money can’t buy sixth sense. That line is already profound. But when I first heard it, I thought she said “money can’t buy six cents” — and the irony of that struck me,i t was almost funny in its cleverness. But now, knowing it’s “sixth sense” and not “six cents”, it hits even deeper. Material success can give you many things, but it can’t grant you the sensitivity to feel beyond the surface, to sense energy, intention, alignment. That’s something deeper. Intangible. And it’s not about vilifying wealth — being rich is awesome. But having that sixth sense too? That’s cooler. That’s real power. That’s rare.

There are songs that sound nice, and then there are songs that resonate. This one — it aligned.

“Nobody gon' move my soul, gon' move my aura, my matter.” That line alone felt like a mantra. It reminded me that authenticity isn’t about trying to stand out — it’s about standing true, and in doing so, naturally pulling in energies that are aligned with you. There’s a gravitational pull in this universe, and “Zen” is just about that. (More than that actually)

Every beat, every lyric spirals inward. When she says "I tell 'em down," and they kneel — I didn’t see it as her telling her haters off. I see it as her commanding her own inner chaos. The anxious thoughts. The shadows that whisper doubt. The heavy energies that sometimes surround us — maybe even come from us. She doesn't give them power. She makes them kneel. That’s strength. That’s self-awareness. That’s Zen.

And then “Shoo shoo shoo I make them scatter” — it’s like a cleansing ritual. She owns her mind, her energy, her presence. “They can’t move my matter” — it hits like a spiritual truth. Like she knows that no matter what tries to pull her down, she owns her power, her aura, her matter. A boundary. A reminder that external chaos has no power unless we give it permission.

The way she says “fire aura, quiets chatter” — that’s the exact energy that resonates with me. That quiet confidence. That grounded knowing. She doesn’t need to be loud to be heard. She doesn't beg to be seen. She simply is, and that isness challenges everything that tries to shake her. She knows the world doesn’t truly know her — not her full potential, not her path — and instead of proving herself, she dares. Dares the world to try, knowing they can’t match what they can’t understand.

And then there’s "I dare you" — underscored by the rhythmic echo of her voice in the background. She tilts her head gently, and with each tilt, her costume shifts. A visual so loaded. To me, that movement speaks volumes. It’s a reminder that we are not one label, not one costume, not one appearance. That you can’t reduce someone to a name, a title, a role. We shift. We evolve. We carry multitudes. Jennie embodies that fluidity — the ease with which she transforms isn't performance, it’s a quiet rebellion against the world's urge to box us in.

The way her head tilts from side to side, almost like she’s moving through dimensions of herself — it felt like a metaphor for identity itself: layered, complex, unbound. Her expression never begs for attention; it invites observation. Not to define her — but to recognize that maybe we’re not meant to be defined at all. Just witnessed.

Yet even in her power, she shows her human side — “chains on chains on chains” — the pressure, the expectations. She acknowledges it all. Carries it. Wears it. But never lets it define her. Because at the end of the day, she still says, “no one can move my soul, my aura, my matter.” That kind of inner strength is rare — it’s not resistance, it’s resilience.

Then comes the element of rain, and the blooming lotus — and “in the dark, I grew.” That moment. That line. It brought everything full circle. Growing in silence. Blooming when no one’s looking. It felt like a mirror. A quiet nod to every version of myself that’s ever kept going in the dark. And when she freezes the raindrops mid-air in the MV — I saw it as the visual metaphor for mental strength so powerful, it bends time. It stills chaos. It chooses focus.

From the lotus to the rain to the midnight bloom — I couldn’t help but draw parallels to the Sahasrara Chakra. A thousand-petaled lotus. The crown. The seat of higher consciousness. Maybe it’s a coincidence. But maybe that’s the beauty of art — it speaks in symbols to those ready to receive them. And Zen speaks. Deeply.

It’s more than just a song title. It’s a state of being. A journey inward. A celebration of resilience, truth, transformation, and identity. A reminder that even in stillness, you can be unshakably powerful.

And that final line — “Can’t be two of one.” To me, it declares the essence of Jennie Ruby Jane. Singular. Irreplaceable. Someone who doesn’t just ask for space — she creates it. Naturally. Boldly. Softly.

As someone who has admired her quiet confidence, her unapologetic self, and the calm fire she carries — Ruby feels like a reflection of all she’s held back until now. It’s not loud for attention — it’s loud in truth. It’s a moment. It’s her. And for people like me, who speak in metaphors and feel in energies — it felt like a familiar frequency — not new, just true.

And before I close, there’s one more thing that’s been on my mind: the owl.

It appears in the MV, calmly perched, watching — and I can’t shake the feeling that it means something. Owls are often seen as symbols of wisdom, mystery, and intuition. In some cultures, they’re guardians of the night. In others, messengers. But I wonder — in this context, in Jennie’s story — what does it represent to you?

I’d genuinely love to know what you think. What do you feel the owl signifies in the “Zen” music video?