La Pregunta Sigue/The Question Continues

La anciana descansaba en la mecedora del porche gozando de las últimas horas de día. Había pasado bien el día con sus hijos, platicando, comiendo, todos limpiando la cocina juntos, riéndose de las idiosincrasias y chistes singulares de los miembros de la familia. Así eran los domingos, divertidos, relajantes, felices.
Pronto se abrió la puerta y salió una niña de siete años que en seguida se subió al regazo de la anciana. Se quedaron así un buen rato meciendo mientras el sol seguía su camino inevitable al oeste.
--¿Abuela?--dijo por fin la niña.

--Sí, querida.

--En el colegio la maestra hizo una pregunta y todos tuvimos que contestarla, pero yo fui la única en la clase que no la contestó. No fue una pregunta de matemáticas o de la geografía, ni nada de eso.

--¿Qué fue la pregunta?

--Qué queremos ser cuando seamos grandes. Dijo que no había respuesta equivocada porque cada persona es distinta en sus deseos y en sus habilidades.

--¿Por qué no la contestaste, mi niña?

La niña empezó a llorar y la anciana la abrazó más fuerte.

--Está bien, querida, llora si quieres, las lágrimas limpian todos los sentimientos tristes.
Entre el lloriqueo la niña siguió,--Es que no sé qué quiero ser, abuelita, cuando sea grande.

--Pues, no tienes que saber todavía, estás muy chiquita para hacer esta decisión. A veces, uno no sabe qué quiere ser hasta mucho más tarde.

--Pero todos los niños sabían porque todos contestaron.

--Eso no quiere decir que los niños saben de verdad lo que quieren ser en el futuro.

--¿Cómo?--preguntó la niña.

--Mira, los niños inventan, imaginan, mienten aun para no parecer extraños en frente de los demás. Todos quieren ser aceptados, quieren ser iguales a los otros niños. Así es, y si muchos niños de la clase contestan la pregunta, pues los otros van a hacer lo mismo, para no ser diferentes.

La niña se quedó callada por un rato, pensando.

--¿Qué le dijiste a la maestra cuando te hizo la pregunta?

--Que no sabía.

--¿Y qué te dijo?

--Está bien, no tienes que saber.

--¿Entonces? ¿Por qué te preocupa que no sabías?

--Fui la única...soy una tonta.

--No, mi niña, no eres una tonta. A veces, uno cree que sabe lo que quiere ser y pasa muchos años haciendo algo que realmente no le conviene porque no sabe qué son sus verdaderos talentos, no ha encontrado su verdadera carrera.

--Tú sabías tu verdadera carrera de pintora, abuela. Me gusta cómo pintas las flores y los pájaros y las nubes y los árboles y todo, todo, todo lo que pintas.

Se rió la anciana. --Uy, si hubieras sabido, mi niña. Yo no empecé a pintar hasta que ya era adulta. Fíjate, cuando yo tenía tu edad quería saber cosas que no podía saber porque no estaba lista. Quería alcanzar a las estrellas, quería saber las respuestas cuando todavía no había hecho las preguntas. Pero tú, mi niña, tú sí haces las preguntas, o por lo menos una pregunta. Tengo una idea. Ven conmigo, vamos al bosque.

Se levantaron y tomadas de la mano fueron al bosque donde estaba el arroyo. Se sentaron en la orilla de las aguas a mirarlas correr.

--Respira profundo,--dijo la anciana, --cierra los ojos, escucha las aguas, piensa en tu pregunta.

--Sí, abuelita,--obedeció la niña.

--Tienes que tener mucha paciencia. Escucha y abre tu corazón.

La niña cerró los ojos bien apretados.

--Abre tu corazón para que la respuesta entre.

La respuesta ya está dentro de ti, pensó la anciana.


THE QUESTION CONTINUES

The old woman was resting in the rocking chair on the porch enjoying the last hours of the day. She had had a good time that day with her children, chatting, eating, everyone cleaning up the kitchen together, laughing at the quirks and special jokes of the family members. That's how Sundays were, fun, relaxing, happy times.

Soon the door opened and out came a seven year old little girl who promptly climbed onto the old woman's lap. They stayed like this for awhile rocking as the sun continued its inevitable journey to the west.

"Grandma?" the little girl finally said.

"Yes, dear."

"In school the teacher asked a question and everyone had to answer it, but I was the only one in the class who didn't answer it. It wasn't a question about arithmatic or geography or anything like that."

"What was the question?"

"What do we want to be when we grow up. She said there was no wrong answer because each person is different in their wants and abilities."

"Why didn't you answer it, my child?"

The little girl started to cry and the old woman hugged her more tightly.

"It's okay, dear, cry if you want to, tears wipe away all sad feelings."

In between snivels the little girl continued, " It's just that I don't know what I want to be, grandma, when I grow up."

"Well, you don't have to know yet, you're very young to be making this decision. Sometimes, no one knows what they want to be until much later."

"But all the kids knew because they all answered."

"That doesn't mean that the kids knew for certain what they want to be in the future."

"What?" asked the little girl.

"Look, kids make up things, they imagine stuff, they lie even so they won't seem weird in front of the others. They all want to be accepted, they want to be the same as the other kids. That's the way it is, and if a lot of the kids in the class answer the question, then the others are going to do the same so as not to be different."

The little girl was silent for a while, thinking.

"What did you tell the teacher when she asked you the question?"

"That I didn't know."

"And what did she say?"

"It's all right, you don't have to know."

"So? Why does it bother you that you don't know?"

"I was the only one...I'm a dummy."

"No, my child, you are not a dummy. Sometimes we think we know what we want to be and we spend many years doing something that we were not meant to do because we don't know what our real talents are, we haven't found our true career."

"You knew your true career as a painter, grandma. I love the way you paint flowers and birds and clouds and trees and EVERYTHING that you paint!"

The old woman laughed. "Oh, if you only knew, my child. I didn't start to paint until I was an adult. Look, when I was your age I wanted to know things that I wasn't able to know because I wasn't ready. I wanted to reach the stars, I wanted to know the answers before I had asked the questions. But you, my child, you are asking the questions, or at least one question. I have an idea. Come with me, let's go to the woods.

They got up and holding hands went to the woods where the stream was. They sat on the banks of the water to watch it run.

"Take a deep breath," the old woman said, "close your eyes, listen to the water, think about your question."

"Yes, grandma." The little girl obeyed.

"You have to be very patient. Listen and open your heart."

The little girl closed her eyes tightly.

"Open your heart so that the answer can come in."

The answer is already inside of you, thought the old woman.

Soy Lorena.
5/28/07

Y la Pregunta es...And the Question is...

La mujer abrió la puerta a la frescura del atardecer. Todavía brillaba el sol en el oeste y ella quería estar afuera mientras anochecía, sin estar apresurada por las tareas que no había terminado. Respiró profundo y se sentó en la silla del porche. Los eventos del día le llegaron a la mente despiadadamente, recordándola de las llamadas telefónicas de larga distancia que había hecho, los correos electrónicos que había contestado, las cartas urgentes que tenía que escribir, los mensajes de su celular sin contestar, el almuerzo con su jefe cuando por accidente tiró un vaso de agua sobre los papeles y le tocó reimprimirlos cuando regresaron a la oficina.
Estaba cansada. Quería escuchar los pájaros cantar pero su mente no la dejaba, tan llena de los quehaceres de mañana. Le decía --mañana no te olvides a...acuérdate de...y después tienes que...
¿Por qué tanto trabajo? ¿Por qué tanto estrés? Trató de dejar su mente andar por una temporada más tranquila, una temporada cuando la vida no iba tan rápida, tan apurada, cuando le daba tiempo de pensar en un futuro placentero, tiempo de pasear por el bosque...--el bosque, hace años que no camino en el bosque,--pensó. --Ahora no hay tiempo, parece que no hay tiempo para nada bonito y tranquilo.
Su mente repasaba las escenas del día como película del cine pero sin sacar los descartes. El verdadero mundo. Es un buen trabajo, le dijeron sus amigos de la universidad, no a todos nos ofrecen un puesto así al terminar los estudios. Hay que aprovecharlo. Pues, lo aprovechó. Siete años después se sentía agotada.
El olor de las lilas le llamó de repente y quitándose los zapatos se levantó a caminar descalza en el pasto, a sentir la tierra bajo sus pies, a disfrutar de la tierra firme, tibia, a dejarla absorber sus preocupaciones por un momento. --O, Tierra, pensó, sé que soy parte de ti, te necesito para vivir, me das alimento, quiero que me llenes de paz, pero algo me falta. Siento demasiado separada de ti, vivo una vida lejos de ti, mi Tierra, lejos de tus bosques, del calor de tus brisas, de las aguas de tus arroyos serpentinos. No sé qué hacer.
Regresó al porche y se sentó en la silla de nuevo con un suspiro. Cerró los ojos y pronto se durmió. Empezó a soñar. Soñó que estaba flotando en el aire cerca de las nubes. Al principio le daba miedo, pero se dio cuenta que no se iba a caer porque había algo sosteniéndola. Eran alas blancas, alas grandes, enormes, no solamente alas, sino eran ángeles, bellos ángeles con alas suaves y fuertes y reconfortantes. La sensación de flotar duró poco tiempo. De repente se encontró en tierra firme. Los ángeles ya no estaban. Sintió algo extraño en el pecho y cuando miró, vio que se abría como cascarón de huevo. Salió una paloma blanca y se fue volando arriba. Después salió otra paloma y otra y otra y seguían saliendo mientras ella veía todo esto como si fuera lo más normal. Entonces, unas flores empezaron a salir de su pecho, flores de todos colores, toda clase de flores, rosas, tulipanes, lilias, narcisos. Durante este fenómeno, ella se sonreía adivinando que más le iba a salir del pecho, o tal vez de su corazón. Luego salieron unos corazoncitos rojos y unos cupidos volando en frente de sus ojos y eso le dio mucha risa. Se reía muchísimo cuando se despertó con la risa todavía en el cuerpo.

Era de noche y la primera estrella ya había salido.

--¿Qué debo hacer?--preguntó al cielo.

AND THE QUESTION IS...

The woman opened the door to the freshness of the afternoon. The sun was still shining in the west and she wanted to be outside while it got dark, without being pressured by errands she had not finished. She breathed deeply and sat down in the chair on the porch. The events of the day came into her mind mercilessly, reminding her of the long distance telephone calls she had made, the emails that she had answered, the urgent letters that she had to write, the cell phone messages she hadn't responded to, the lunch with her boss when she accidentally knocked over a glass of water on the papers which she then had to reprint once they got back to the office.
She was tired. She wanted to listen to the birds sing, but her mind wouldn't let her, so full it was of what needed to be done tomorrow. It would tell her "Tomorrow, don't forget to...remember to do...and then you have to..." Why so much work? Why so much stress? She tried to allow her mind to wander to a quieter time, a time when life was not so hectic, so rushed, when she had time to think about a pleasant future, time to walk in the woods..."The woods, I haven't walked in the woods for years," she thought. "Now, there's no time, it seems like there's no time for anything beautiful and soothing."
Her mind reviewed the scenes from the day like a movie that had not deleted the out-takes. The real world. It's a good job her friends from college had told her, not everyone is offered a position right when you finish your studies. You should take advantage of the opportunity. So, she took advantage of it. Seven years later she felt drained.
She noticed the scent of the lilacs suddenly and taking off her shoes got up to walk barefoot on the grass, to feel the earth beneath her feet, to enjoy the firm, warm ground, to let it absorb her worries for a moment. "Oh, Earth," she thought, "I know I am part of you, I need you to live, you feed me, I want you to fill me with peace, but something's missing. I feel too separate from you, I am living a life far from you, my Earth, far from your woods, from the warmth of your breezes, from the waters of your twisting streams. I don't know what to do."
She went back to the porch and sat down on the chair again with a sigh. She closed her eyes and soon was asleep. She began to dream. She dreamed that she was floating in the air near the clouds. At first she was afraid, but then she realized that she was not going to fall because something was holding her up. It was white wings, big wings, enormous, not just wings but there were angels, beautiful angels with soft, strong and comforting wings. The sensation of floating only lasted a short time. Suddenly she found herself on solid ground. The angels were no longer there. She felt something strange in her chest and when she looked, she saw that it was opening up like the shell of an egg. A white dove emerged and flew away up high. Then another white dove emerged and another and another and they kept on emerging while she watched all of this as if it were the most normal thing. Then flowers began to come out of her chest, flowers of every color, all kinds of flowers, roses, tulips, lilies, daffodils. During this phenomenon she was smiling and guessing what else would emerge from her chest, or maybe it was from her heart. Finally, little red hearts emerged and cupids flying in front of her eyes and that was very funny. She laughed and laughed and was still laughing when she woke up with the laugher still in her body.
It was nighttime and the first star had appeared.

"What should I do?" she asked the sky.

Soy Lorena.
5/26/07

¿Dónde está la Respuesta? Where is the Answer?

La niña abrió la puerta y salió corriendo a saltar en el pasto. Hacía sol y miró arriba a ver las nubes pasar.
--O, nubes,--dijo de repente, --¿Dónde está la respuesta? Pero las nubes siguieron su camino del oeste al este sin decir ni una palabra a la niña. Parecían pinceladas blancas contra el azul del cielo. A veces las nubes eran elefantes bailando o hipopótamos besándose o ángeles volando o lobos feroces o perros ladrando mudo. A veces las nubes eran simplemente nubes que pasaban sin despedirse aun. Cuando la niña no recibió respuesta de las nubes, decidió ir al bosque a preguntar al arroyo.
--Arroyo, lindo arroyo, ¿dónde está la respuesta? El arroyo tenía mucha prisa ese día y seguía corriendo rápido como si tuviera una cita mucho muy importante que no podía perder. La niña se sentó un rato en la orilla del arroyo a ver si las aguas aceleradas cambiarían de opinion para decirle dónde está la respuesta. Pero no dijeron nada. La niña echó una rama pequeña al agua y la miró flotar hacia el estanque. Entonces, se paró y la siguió hasta que la vio llegar en medio del estanque donde las aguas estaban más tranquilas.
--Estanque,--susurró la niña, --dime, por favor, ¿dónde está la respuesta? Las aguas del estanque casi no se movían, brillaban con los rayos del sol que destellaban encima creando ondas de luz. Pero el estanque no quiso decirle nada a la niña. Sin perder el ánimo, la niña pensó en preguntar los árboles. Los árboles son grandes, son viejos, tienen mucha sabiduría, deben de saber, tienen que saber, pensó.
La niña se acercó a un grupo de árboles impresionantes. Se paró bien derechita y en voz alta y fuerte dijo, --O, árboles majestuosos y sabios, les ruego que me digan ¿dónde está la respuesta? Esperó un buen rato con los ojos cerrados para que pudiera escuchar mejor. Nada más oyó las hojas susurrar en la brisa.
Con el corazón medio roto, salió del bosque y se sentó allá en el sol. Ahora sí perdió el ánimo. Empezó a llorar. Las lágrimas salieron sin querer, muchas y fuertes como las aguas del arroyo y no las pudo parar por mucho tiempo. Cuando ya creía que todo el agua de su cuerpo se había acabado y su cuerpo estaba cansado de tanto llanto, se acostó en el pasto tibio dejando su cara frente al sol para que los rayos le secaran sus lágrimas. Se durmió.

Cuando se despertó, se dio cuenta que algo había cambiado. Se frotó los ojos. Llegó el aire y murmuró en su oído,--antes de encontrar la respuesta, tienes que hacer la pregunta.

WHERE IS THE ANSWER?

The little girl opened the door and rushed outside to skip on the grass. It was sunny out and she looked up to the clouds pass by.
"Oh, clouds," she said suddenly, "where is the answer?" But the clouds continued on their way from the west to the east without saying a single word to the little girl. They looked like white brush strokes against the blue of the sky. Sometimes the clouds were dancing elephants or hipopotami kissing each other or flying angels or fierce wolves or mute barking dogs. Sometimes the clouds were just clouds that passed by without even saying goodbye. When the little girl did not get an answer from the clouds, she decided to go to the woods to ask the stream.
"Stream, beautiful stream, where is the answer?" The stream was in a big hurry that day and kept on rushing as if it had an extremely important meeting to attend that it could not miss. The little girl sat down on the banks of the stream to see if the waters would change their mind and tell her where the answer is. But they refused to tell her anything. The little girl threw a small branch into the water and watched it float toward the pond. Then she stood up and followed it until she saw it get to the middle of the pond where the water was calmer.
"Pond," whispered the little girl. "Tell me please, where is the answer?" The waters of the pond hardly moved at all, the rays of the sun shining and sparkling on top creating ripples of light. But the pond had nothing to say to the little girl. Without losing hope, the little girl thought to ask the trees. The trees are big, old, have much wisdom, they should know, they have to know, she thought.
The little girl walked up to a group of impressive looking trees. She stood very straight and in a loud and strong voice said, "Oh, majestic and wise trees, I beg you to tell me where the answer is. She waited a good long while with her eyes closed so she could listen better. She only heard the rustle of the leaves in the wind.
She left the woods to go back to the grass once again and sat down in the sun. Now she was discouraged. She started to cry. Her tears came on their own, hard and fast like the waters of the stream and she couldn't stop crying for a long time. When finally she felt like every drop of water in her body had been dried up and her body was tired from so much sobbing, she lay down on the warm grass letting her face be toward the sun so the sun's rays could dry her tears. She slept.

When she awoke she noticed that something had changed. She rubbed her eyes. The air murmured in her ear, "Before you can find the answer, you must ask the question."


Soy Lorena.
5/22/07

Where does the mind reside?

¿Dónde reside la mente? ¿En la cabeza? ¿En el aire? ¿En el ciberespacio? Tal vez en otro planeta. I see you raising your eyebrows. Levantas las cejas. Now she's gone off the deep end, you must be thinking. (Am I losing my mind?) "The mind, you say? Why, it's right here, inside of me...well, not exactly inside, but it is a part of me, I think, ¿no es cierto? La mente es una parte de mí." Part of you, what part of you? Oh, you can get very complicated thinking about this.
Let's look at it from another angle. Let's think about thoughts. Where do thoughts come from? Do they originate in the mind? Does the mind really create those thoughts or do they merely come from "somewhere else" and just filter down through the mind? Who thinks your thoughts? ¿Quién piensa tus pensamientos? ¿Los piensas tú? ¿Quién eres tú? Who is this "you" person? Who is the REAL YOU inside this body you carry around?

Maybe it's better to think about what the mind can do. It can:

imagine, create, invent, narrate, worry, create problems, solve problems, dream, go to faraway places, forget, remember, skip from one idea to another, be at peace, make up a story, fictionalize one's own life, assume things that may or may not be true, believe things that may or may not be true, wreck havoc on the body, soothe the soul, and maybe....

become enlightened. (I'm not so sure it's the mind that becomes enlightened, though, but when one has a realization, the mind naturally follows along and somehow figures out how to put it into words).

¿Pienso en palabras o pienso en imágenes? Más imágenes que palabras.

¿Por qué tantas preguntas? Why so many questions? What is the point of this? Las preguntas te llevan a las respuestas tuyas, no a las respuestas de otras personas, te llevan a tus propias respuestas...quizás. Es curioso. A veces pienso que la mente está flotando suelta en el universo. Teo está callado unos momentos pensando. Abro la boca y digo exactamente lo que él estaba pensando o estoy pensando yo y Teo abre la boca y dice exactamente lo que estaba pensando yo. Ha pasado varias veces. Entonces, ¿los pensamientos andan sueltos en el aire y uno los capta? ¿O de casualidad se caen en la mente del otro?

Los dejo con las preguntas flotando en el ciberespacio....a ver dónde terminan.

That's all, folks.

Soy Lorena.
5/18/07

Our Neighbor's Grass

Our neighbor's grass is lush and thick and a deep shade of green. It emerges from winter as if the snow and ice never happened, as if an invisible blanket has been lifted to reveal a perfect carpet of green underneath ready to show itself all shiny and new, fresh and firm.
Our grass is thin, straggly and uneven in color. It shows the ravages of winter as if proud of its scars, brown patches, patches with no grass at all even, weedy, rough, dull and soft in places.
(It also has lots of anthills).

El pasto de nuestro vecino es lujoso y grueso y de un matiz de verde oscuro. Sale del invierno como si la nieve y el hielo nunca hubiera pasado, como si una cobija invisible se hubiese levantado para mostrar una alfombra perfecta de verde abajo, listo a revelarse brillante, nuevo, fresco y firme.
Nuestro pasto es poco denso, desordenado y disparejo de color. Enseña los estragos del invierno como si fuera orgulloso de sus cicatrices, sus áreas cafés, sus áreas sin nada de pasto, cubierto de malas hierbas, la tierra desigual en partes, deslustrado.

Our neighbor's grass is the same color from one end of the yard to the other. Our grass has many colors, ranging from light green to dark green to brown, to tan, to just plain dingy. Our neighbor's grass wouldn't dare be anything but uniform. Our grass is bold, diverse, sharing space with many kinds of growth.

El pasto de nuestro vecino es del mismo color de un lado al otro. Nuestro pasto tiene muchos colores, desde un verde claro hasta un verde oscuro, a color café, a café claro, a simplemente un color sucio. El pasto de nuestro vecino no se atrevería a ser nada más que uniforme. Nuestro pasto es atrevido, diverso, compartiendo el espacio con muchas variedades de plantas.

We have dandelions, crab grass, clover, yellow wildflowers, white wildflowers, purple wildflowers, buttercups and many varieties of weeds. They all live together in perfect harmony. Our neighbor's grass has no rocks or stones in it. It is soft to the feet. Our grass is home to many kinds of pebbles, rocks and even pieces of gravel from the driveway thrown by the snow plow. Your feet will be toughened by walking on our grass.

Tenemos dientes de león, hierba rastrera, trébol, flores silvestres amarillas, blancas y moradas, botones de oro y una mezcla de hierbas malas. Todos viven en una harmonía perfecta. El pasto de nuestro vecino no tiene piedras. Es suave para los pies. Nuestro pasto es hogar de muchas clases de piedras, piedrecitas, rocas y aun los pedacitos de grava de la entrada de la casa echados por la pala de nieve. Tus pies se pondrían fuertes cuando caminas en nuestro pasto.

Our neighbor's grass is kept in line by chemical sprays and frequent watering with a hose. Our grass is organic and watered by the rain.

El pasto de nuestro vecino se mantiene por las químicas y regándolo frecuentemente con la manguera. Nuesto pasto es natural y regado por la lluvia.

A veces vienen conejos, ciervos, víboras, marmótas de América, zorras y sapos a nuestro pasto.
Sometimes rabbits, deer, snakes, woodchucks, foxes and toads come to our grass.

I have no complaint about our neighbor's grass. It is beautiful. I can find no fault with it, but I would not change our grass one tiny bit. Our grass is interesting and constantly amazes me by the new things that grow there. I watch the dandelion seeds blow through the air searching for a new and friendly place to land. Yes, that's it. Our grass is friendly, welcoming each new form of plantlife, as it to say, "Come on down, settle in, make yourself at home, show yourself, show us your beautiful diverse self. Here are your new friends."

No me quejo del pasto de nuestro vecino. Es lindo. No veo nada mal en él, pero no cambiaría nuestro pasto ni pizca. Nuestro pasto es interesante, y me pasma constantemente por sus plantas nuevas que crecen allí. Veo las semillas de los dientes de león soplar por el aire buscando un lugar nuevo y amistoso para aterrizarse. Sí, eso es. Nuestro pasto es amistoso, dando la bienvenida a cada clase de planta, como si dijera "Vénganse, establécense, esta es su casa, muéstrense, muestren su diverso y bello ser. Aquí somos sus amigos nuevos."

And so I run on our grass, I dance on it, sometimes barefooted, sometimes in my sneakers. It supports me, it doesn't complain. I can't hurt it. It's solid and strong.

Entonces, corro en nuestro pasto, bailo encima de él, a veces descalza, a veces con mis tenis puestos. Me aguanta, no se queja, no puedo dañarlo. Es fuerte y sólido.

I love our grass. Me encanta...just the way it is, exactamente como es.

I want to be like our grass.

Quiero ser como nuestro pasto.

Soy Lorena.
5/15/07

Día de las Madres--Mother's Day, 2007

Oh, Mother, you are not here and I feel like an orphan. My center has been torn from me and the silence of your absence surrounds me. What was once so real is now a memory and seems so far away like a dream...a dream I once had.

Dolorosa ausencia

Madrecita mía,

que triste es saberte ausente,

saber que te tuve y ahora

ya tú no estás presente.

Tratando de sentirte cerca,

mi mente se pierde en recuerdos

de aquellos bellos momentos

por sentirte cerca,

y es así que recuerdo

cuando corría a tus brazos

cuando me aquejaba una pena

y hallaba en tu regazo

consuelo para mi tristeza.

Recuerdo como con obsequio

en mano hecho con cariño

tan solo para ti,

solía decirte feliz día mamá

y hoy que llega ese día

a quien brindarle mi alegría.

Si saberte ausente me roba

las sonrisas,

y mis ojos se inundan

al ver la dicha

de otros niños

que van en brazos de su madre,

y lloro tu ausencia

al saber que tus brazos

ya no han de acogerme.

Madrecita mía

en cada escena de mis sueños

tú siempre estás presente

y aunque sé

que ya no puedo verte,

sé que desde el cielo

tú has de verme y cual

ángel de la guarda

tú has de cuidarme

madrecita mía.

Mirando al cielo,

hoy te digo

feliz día.

Colaboración de Frichs Gabino Condori Monzon
Perú

I will not try to translate this poem here, but rather let it be in its most beautiful language.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL MOTHERS NEAR AND FAR.

Soy Lorena.

5/13/07

La Vida Sigue

And life goes on. On May 6th, around 11am EDT, Miriam moved on into the next phase of her journey. We, the survivors, los sobrevivientes, cried and mourned our loss. I say "our loss" because we are the ones who will miss her, who will now live without those deep and special conversations we used to have with her, who will want to call her up on the phone only to remember that she is no longer there, or here, and it feels strange.
La tristeza viene como olas pegando la orilla del mar. Vienen y se van...vienen y se van. Hay momentos cuando uno se olvida y después se acuerda otra vez. Hay momentos cuando uno no puede creer que ya no está y que jamás estará...y entonces, otras personas ya idas regresan a la memoria a dejar su huella de nuevo. Dicen acuérdate de mí, todavía existo, y recordamos una y otra vez. Esto es el principio, porque no somos tan jóvenes y nos va a tocar ver más gente desaparecer de nuestra vida.
Okay, so that's the way it is on this planet at this time in this space. Again I go back to the idea that I have to simply accept what is, especially when I do not have the power to change it. Is that what I'm doing when I mourn? Am I accepting or learning to accept? I try these days not to resist any feeling, to let my feelings be whatever they choose to be, to sit with them, to give them their own space without judgment and somehow that leads me to acceptance and once I can accept what IS, then I begin to see how there is nothing wrong with what IS, in fact, it's okay, it's more than okay, it's THE WAY IT IS AND IT'S PERFECT!!

That's a big statement I know and I wish I had better words to explain this perfection, but it's not about comparing. It's not about judging, it's beyond all that. It's like recognizing that an orange is perfect and a pear is perfect and they can't be compared. Each is different and each is perfect in its own way.

That's about all I can say today.

Life goes on.

La vida sigue.

Así es.

Es perfecto.

Soy Lorena.
5/12/07

Namaste

Namaste, a Hindu greeting that means "I honor the place in you in which the entire Universe dwells. I honor the place in you which is of Love, of Truth, of Light and of Peace; when you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, we are One."

Namasté--Yo honro el lugar dentro de ti donde el Universo entero reside. Yo honro el lugar dentro de ti de amor y luz, de verdad y paz. Yo honro el lugar dentro de ti donde cuando tú estás en ese punto tuyo, y yo estoy en ese punto mío, somos sólo Uno.

Ted's mother is dying. We are all dying in some way, we are living and dying. Our spirit is living, our body is dying and that's the way it is on this planet in this moment and in this place. A few years ago I told her that she was so special to me that she would be a hard person to lose. She was surprised by this comment and pleased at the same time, I could tell. I didn't say it to please her, I really meant it...and now that we are losing her I'm feeling that loss, that loss of a person who was so present in Life, who was so connected to people and to everything around her, who had a deep love of poetry and great literature, who understood history and its influence on today's affairs, who could talk your ear off about anything, ANYTHING, who was knowledgeable about almost everything...yes, a very special person. Miriam was/is a great uniter of people. Even in these difficult times she has pulled the family together. We are coming together and connecting in ways we never could have imagined. I think we have all gone a little deeper into ourselves to look for strength, connection and support. Maybe we are realizing that we have each other, because of Miriam, we have each other and we can lean on each other together to help us get through this time of transition.

Each one of us has a unique relationship with her. That was one thing she did really well, create a special relationship with each person in her life. She took an interest in what I was interested in, she asked me questions, she encouraged me in my creative work, she remembered everything I ever said and reminded me of things I had completely forgotten about.

Namaste seems a fitting greeting at this time, a time to stop and think about honoring each other. Deepak Chopra says it more succintly, but still beautifully, "I honor the Spirit in you which is also in me."

So I send this greeting to Miriam and to all her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, step-children, friends, people who know and love her, and to the Universe.

NAMASTE.

Soy Lorena.
5/6/07

Silence is an answer too

Meditating on the trees I come to realize that silence can say so much. No dicen nada, los árboles pero me hablan, su silencio es profundo, como el silencio que existe en el mundo en varias formas, y hay que darle la bienvenida. Silence has a right to be here, the same as birth, death, joy and pain. Everything is here, everything has a right to be here and it's okay to feel everything right down to your bones, hasta los huesos, because then it becomes easy to accept "what is," aceptar lo que haya, lo que exista.

So it hits me all of a sudden as I am leaving the house this morning and I remember what Ram Dass said about welcoming all feelings, all experience..."come in, sit down, have tea." Of course, I get it now, if I can welcome even my pain, I can understand its place in my life, not fear it, know that I can feel it because I am alive, I am here, I exist. Then I realized that everything is perfect, just like Don Miguel said--"EVERYTHING IS PERFECT" and the tears burst forth because for the first time I could see the beauty in everything and understand that it just IS, there is no judgment, things just ARE, y lloré porque pude ver la belleza en todo el universo, pude ver la perfección en todo, en el nacimiento, en el crecimiento, en la muerte, en el cuerpo cuando va cambiando día tras día, en los ojos de mis seres queridos, en el cielo azul o en el cielo gris, en la luna llena o en la luna escondida, en el sol de la mañana o en el sol al final del día, en todo todo todo.

My trees, my beautiful trees are speaking to me through their silence, through their moving into Spring, through the breeze that caresses their tender leaves and I just need to look for the spaces that exist between the words, find the silence that creates the space I live in, the silence that is rich, the silence that can speak volumes, the silence that takes me to a deeper place, the silence that leads me to understanding and acceptance of everything exactly as it is.

My questions float out into the universe, hang in the atmosphere unanswered until I listen to the silence and let the silence pervade my consciousness, feel what the silence has to tell me, allow it to trickle in, welcome it.

Entonces, el Universo me contesta con silencio, y sí es una respuesta, it is not a non answer, y me toca averiguar qué quiere decir con su silencio, qué me está diciendo y cómo voy a responder.

Soy Lorena.
5/3/07

¿Qué he aprendido hoy?

What have I learned today? What have I figured out about myself that I didn't know before?

Fui a dar una vuelta en el bosque con mi ipod escuchando una música de piano que me anima a correr y bailar. Me fijé en los árboles y me di cuenta que no soy como los árboles, porque son fijos, se quedan en un solo lugar mientras yo ando por muchos lados, pero de todas maneras son parte de mí, no puedo vivir sin ellos. Tienen la paciencia de Job, esperan el clima bueno para sacar sus hojas de nuevo. Parecen tranquilos durante los cambios de estaciones, parecen que no hacen nada, simplemente esperan. But things are never what they appear to be. Deep inside the trees are very busy, preparing for summer, digging their roots deeper into the earth, dropping their seeds to create new life or to provide food for birds and squirrels and chipmunks.

Already insects have hatched and are flying around trying to get into my eyes. Back in the house I found two ticks crawling on me, dos garrapatas, qué atrevidas, and suddenly I became afraid of getting Lyme disease and jumped into the shower taking care to scrub every inch of my body.

Getting back to the trees...they are doing what they must, y yo? me? Am I doing what "I must?" What must I do? Well, I know what I want to do, how my creativity takes me to new places, but I cannot wait like the trees. I can't just stand still and let the sun rise and set on me. I must move, I must make things happen because they will not happen by themselves. And so I go along trying to figure out how to bring my creativity to fruition. It's not easy...I'm not alone in this. Like the trees I depend on others to help me keep this alive, to help me drop my "seeds", my "seeds" for food, for teaching, for growing, for learning...and for fun too.

Entonces, ¿cómo le hago? ¿Qué debo hacer para sacar adelante mi creatividad, cumplir con mis proyectos, dispersar mis semillas al universo? A veces el Universo me presenta opciones, a veces no. It's up to me I know, but how many questions must I ask? How many times should I ask the Universe for help...and when the help seems to come, how do I know I should really pursue this? If I do pursue it, how do I make it happen? What is the magic key, word, action?

Son muchas preguntas, yo sé, voy a ponerme a meditar, a estudiar mis lindos árboles, a caminar afuera, a sentir el aire y la tierra bajo mis pies, a ver si me vienen las respuestas, o la respuesta, a los mejor hay sólo una...no sé, pero tengo mucha confianza en el Universo. I trust the Universe completely. It has brought me this far.

I know it will not fail me.

Soy Lorena.
5/1/07