El Pequeño Petirrojo/ The Little Robin

Pasó la primavera, llegó el verano y Alón creció más alto, poco a poco iba creciendo mientras Julio y Abril lo miraban con orgullo. Le creció otra hoja como le había dicho la hormiga, de hecho le crecieron muchas hojas lindas de un color verde oscuro y brillante. El pequeño Alón empezó a sentir lo que es vivir en la Tierra. Sentía el sol darle calor a sus hojas como un abrazo, sentía la lluvia a veces suave como las caricias, a veces fuerte como un regaño y sentía sus raices estirarse hacia abajo profundo, profundo, profundo y todo lo que sentía le daba gusto. Era fuerte y orgulloso de estar vivo en este planeta en este momento.

--Julio,--dijo Abril un día, --¿Te diste cuenta del nido con tres huevos que está en mis ramas?

--Ah, sí, la mamá es un petirrojo, ¿verdad?

--Creo que sí. Pues, uno de los huevos está por romper el cascarón. Se mueve mucho.

--Así es, Abril, es natural.

--Sí, pero presiento algo, Julio, se me hace que este pajarito va a salir demasiado agresivo y presiento lo peor.

--No te preocupes, Abril, allá está su mamá para cuidarlo.

--Son traviesos, esos pajaritos, vas a ver. Tan pronto que se va la mamá a buscar comida es cuando salen del huevo y se van.

--A lo mejor tienes razón, pero ¿qué podemos hacer? Estamos aquí para amparar a las criaturas y de eso, somos buenos, ¿no es cierto, Abril?

--Sí, Julio, --suspiró Abril y se calló.

Entretanto, Alón gozaba del aire fresco y del calor del sol cuando de repente algo duro se le cayó encima y terminó en el suelo a su pequeño tronco. Era un pedacito de un cascarón azul, pero Alón no había visto un cascarón y lo miraba con curiosidad cuando algo aun más pesado se le cayó encima también para terminar en el suelo.

Uf, pensó Alón, esto no es lluvia. ¿Qué será?

Vio lo que parecía una bola negra al principio, pero en seguida empezó a cambiar de forma, estirando sus “brazos” a los lados y abriendo la boca para hacer pio, pio.

--¿Qué pasó? ¿Quién eres?-- preguntó Alón.

--Ay, me caí del nido. No sé quien soy. Bueno, creo que soy un pájaro y debo saber volar, pero no me sirven las alas, están muy pegajosas y no puedo volar.

--Ah, sí,--dijo Alón, --ahora sé, he visto muchos pájaros volar en el cielo y pararse un rato en las ramas de mi padre.

--¿Padre? Yo nada más tengo madre pero no tengo padre.

Alón le iba a preguntar por qué no tenía padre cuando tronó de repente y comenzó una lluvia bien fuerte.

--¡Tengo frío! –gritó el pajarito. --¡Ay, ay, ay!

--Acércate más a mi tronco y te cubro con mis hojas—dijo Alón. –Estarás protegido.

Entonces, el pajarito recien caído del nido se le acercó al pequeño tronco de Alón y allá se calentó y la lluvia no podía mojarlo.

(Continuará)

The Little Robin


Spring ended, summer came and Alon grew taller; little by little he was growing while Julius and April watched him with pride. He grew another leaf like the ant had told him, in fact he grew many beautiful leaves of a deep and shiny green. Little Alon began to feel what it means to live on the Earth. He felt the sun warming his leaves like an embrace, he felt the rain sometimes soft like caresses, sometimes strong like a scolding and he felt his roots stretching themselves downward deep, deep, deep and all of this brought him great pleasure. He was strong and proud to be alive on this planet in this moment.
“Julius,” said April one day, “ Have you noticed the nest with three eggs in it on my branches?”

“Oh, yes, the mother is a robin, isn’t she?”

“I think so. Well, one of the eggs is about to hatch. It’s moving a lot.”

“That’s the way it is, April, it’s natural.”

“Yes, but I sense something, Julius, it seems to me that this little bird is too aggressive and I fear the worst.”

“Don’t worry, April, his mother is there to take care of him.”

“These little birds are mischievous, you’ll see. As soon as the mother leaves to get food is when they break out of their shell and fly off.”

“You’re probably right, but what can we do? We are here to shelter the creatures and we are good at that, don’t you think, April?”

“Yes, Julius, “ April sighed and became quiet.

Meanwhile, Alon was enjoying the fresh air and warmth of the sun when suddenly something hard fell on him and ended up on the ground at his small trunk. It was a little piece of a blue egg shell but Alon had never seen an egg shell and he was looking at it with curiosity when something even heavier fell on him and also ended up on the ground.

Yikes, thought Alon, this isn’t rain. What could it be?

He saw what appeared to be a black ball at first, but right away it started to change shape, stretching out its “arms” to each side and opening its mouth to say cheep, cheep.

“What happened? Who are you?” asked Alon.

“Oh, I fell from the nest. I don’t know who I am. Well, I think I’m a bird and I should know how to fly, but my wings don’t work. They are very sticky and I can’t fly.”

“Oh, yes,” said Alon. “Now I know. I’ve seen lots of birds flying in the sky and resting for awhile on my father’s branches.”

“Father? I only have a mother but I don’t have a father.”

Alon was about to ask him why he didn’t have a father when all of a sudden there was a thunderclap and it started to rain quite hard.

“I’m cold!” shouted the little bird. “Oh, oh, oh!”

“Come close to my trunk and I’ll cover you with my leaves,” said Alon. You will be protected.”

So the little bird, newly fallen from the nest got close to Alon’s trunk and there warmed himself and the rain could not touch him.

(To be continued)

Soy Lorena.
10/13/07

Ay, Naturaleza/ Oh, Nature

Caminaba ayer decalza en mi pasto, mi pasto diverso, mi pasto atrevido y descarado, mi adorado pasto de toda clase de hierba silvestre, flores silvestres, tantos colores verdes, y notaba las texturas distintas, me fijaba en las partes suaves, las partes duras, las partes ásperas, las partes esponjosas. Miraba hacia el bosque, me acercaba a la orilla de mi pasto donde empieza el bosque, cuidándome no salir del pasto porque allá crece la hiedra venenosa.

(Amigos, imaginen música aquí, una música alegre, dulce, con flautas y campanas, con violoncello tal vez y violines; imaginen unas hadas bailando en el pasto o unas ninfas del bosque, echando chispas al aire, felices, riendo….) ¡Ya basta! ¡REGRESA A LA REALIDAD!

Amanecí con un comezón tremendo en la area del tobillo. Le dije a Teo, “Algo me picó en la cama, me puse la crema que nos hizo Aaron, y sí, ayudó.”
“Qué raro, “ me dijo.

Uh oh, pensé. Miré mi pie de nuevo, todo el tobillo estaba cubierto de “piquetes.”
Teo lo vio. “Oh, no, es la hiedra venenosa. Se va a poner peor.”
“¿Más comezón?” le pregunté.
“Sí, durará diez días.”

Ay, mi adorada Naturaleza, primero las peras, ahora esto. ☹

Oh, Nature

Yesterday I was walking barefoot in the grass, my diverse grass, my interesting grass, my daring and bold grass, my beloved grass of all kinds of weeds and wildflowers, so many kinds of green and I noticed the different textures. I noticed the soft parts, the hard parts, the scratchy parts, the spongy parts. I looked toward the woods and got close to the edge of the grass where the woods begin, taking care not to leave the grass because that’s where the poison ivy grows.

(Friends, imagine music here, happy and sweet music with flutes and bells, with a cello maybe and violins; imagine fairies dancing on the grass or wood nymphs sending sparks into the air, blissful, laughing…) That’s enough! COME BACK TO REALITY!

I woke up with a tremendous itch around my ankle. I said to Ted, “Something bit me in bed. I used that cream that Aaron made for us and it helped.”

“How strange,” he said.

Uh oh, I thought. I looked at my foot again. The whole ankle area was covered in “bites.”

Ted looked at it. “Oh, no, that’s poison ivy. It’s going to get worse.”
“Itchier?” I asked him.
“Yes, it’s going to last ten days.”

Oh, my beloved Nature, first the pears, and now this. ☹

Soy Lorena.
8/18/07

Two Pear Trees, One Pear

Hard as I try, I am not without frustrations and disappointments. As much as I love Nature, she is sometimes very cruel and I suffer from her cruelty. I try not to suffer, I try to avoid it, but come on, life is not fair...yes, I know it is not fair, I understand it but still that doesn't make it any easier to bear when unfair things happen.

Okay, here's the scene. We have two pear trees in our yard, down next to the labyrinth. They flower about every two years and produce pears, two different varieties, lovely small red ones and larger green ones. This year the red pear tree flowered beautifully and before I knew it was full of darling little red pears ripening on all the branches. There must have been fifty of them. I was so excited. The green pear tree blossomed too and produced several green pears. How wonderful to have our own organic pears to enjoy this fall, how special, how privileged we are.

Time passed and one day I was dancing in the labyrinth when I decided to check on the pears. They were gone! Every single pear was gone from the red pear tree! There were two pears left on the green pear tree. I couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it. It was then I knew that the squirrels had taken them. That's what they do, they steal fruit, tomatoes even and bury them somewhere in the ground where they rot and completely go to waste. Not even the squirrels can use them. Why do they do this? I was devastated...all those beautiful pears...gone.

I waited, hoped and prayed the last two pears on the green pear tree would be allowed to ripen. I watched them every day, and then one day, there was only one pear left. That's when I I picked it, even though it was not ready to be picked. I picked it in order to save it from being wasted totally and brought it inside, placed it on a plate and hope that somehow it will ripen and we can eat it.

So that's why we have two pear trees and one pear. Well, I'm sorry, but it makes me sad.

(Mañana español)

Soy Lorena.
8/15/07

The Dream/ El Ensueño

The Dream

I’m standing on the edge of a precipice
Looking out
Behind me is everything I know
The ground is solid
In front of me is the unknown
(yet known at the same time)

Life is bigger than we think
And has many more choices for us to make
How long before I must awake?
One step forward or back, which one to take?

“Follow the rules for your sake, for my sake,
follow the rules and make no mistake.”

For if I should fall, what then?
The ground beneath my feet crumbling
Me, stumbling—

The sky beyond the precipice is clear
Its clouds are tempting
I think they would hold me up
I think I could jump into those clouds
And land on soft feather pillows

Dare to be bold.

But if I should be wrong
And if I should fall
Would I be the only one to get hurt?


El Ensueño

Estoy parada en un precipicio
Mirando la infinidad
Detrás de mí está todo lo que conozco
El suelo es sólido
Enfrente de mí está lo desconocido
(Pero lo conocido a la misma vez)

La vida es más grande de lo que creemos
Y tiene muchas más alternativas para escoger
¿Cuánto me falta para despertarme?
Un paso adelante o atrás, ¿cuál debo escoger?

“Sigue las reglas por tu bien, por mi bien,
sigue las reglas y no te equivoques.”

Si me caigo, ¿entonces qué?
El suelo bajo mis pies desmenuzando
Yo, tropezando—

El cielo más allá del precipicio está despejado
Sus nubes me tientan
Creo que me sostendrían
Creo que podía brincar adentro de esas nubes
Y caerme en cojines de plumas, suaves

Atrévete.

Pero si me equivoco
Y si me caigo
¿Sería yo la única persona herida?


Soy Lorena.
8/13/07

Si tú estuvieras aquí/ If you were here

Si tú estuvieras aquí, te invitaría a sentarte en la sala en el sofá nuevo. Prendería mi ipod con una música de Senegal y te preguntaría qué clase de té te gustaría tomar, té verde o té de jengibre o té Darjeeling de la India. Mientras preparaba el té tú te pondrías a estudiar la pintura recien comprada y pintada por nuestra amiga que acabamos de colgar en la pared de ladrillos. Notarías que los colores de la pared y los colores en la pintura son casi iguales, como si la pintura fuera pintada especialmente para esta sala. También verías cosas distintas que yo todavía no he visto y nos pondríamos a platicar de eso.

¿De qué más hablaríamos? ¿De los problemas del mundo? ¿Del tiempo? ¿De qué creemos que pasará después de la muerte? ¿De la maravilla del internet? ¿De los artilugios innecesarios? ¿De cómo la tecnología nos frusta a veces? ¿De qué tan rápido pasa el tiempo?

¿Quién sabe?

La verdad es que no estás aquí. Entonces, me puse a limpiar las ventanas y mirar las mariposas y las abejas ir de flor a flor haciendo su innato trabajo y el sol brillaba fuerte,

fuerte,

fuerte.

If you were here.

If you were here I would invite you to sit down on the new sofa in the living room. I would turn on my ipod and play music from Senegal and I would ask you what kind of tea you would like, green tea or ginger tea or Darjeeling tea from India. While I prepared the tea you would study the painting we just bought that was painted by our friend and hanging on the brick wall. You would notice that the colors of the wall and the colors in the painting are almost the same as if the painting had been made especially for this room. You would also see different things that I have not seen yet and we would begin to discuss this.

What else would we talk about? The problems of the world? The weather? What we believe will happen after death? The marvels of the internet? Of unnecessary gadgets? How technology sometimes frustrates us? How fast time passes?

Who knows?

The truth is, you are not here. So I cleaned the windows and watched the butterflies and bees go from flower to flower doing their innate work as the sun shone brightly,

brightly,

brightly.

Soy Lorena.
8/12/07

Come back, Sun/Regresa, Sol

"Bring back the sun in my life. I need your love to be there..."
-- Zucchero

The rain we need, oh yes, how appropriately the weather mirrored my day of sadness--raindrops pouring from the sky, teardrops pouring from my eyes.

How quickly it all passes--the earth absorbing the rain, the moment absorbing my tears cleansing the pain, converting it into relief...ah.

I run today under a thick cloud cover. I miss the sun, but I know he is there behind the clouds. I know he has not abandoned me, I know he never will, and so I sweat as I run and my sweat is necessary to release the toxins from my body as my tears are necessary to release the hurt.

It is perfect. Things are different today, but it's still raining, a gentle, soft loving kind of rain that caresses the ground with its tender droplets and the plants in my garden soak it up and wait for the sun to come back, to feel his warmth once again.

How wonderful it is!

"Come back the Sun, we will be like children..." Zucchero.


Regresa, Sol

"Qué regrese el sol en mi vida. Necesito que esté tu amor."
--Zucchero

Nos hace falta la lluvia, sí--que tan apropiado el clima que reflejó mi día de tristeza. Gotas de lluvia cayendo del cielo, las lágrimas cayendo de mis ojos.

Todo cambia rápido. La Tierra absorbe la lluvia, el momento absorbe mis lágrimas, limpiando el dolor, convirtiéndolo en alivio...ah.

Hoy corro bajo las nubes gruesas. Extraño al Sol, pero sé que está allí detrás de las nubes. Sé que no me ha abandonado, y sé que nunca lo hará, entonces sudo mientras corro y mi sudor es necesario para soltar los tóxicos del cuerpo, igual que mis lágrimas son necesarias para soltar la pena.

Es perfecto. Todo es distinto hoy pero sigue lloviendo, una lluvia tierna, suave, amorosa que acaricia la Tierra con sus gotitas delicadas y las plantas en mi jardín las absorben y esperan que regrese el Sol a sentir su calor de nuevo.

¡Qué rico es!

"Regresa Sol, seremos como niños." Zucchero.

Soy Lorena.
8/8/07

Arroyo seco/Dry stream

Arroyo seco

Mira mi arroyo seco
Que negro está, estancado
Sus piedras desnudas, sucias

Tiene sed mi arroyo
Anhela la primavera
Cuando las lluvias fuertes
Lo llenaban de aguas
Corriendo con prisa

¿Adónde llegar?
Más allá de donde estaban
A llenar el estanque
Que hicieron los castores

Mira mi arroyo seco
Los patos ya no vienen
Es puro lodo mi arroyo

Sus aguas frescas de abril
Se evaporaron cuando llegó
El mes de julio
Con su calor despiadado
Y sus temperaturas duras
Su sol que reseca la tierra

Pero así es, así debe ser
Es parte del ciclo de las estaciones
El arroyo con agua
El arroyo seco
El arroyo que vuelve a tener agua

La vida que soy
La vida que se me va

Dry Stream

Look at my dry stream
How black it is, stuck
Its rocks naked and dirty
My stream is thirsty
It longs for spring
When powerful rains
Filled it with waters
Hurriedly rushing

To go where?
Farther than where it was
To fill the pond made
By the beavers

Look at my dry stream
The ducks no longer come
My stream is just mud

Its fresh waters of April
Evaporated when the month
Of July showed up
With its merciless heat
And its tough temperatures
Its sun that dries the earth

But that’s the way it is
The way it should be
It’s part of the cycle of seasons
The stream with water
The dry stream
The stream that has water again

The life that I am
The life that leaves me

Soy Lorena.
7/9/07

A Deer in the Morning, after the Rain

It rained sometime in the middle of the night and this morning I put on my rain boots, the rain boots my daughter insisted I buy even though I wasn’t intending to buy rain boots, the blue rubber ones that are snug but not too tight and as I was slipping my foot into the left boot, I felt something strange inside, so I took it off again and found a small paper packet of sorts, something like a “freshness” packet that you might find in vitamin bottle…how unusual I thought, so I took it out and threw it away and finally I was off to do some exercise and just as I opened the door and went outside, I saw it—it was a deer standing next to my labyrinth and it stared at me for a moment as I stared at it, then quickly turned toward the woods and ran into the woods, crossing the now dried up stream and disappearing from my sight and it was then I noticed that I was thrust into the moment as my blue rubber booted feet ran onto the wet grass aiming for the labyrinth to begin my dance, my salute to the morning, my ritual to start the day listening to the piano music of David Lanz and celebrating my love for the Sun. Oh, yes!

Mi vida es hermosa como el pasto mojado es hermoso, como el ciervo es hermoso, como la mañana es hermosa, como mis botas de hule azul para la lluvia, y sintiendo mi cuerpo vivo, el poder de correr, bailar, brincar, adorar al cielo, adorar a mi precioso Sol, y aprecio la perfección de los árboles, las nubes, el arroyo seco, el pasto todavía lleno de las gotas de lluvia y del rocio y el aire y los rayos del sol que me bañan de alegría y mis pasos que siguen el sendero de mi laberinto, el sendero bien marcado por los miles de pasos que he hecho en él y este día es domingo, y domingo es el día sagrado igual que todos los días son sagrados, y este momento, este “presente” que siempre tenemos……..y todo, todo, todo. ¡ O, sí!

Feliz domingo, feliz momento.

Soy Lorena.
7/1/07

Buddha in the Grass

Buddha de la fertilidad, está contento descansando en mi jardín, sus ojos cerrados, una pequeña sonrisa, con una fruta en la mano. Las flores crecen alrededor subiendo hasta su cabeza para adornar su frente con una corona de belleza morada. El sol de la mañana brilla descaradamente. This little buddha, always peaceful, always smiling even though covered with snow or drenched in a rain shower shows me what it means to be in the moment. He does not complain, he does not grimace, he finds no fault with where he is, he simply is, and that's all there is to it.

Oh, to be like buddha. To be at peace when flowers grow and the world crumbles around me, when it rains, when it snows, when the sun beams down at a hundred degrees, (as it did yesterday), to be at peace...always, siempre, pase lo que pase. Esto es una meta que vale la pena lograr. A goal worth attaining.

Mientras, disfruto mi pasto, mi pasto de diversidad, mi pasto de muchos colores.

Mi bello sol se levanta, me enseña sus rayos fuertes y calientes y me da su energía y sé que estoy viva, and being alive is the most wonderful thing I have been given. Alive, I can feel, alive, I can dance, I can sing, I can create, I can love, I can hope, I can dream, I can make things happen. I can question. Puedo hacer preguntas. ¿Por qué me gusta tanto mi pasto? ¿Por qué me gusta tanto? ¿Por qué me gusta? ¿Por qué? Why do I like my grass so much? (Perhaps it is like me or I am like it) Why do I like so much? Why do I like? Why?

And I say..................WHY NOT? ¿POR QUÉ NO?

Mi vida es lo que escojo. My life is what I choose. Eckhart Tolle says "you are life, you don't have a life." Therefore, you can't lose your life. You can't lose what you don't have. You can't lose who you are.

So, I'll think about that for awhile, as I walk and dance barefoot on my beautiful and diverse grass.

Buenos días, Sol, te agradezco tu presencia en mi vida, te agradezco la vida que me das.

Soy Lorena.
6/27/07

And then I saw the moon

Thirty-six thousand feet up in the sky
My heart in pieces,
The glaring white spongy clouds just out of arm's reach

Tears of sadness and tears of gratitude
Mix together in this one moment
The only moment I have
The only moment that exists

And then I saw the moon...and I knew in an instant the Universe loves me
And I felt it hold me in its comforting arms
And once again I know everything is all right.

Peace is within me.
I just need to be quiet enough to find it.

The music still flows through my body.
It's alive, it's real, its pulsating beat is now part of my blood and a part of my heartbeat...

And then I saw the moon.

She is beautiful revealing only a portion of her beauty, yet I know she loves me and that's all I need in the whole world. Her love is worth more than all the riches to me.

Mi luna magia, mi preciosa luna.
"Te quiero como a nadie en el mundo."

Soy Lorena.
6/25/07