El Problema/ The Problem

¿Cuál es el problema?

Creer que soy lo que no soy.

¿Cuál es la solución?

Romper la creencia antigua y construir una "no-creencia" basada en la Verdad, the verdad de qué soy.

Cada vez que creo que soy menos, por ejemplo, soy pobre o débil o no suficientamente buena, encuentro defectos con mi creador.

Cada vez que me identifico con el ego, creo algo de mí que no es cierto.

La Verdad es.

Yo soy.

Los pájaros están cantando afuera con todo corazón en las partes muy arriba de los árboles. Están alegres y sin problemas.

¿Puedo ser yo menos que los pájaros en los árboles?


What is the problem?

Thinking I am what I am not.

What is the solution?

Tear down the old belief and build up a non/belief, based on Truth, the truth of what I am.

Every time I think I am less, i.e. I am poor or weak or not good enough, I am finding fault with my creator.

Every time I identify with the ego, I believe something about myself that is not true.

Truth is.

I am.

The birds are singing outside with all their might high up in the treetops. They are joyous and problem free.

Can I be less than the birds in the trees?


Soy Lorena. (por el momento)
4/13/09

Lies are not Real

The wind is wild today, angry, blowing as if to release some dark pent-up energy. I am reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, a book that has grabbed my attention from the very first page and allowed me to delve into my own deep recesses of unexplored experience.

I am coming to realize how powerful the truth is, how dishonesty breeds distrust, how from a very young age I knew I could not trust my mother. This makes me sad, my most very basic caretaker I was afraid of. I knew she loved me in her own way, in a smothering kind of way. Why could she not tell me the truth? Why did she always deceive me? I remember her telling me when I asked her why she lied to me, You couldn’t understand! But I could understand and I did understand because I distrusted her. I knew she lied to me. Consequently, there were many things I did not tell her as I was growing up. Looking back now as an adult I do not blame her for her dishonesty. She was doing the best she could with the knowledge she had at that time. She tried to protect me and she was a very generous person. But I see how much I value the truth and when someone is not entirely honest with me I feel a deep sadness that comes from my childhood, that lack of trust and I only want truthful relationships with the people in my life.

I know we all tell white lies so as not to hurt someone’s feelings, but really, how does this protect us? I would rather hear the real words, though they may be harsh, for the sweetened lies contain a bitterness deep within them. How can I grow if the truth is kept from me? How can I learn?

The wind is wild today, it longs for only the truth. May the truth simply be and be accepted.

Soy Lorena.
12/30/08

(Mañana español, el silencio y la paz)