lunes, 31 de mayo de 2010

Mother daughter poem ii

Breathe breathe body of mine.

My breath spirals
like a double helix
reaching into the universe--

Mother mother
who art in heaven
the one who gave me form
the one within me...

In & out
serpentine curve without end
as silent
as a lizard taking the sun
rhythmic flux
rise & fall.

Breathe breathe body of mine--
Beat heart of mine beat
don't stop beating.

Life courses
through these veins
heart beat
a single lifetime
this my womanly form
interlocked at the elbow
with many lifetimes
and the formless
mystery just outside
the gait of imagination
within this mind...

Quiet, quiet, brain of mine.

Mother, mother who art in heaven...

My mind my form my being
moulded yes by the imprecise art of my mother
created by the Mother who created
my mother who is
the universe
as am I
as are we all.

The green face of night ii

the green face of night
blows through the stars
howls like a wolf at the door
though she a master of open and close
begs for coins
though she is a blessing beyond measure
asks for forgiveness
though she be reconciliation
& salve that heals wounds
the green face of night
blows through the stars
longing eternally
for what she never lost
drinking with thirst
though she is deep unguent moisture
she keeps longing for herself
though her essence is ever attentive
even in the most remote rooms of the universe
in this act of love
she blows through the stars
the green face of night
meets herself
green night
blowing through green stars
green becomes green


I am the sadness
you carry with you
the long years of your life
reminding you of your steps
and your passage.
My roots
impregnate the earth
of your soul
seek the bottom
imobilize your feet
in the river.
My waters
moisten your moon-kissed
cheek of grief
color of carmine.
The mist
that my hands exude
envelops you
in a mantle
of translucent silk--
you will dress as a queen
in its folds
or you will lift the mist up like a banner.
You will carry a necklace of my pearls
in your fingers
laced like a rosary.
You will remember remember remember.
The timbre of my voice flirts
with the bells of fate
as they echo
from the bottom of the sea.
In my keening
I advise you:
Recover the treasure
I buried on the sea floor
but do not remain
in these waters!
You will perish!
Recover the veils of light
& fly away with them
to the fête fo the sun.
I remind you
of the kingdom
you have lost,
from which you have strayed.
I bestow you with a path
of shining bread crumbs
of glowing stars
that will mark your way
to your true throne.


I am fear (terror)
& celebration
of life--
Look at me!
Fix your gaze
in mine.
Feel the perfume
of the truth
in the taste
of the slightest expression
of irony
that shimmers on my brow
& rings
on my lips.
A thousand white paradoxes
escape from my mouth,
doves in flight
just escaped
from their loft.
Under shafts of sunlight
their wings,
in search for uniqueness,
like glistening sparks
of light as they flee
their anonymous & mysterious
in unity.
It is here
exactly here
in the here
that suggests
that requires
the there
where god herself is glimpsed
through her effects:
& sky--
not to mention
hot or cold
blush or pallor
blood or skeleton
unbridled temerity
sinister heroism
brilliant ignorance--
all the names all
all of them & what they represent
under the sun
under the moon
under the blanket of stars
all like a dancer
dressed in dawn
transparent & easy
before vanishing,
are the reasons
for this celebration
which is the fête
of the World.


Underground: Song of the pelvis ii

I am a butterfly underground.
I fly by night.
My wings shine like rivers
lit up by funeral pyres.
I am an angel of red flames & ivory.
As I dance my diaphanous veils
cast a web
of vitality smoke & reflections.
These catch up with you in the folds
of an intimate and distant dream
wending around your legs
only to disolve
in the shadows
of an ancestral cave--
I await you
that you might uncover me
like star fire river earth
rose petals & breath--
Savor my nectar if you dare--
Dress yourself in my ten thousand sparkling stars
Dress yourself in my flames tears & currents
Dress yourself in my agony rejoicing & spirit
in the fruits of my labor
my sighs gyres & cries--
Enter this house of serpents
this aqueous hideaway--
I taste of clay-sea-star-song.
Savor this intimacy if you dare--
I will always be at the center--
the foundation & fount
of dreams of delight
among which more than once,
you have lost yourself--
I will be many women
I will be star fire & volcano
but I will also be
the serene purveyor
of a balanced stride--
Feel my vast spaces
& solid structure.

Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2009, 2010

On the cerulean path: song of the pelvis i

I am silent thunder.
I am a dark star.
I am sweet lime.
I am a sensual stone.
I am a bone river.
Call to me full of flowers
call out to me with your blossoms,
dress me in celebration.
Would that I be addressed with ceremonious honor—
Songs and libations—
Drain your cup full to the top
and over the brim, over brimming
as I come forth with light & air & substance.
Sub- stance. Sub. Stance.
Away, away, away—
Way down, and away.
A way. A Way. This-s-s-s-s Way.
Gen – gentle – generative – generations – engender-r-r-r--
My gowns flowing white,
my gowns flowing red,
my gowns, a deep echoing silence within,
within, with in— a body without a body.
Enter my multiplicity.

Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2009, 2010

domingo, 30 de mayo de 2010

Under a half moon

under October's half moon
you & I
silhouette & shadow
oak pine & eucalyptus
you & I
hand in hand
footsteps on path
echo in darkness
passing through forest
you & I
wind in branches
whispers like ocean
water and cold froth
you & I
night echoes cold
air smells cold
but the crickets still purr
while winter nestles
in lace silhouette & shadow
oak pine & eucalyptus
under a half moon
you & I

Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2009, 2010

A taste of solitude

To ask
What is the taste of solitude?
Would be like asking
What is the taste of life unadorned?
As a point of departure for everything
Existing being doing
No barroque adornment

What is the singular taste of life?
Silent flavor of aloneness
Near the well spring of origen
The taste of the extraordinary presence of this moment
The taste of full silence
& of the wild forest that inhabits the soul
Receiving & embracing roiling rivers & cascades
In its peace-giving arms

What is this taste?
In the midst of quiet
This cardinal chant of aboriginal being
Bursting with bitter sweet truths
Of what it is to love to live & to die
& to understand what it is within you
That is love death life--

Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2009-2010

Dame of the obsidian dream

Death came visiting.
She said, I have something to tell you.
But I told her, sweet death, I will not listen.
Oh, but I have something to tell you--
Sweet, sweet death,
I will not listen.
I don't want to take leave of my life.
Oh, my love, sooner or later, everyone lets themselves be loved.

And the wind passed over the river
shaking the tresses of the trees.
Daughter, daughter, daughter of mine--
they sang, lulling me with their soft moans, sooner or later,
everyone surrenders to the charms of the dame of the night,
the dame of the obsidian dream.

Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2009-2010

sábado, 29 de mayo de 2010

Mother of the heavens

mother of the heavens
goddess of the heavens & of water
divine mother of dawn
you are the blue song of the flute
the vertical and resounding voice of the drum
the oscillation of the rain
you are the chant that surrounds
the gire of many moons
waxing moons waning moons
those yet to be and those that have been
your indigo lips
tell of dreams and visions
mother your turquoise breath
is the divine word
the wise women agree
that you are indivisible and unknowable
mother of dakinis and sylphs
mother of the creator
you exist before
and after all thought
divine one I converse with you
about essence
about death
about my path on the earth
I rest in your cerulean arms
where everything occurs in the very center
at the summit where the four paths
known by ten thousand names converge
wood mountain rock
river wind heroic feat
blood your blue eyes
under your watchful gaze I long for the flame
the flame of your heart passion
everything that happens
and that we paint with our imaginations
is born of the sum of your convergencies
borrowed recipes
recipes for compassion sea earth volcano
earthquake huracane infinite measure
measure without measure
sun and storm
in you I rest and engage
wise woman and mother of the heavens--

Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

miércoles, 26 de mayo de 2010

Ghost Riders

Rising and falling,
rising and falling
with the earth
to the earth
loving the earth
heart beat
ear to the earth
ear to the earth
oído a la tierra
a la tierra.

You come from a long line
of earth whisperers
wolf whisperers.

Tierra. Padre.
Mi padre en la tierra
buscando el corazón
buscando su corazón
in the earth
in the dirt
looking for his life
his heart
lost in the dirt
with trowel in hand
with brush in hand
my father
attuned to the North pole
to true North
to True North
compass in hand
looking to what was true.

His brother
was searching
in the guru's
treasure trove

You come from a long line
of earth whisperers
wolf whisperers

Rising and falling
rising and falling
with the earth
to the earth
ear to the earth
oído a la tierra
Heart beat.

How could I not secrete him?
How could I not secrete him
in the secure vaults of my heart?
How could I not keep him safe there?
Keep him safe secure
where he could not leave
yet one more time
yet one more time
of many times
many many times
when I knew not where he was.

Little one inside of me,
I see you.
I see how you hold tightly to his presence,
Indiana Jones hat in hand.
Forbidden, forbidden love
yes a forbidden love.
Is it any wonder you were attracted to forbidden
impossible loves?
This was a forbidden impossible love.
I see you
holding an image of him to your heart
in your white dress.
I couldn't begin to ask you to let go.
Why would I?
Your one true love,
the man who knew everything
the man who was from a long line of
earth heart whisperers as you are.
Earth heart whisperers.
You could not let go of that;
certainly not until the deep truth
of that is realized.

Folk tunes, song
on his guitar.
The last time he sang for you,
you had to beg him to sing
to take out his guitar
one more time.

Were you eleven?
And then puberty came
and he fled even further

Ghost riders,
he sang.
Still I can see it in your mind's eye:
the ghost riders in the sky--
these ghost riders are heart whisperers.

Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

sábado, 22 de mayo de 2010

Alas incipientes

Alas incipientes brotan
de la tierra fecunda

desconocen su origen
buscan elementos
tierra aire agua fuego madera

siguen la luz del sol
aún desconociendo
lo que añoran
lo que son
lo que inspiran
lo que ofrecen

mas como cualquier heroe
con callada determinación
se mantienen firmes
al principio central
a lo que es llegar a ser
llegar a ser lo que son...

Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

jueves, 20 de mayo de 2010


¿Qué significa ser un guardián de la tierra? ¿Cómo puedes llegar a ser un guardián?

What does it mean to be a steward of the earth? How can you become a steward?

miércoles, 19 de mayo de 2010

Reflexiones sobre el mantenerse de pie

Mientras más tiempo nos mantenemos de pie más tenemos que dominar ciertos elementos básicos para seguir de pie: la gravedad, el resorteo, el balanceo, la suspensión... Nuestros cuerpos tienen que convertirse en una expresión de estos principios al igual que el río, la montaña, el árbol-- Estos hallazgos son tan expresivos de nuestro desarrollo inteligente como lo fue el tomar nuestros primeros pasos. Es necesario soltar nuestra postura corporal impuesta, o la que ha sido tallada por nuestra reactividad, la cual nos agotará, y volver a los principios básicos del estar de pie o caminar una y otra vez hasta que nos sentimos movidos por el sencillo hecho de nuestra existencia. Es entonces cuando somos llevados y occupamos nuestro lugar justo en el gran esquema de la verdad, de lo que es.

Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

(Doy las gracias a Anna Halprin por sus enseñanzas al respeto...)

bailando con el viento

a Marianne--

hoy te veo aquí de nuevo
bailando junto a la bahía
tu largo chal azul alzado al viento

Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

martes, 18 de mayo de 2010

dancing with the wind

for Marianne--

I see you here again today
dancing here by the bay
your long scarf held up to the wind

Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

Thoughts about standing

The longer we stand the more we must master certain basic elements in order to remain standing: gravity, rebound, swing, suspension... Our bodies must become an expression of these principles just as the river, the mountain, the tree-- These realizations are as much an expression of our intelligent development as taking our first steps. We must surrender our imposed stance, or the stance carved by our reactions, which will wear us out, and we must come back to the basics of standing or walking again and again until we feel moved by the simple fact of our existence. We are then carried by our rightful place in the grand scheme of truth, of what is.

Lorena Wolfman © 2010

(My deepest thanks to Anna Halprin for her teachings on the basics...)

domingo, 16 de mayo de 2010


On its own rain doesn't make a sound
It is contact that sounds
Rain with leaf

by Lorena Lobita Wolfman (c) 2010

viernes, 14 de mayo de 2010

at dusk

at dusk
water earth sky
mountains clouds
borders desolving

silvered shadows


spilled reflections
as the sun sets
on the far side of the sea

the sea's illumination sown
into the base of the night

by Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

Out of silence

Out of silence

the distances speak

echo dances with song

& out of the quiet

everything is reborn--

by Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

jueves, 13 de mayo de 2010

otro mar

en todo este mar de sangre
mar de amar
mar de mujer
mar amargo
otro mar
mar de playas escondidas
y de piel

en todo este mar rojo y blanco
me ahogo entre las margaritas sangrientas
de la luna

en esta lumbre mortal de carne
lumbre lúgubre
lumbre de labores
lumbre lascivo
lumbre lujoso de saliva
lumbre que alumbra lumbre
lumbre de otros mares
mares rojizos del ocaso
sembrados por lo que termina

en esta lumbre me enrosco
entre el hueso y la rebelde médula
fabricadora de mundos milagros milenios martirios

y otro turno de virginidad

por Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

miércoles, 12 de mayo de 2010

al ocaso

agua tierra cielo
montes nubes
franjas esfumándose

plateadas sombras


reflejos derramados
al meterse el sol
más allá del mar

iluminación sembrada

en el cimiento de la noche

por Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

desde el silencio...

desde el silencio
las distancias se hablan
el eco baila con el canto
y desde lo callado
todo vuelve a nacer--

por Lorena Lobita Wolfman (c) 2010

lunes, 10 de mayo de 2010

El contacto

De por sí la lluvia no suena
Suena el contacto
Lluvia con hoja

por Lorena Lobita Wolfman (c) 2010

domingo, 9 de mayo de 2010

the rain calls

at dawn the rain calls

calls out to me between dreams

dreams yet to stow their wings

still rising up against the sun

at dawn the rains calls

por Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

ash & dust

Since the beginning
we have celebrated the flower--
in the same way
may we celebrate
seed root stem ash & dust.

por Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

To be a butterfly

To be a butterfly
is but one season
in a long life cycle
where crawling
is as vital as flying.

by Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

la lluvia me llama

al alba la lluvia me llama

me llama de entre mis sueños

que no bien guardadas sus alas

siguen retando al sol

al alba la lluvia me llama

por Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

sábado, 8 de mayo de 2010

palabras cibernéticas

las palabras vuelan invisibles
por los espacios cibernéticos
convertidas en partículas
virtuales e informáticas

las palabras
siempre han buscado
espacios para transfigurarse
trasladarse transformarse

como ranas y grullas de oregami
se doblan y desdoblan
para volverse a saltar a volar
a nadar a cruzar mares

las palabras virtuales
son palomas mensajeras
incorporales y desarticuladas

se vuelven ríos buscando
una cascada de luz
a donde desembocarse
e iluminar la noche--

por Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

viernes, 7 de mayo de 2010

Déjame despojarme de esta ficción

Déjame despojarme de esta ficción

Mis alas han crecido
Y no tengo tengo donde ocultarlos

Mojadas, sí están mojadas
Con el fluido amniotico del alma

Déjame despojarme de esta ficción

Una camisa de fuerza en el tiempo
En un tiempo cuando no hay tiempo

Las almas reclaman una expresión certera

Plumas han brotado
Y se están escapando
Por entre las líneas
De la convención estoíca

Déjame despojarme de esta ficción

Aunque llore
Aunque lloremos

Por todo lo perdido

Aunque llore
Aunque lloremos

Por todo lo recuperado

Estas alas mis alas
Estas alas nuevas sin probarse

Me equilibro
Con mis ojos aún cerrados
A la orilla de un mar inmenso

O ¿debería de decir del misterio?

Sobre mi peñasco arisco y sólido
Bañada por la luz del sol
Cada pluma acariciada por un rayo delicado
Y por el aire que me seca las alas

Cada pluma cada fibra
Encontrando su relación con sí mismo y con los elementos
Encontrando su engranaje con sí mismo y con el otro

Este no es otro día normal
Ni hubo nunca ningún día que fuera otro día normal

Probando probando probando
A desplegar a doblar
Contraer y extender
Preparándome para volar

Mi alma reclama la verdad
Mi alma reclama la verdad

Probando probando
Las articulaciones
Huesos nervio músculo respiración

Uniéndome a los técnicos de lo sagrado

por Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

tallo y polvo

Desde siempre celebramos la flor--
al igual hay que celebrar
semilla raíz tallo y polvo.

por Lorena Lobita Wolfman (c) 2010

y mariposas

jueves, 6 de mayo de 2010

Ser mariposa

Ser mariposa
es apenas una estación
en un largo ciclo de vida
donde arrastrarse
es tan vital como volar.

por Lorena Lobita (c) 2010


el baile de la mariposa abandonada...

habito el baile de la mariposa abandonada

                                                                  abandonada por su padre

habito el baile de la mariposa abandonada

                                                      abandonada por su padre

tomo recursos vitales del lado izquierdo...

            recursos vitales del lado derecho...

                        recursos de lo de arriba...

                                    y de lo de abajo...

encuentro el centro...

            me levanto al aire...



me aterrizo...

            me levanto al aire...

                         encuentro el centro...


por Lorena Lobita Wolfman © 2010

miércoles, 5 de mayo de 2010


the dance

a faraway star
twinkles in the intimacy of space

with our fingers outstetched we reach for her

from on high
we see a valley and an opening

together we look out across the sea

we become wind
storm and sea
and a celestial flag flapping
in flames

in our palms
we gather water
trembling with life

we dance a tango
in the obscurity
of a faded bar

we dance the fine indifference
of elegant baroque palaces

with the slightest touch of your fingers
you lead and we circulate
like two spinning comets
through the sky


the brilliance of your constant gaze
is attentive to what is unseen

when I come to stillness
you call me again

waving your hand through the air
you reveal what has never been seen

soft currents
through the invisible universe

without looking each other in the eye
we find the rhythm
of this eternal dance

internal external dance
reflexion of all that exists
that demands our astonished attention

we put our hands to the forge of creation

our fists hold tight to the original pulse
penetrating its density

we stir it
to the rhythm of this ethereal dance

like asiduous students
we work the invisible
                             made visible

by Lorena Lobita © mayo 2010

jet black dove of being

at the center
the jet black dove of being
is poised

once you loosen
the bonds of pain
penetrate the surface
surrender at the wall
you erected brick by brick
it is here
you gain entry to the depths
of a single breath

she is here

she awaits you
fathomless and without end
black dove of freedom

by Lorena Lobita (c) 2010

la danza

una estrella lejana
titila en la intimidad de la distancia

con los dedos la alcanzamos
con ternura

desde las alturas
miramos un valle y una brecha

miramos juntos hacía el mar

nos convertimos en viento
tormenta y mar
y en una agitada bandera sideral
en llamas

con nuestras manos
colectamos aguas
que tiemblan con vida

bailamos tango
en un bar mustio
a media luz

bailamos el fino desinterés
elegante de palacios del setecientos

con el mínimo tacto de los dedos
me llevas y circulamos
como dos cometas rodando
por los cielos


el brillo de tu mirar constante
atento a lo que no se ve

cuando entro en calma
me vuelves a llamar

al peinar el aire con tu mano
revelas lo jamás visto

corrientes suaves
se arremolinan
en el universo invisible

sin mirarnos a los ojos
encontramos el compás
de esta danza eterna

danza interna externa
reflejo de todo lo que existe
que nos exige la atención atónita

echamos mano a la fragua de la creación

nuestros puños asidos del pulso primigenio
penetran su densidad

le damos vueltas
al compás de esta danza etérea

como estudiantes asiduos
manejamos lo invisible
                             hecho visible

por Lorena Lobita © 2010

El sol

martes, 4 de mayo de 2010

Journey to the edge of the world

I have journeyed to the edge of the world, awake. No one ever told me route and yet intuitively I found it. I recognized the path because I loved the ones whose turn it was to walk it. I walked side by side with my beloveds right up to the threshold, and gazed past as they departed on their way to the next journey.

Luz-frijol showed me her infinitely small perfection at 8 weeks. Curved like a seed pod of becoming, carving a home on earth. Infinite and absolute delicacy. She showed me that life is as irrevocable and absolute as death.

Ward evoked absolute, brilliant friendship and love; slipping into the deep blue-gray night just as dignified and delighted as he was. His sharp intelligence scared some people; I understood unconditionally as I looked into his twinkling eyes and reveled in his committed love affair with discovery and revelation.

Lila showed me the world’s luminescence when she passed. A crimson tree lit from within, stones aglow as the moon rose and the sun set. This was her lilac winged gift. She was born with a spirit so big and fierce and strong that it scarcely fit into her small body. By the time she went she was completely transparent.

After he passed over, Uncle Jay, for years a New York then San Francisco taxi cab driver, played games and had me drive him around as he chuckled at the irony. We spoke at the Ashram a couple of weeks before he died about his burning question: "Did the soul survive physical death?" He seemed worried, so I asked him what part of him was worried about the answer; turning the light on the question in this way set him at ease. Before I left, he told me he did not want to live without his beloved tennis game which he could no longer play, and nothing else would do. I didn't know then, he had secretly worn an exit door through his heart which swung open wide two weeks later when his heart slowed then stopped.

My mother, Marianne, showed me silence, deepest silence. Love of deep black velvet night of no-thing, peace. I washed her tar encrusted ashtray until the glass shown. She said this gave her a choice. I hung a rosy pink cloth over her broken mirror. She dreamed she saw herself and she was beautiful. I massaged her gorgeous vuluptuous body; I annointed her feet with oils; I washed her long hair which fell past her waist to her hips. We forgave each other for everything. This absence was a difficult one to reconcile; the silence following her passing heralded the existence of an absence beyond pleasure, beyond relief; a place where meaning is not eked in the usual way.

There was no time between one passing and the next to return from the edge. No one had told me the need for leaving crumbs to find the way back. For me there was no ceremony no ritual words no prayers to repeat, for my soul to hear calling me return, to re-enter life.

I stumbled, not understanding why I was here, stumbling, sometimes swept up in the currents of strong rivers, swimming hard, tumbling. In those tumbles, I hit upon stepping stones, pulled myself up on them, then continued wandering and dancing my way back into life, responding to the call of my teachers, to the call of the red tailed hawk, to the call of starlings and ravens, to the call of the ceaseless waves, all with a voice and something to say which the soul must hear.

I have come to realize that the wisdom distilled in each being's passing is as individual as their journey, each passing and its wake like a impermanent snowflake, precious, no two alike. Each passing leaves an interdimensional pattern, a very special symphony.

From the deepest unknowing, I responded to the call of the nobility of the earth, the beauty and miracle of this planet… and I cried for its tragedies even harder-- melting snows, poisened waters, sea turtles washing up dead, plastic bags clogging the sea, the list is so long of unnecessary suffering born of deepest ignornance. Intelligent eyes gaze back at us from everywhere... I listened and I responded to an invitation I heard… and I keep listening… dancing… finding the path back to the center of life again and again… attentively, I return again and again to here, right here. And sometimes here is so deep it opens up to a place that is beyond-- a no place, an ALL place in this very place.

by Lorena Lobita © 2010