tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29027688532603405682024-03-14T04:43:36.311-07:00Swimming through the Sky :: Volando bajo la TierraWordsketches. Dancephrases. Artbrides.Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.comBlogger1230125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-31359558111494845252023-10-16T15:48:00.005-07:002023-10-16T15:49:50.570-07:00the place i know<p> </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeGLXIBkM3wCZ6bcPOHvFEtIlYgsQqzVPiYe_pFhB2JENVhczH-0STqGb5Xjl4flW1FH2OTKjReixeRY2gwR7LtP0Oak1o9YaM7ZpvSjU-pTboLEVQ4D9F3vTT_zbXNq19JTGdT-moVLAW4MrOETbtk5mkl6Ga81u-yDlKCR4tJieCalK8GB6YOfgM" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="410" data-original-width="281" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeGLXIBkM3wCZ6bcPOHvFEtIlYgsQqzVPiYe_pFhB2JENVhczH-0STqGb5Xjl4flW1FH2OTKjReixeRY2gwR7LtP0Oak1o9YaM7ZpvSjU-pTboLEVQ4D9F3vTT_zbXNq19JTGdT-moVLAW4MrOETbtk5mkl6Ga81u-yDlKCR4tJieCalK8GB6YOfgM=w273-h400" width="273" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">the only place I know</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">to experience divine wisdom</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">is in this earth’s body</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">where I live</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">with blood bone breath</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">oxygen carbon hydrogen…</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">mitochondria humming</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">in an eternal dance</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">part of a larger serpentine</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">winged being…</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">arising from an unnamed<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">primoridal ocean</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">coming ashore rhythmically</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">again and again</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">with each heartbeat</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">—Lorena</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-46651525031376015672023-09-03T10:50:00.003-07:002023-10-02T14:18:55.319-07:00Falling<p> </p><p>falling</p><p>I am falling</p><p>as you may be falling too</p><p>falling </p><p>into the earth</p><p>into realms of rest and dreams and soul</p><p>the realm of love</p><p>each one of us can be falling</p><p>falling into love</p><p>into love's embrace</p><p>as we stand in her grace</p><p>she flows down our arms</p><p>down our legs</p><p>past our knees</p><p>into the the earth</p><p>all demons who have spoken</p><p>in our minds</p><p>wherever they came from</p><p>who have spoken for too long</p><p>fall away...</p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-39254878151680357042023-06-18T16:29:00.003-07:002023-06-18T16:40:24.872-07:00resurgido<p> el cardón venenoso de largas espinas</p><p>se ve glorioso en el calor de la tarde</p><p>sus capullos brotándose </p><p>tinte cochinillo fucsia mexicana</p><p>delicados como las alas de una mariposa desplegándose</p><p>para encontrarse con el viento</p><p>el instinto de emprender vuelo</p><p>solo apenas disfrazado</p><p>por sus astilladas espinas de hueso</p><p>a punto de matar</p><p>la mayor parte del tiempo parece que está en la agonía</p><p>de una muerte lenta</p><p>sus brazos abiertos la cruz de la angustia que carga </p><p>pero ahora resurgido se encuentra transfigurado</p><p>henchida su carne verde turgente</p><p>anhelo de reventarse</p><p>en canción de flor y transparencia</p><p>y aún sus espinas se abren</p><p>un espectáculo de santo resplandeciente</p><p>anunciando su luminosa amenaza</p><p>brillando a la luz del sol</p><p>a punto...</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-72618416808959119582023-06-14T09:48:00.008-07:002023-06-18T16:51:26.081-07:00arisen<p><br /></p><p>the long spined poisonous cardon</p><p><br /></p><p>looks glorious in the afternoon heat</p><p><br /></p><p>her buds pressing themselves open into flower</p><p><br /></p><p>mexican fucshia cochinil dye</p><p><br /></p><p>delicate as butterfly wings unfolding</p><p><br /></p><p>to meet the wind</p><p><br /></p><p>the instinct to take flight </p><p><br /></p><p>disguised only barely</p><p><br /></p><p>by her bone slivered quills </p><p><br /></p><p>poised to pierce flesh</p><p><br /></p><p>most of the time she looks like she is in the throes </p><p><br /></p><p>of a slow death</p><p><br /></p><p>her outspread arms</p><p><br /></p><p>the cross of the agony she bears</p><p><br /></p><p>but now arisen </p><p><br /></p><p>she stands transfigured </p><p><br /></p><p>having grown into her turgid green flesh</p><p><br /></p><p>longing to burst </p><p><br /></p><p>into the song of blossom and translucency</p><p><br /></p><p>and still her spines flay open </p><p><br /></p><p>in a show of saintly radiance</p><p><br /></p><p>announcing their luminous threat</p><p><br /></p><p>shining in the sunlight</p><p><br /></p><p>poised… </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-43635905097131898402023-06-14T09:39:00.002-07:002023-06-18T16:49:27.155-07:00she knows the shadows she casts<p> </p><p><br /></p><p>on an occasional visit</p><p>to a far corner of the garden</p><p>the palo dulce tree in full flower</p><p>white sprigs waving in the breeze</p><p>tells me of the abidding of trees</p><p><br /></p><p>it's hot </p><p>the winds blow in from up north</p><p>where the world is on fire</p><p><br /></p><p>and I am wondering about shade</p><p>where it may fall and when</p><p>she in her lush rooted sweetness</p><p>knows</p><p><br /></p><p>she witnesses the movement of the sun</p><p>from horizon to horizon</p><p>and even knows nocturnal shadows </p><p>intimately</p><p><br /></p><p>all around her shadows </p><p>form and dissolve changing shape </p><p>stitching a gown that is the dance itself </p><p><br /></p><p>sometimes like lace</p><p>sometimes like ruffles </p><p>sometimes hanging heavy like muslin</p><p>then ineffable </p><p>taking flight on the air</p><p>her ball gown is haute couture</p><p><br /></p><p>a dark transparent body </p><p>forming and dissolving</p><p>changing shape</p><p>here and not here</p><p>there and not there</p><p><br /></p><p>the palo dulce</p><p>native to this land</p><p>through drought and rain</p><p>through clouds moonlight and sun</p><p>abides endures and even flourishes</p><p><br /></p><p>she knows the dance of the shadows she casts</p><p><br /></p><p>-- Lorena</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-83044179308815198532023-06-14T08:16:00.006-07:002023-06-15T13:45:25.751-07:00illumined scroll<p><br /></p><p>the advent of writing on an illumined screen</p><p>seduced by the light</p><p>drawn by the flame</p><p>like a moth</p><p>by instinct</p><p><br /></p><p>towards something more ineffable </p><p>more absolute and conclusively open</p><p>than this fragile human life</p><p><br /></p><p>on an illumined scroll we tap with our fingertips</p><p>and by some invisible mechanism of longing</p><p>words appear</p><p>moving us towards center</p><p>not to be mistaken for form</p><p>more like the sun burning</p><p>something closer to plasma</p><p>even finer</p><p>making our passage on earth somehow</p><p>indellible uncompromised in its delicacy </p><p>in the grand and smallest scale of things </p><p>beyond the opaque metamophosis of pen and paper</p><p>the light arises from </p><p><span style="white-space: normal;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span> </span><span> </span> </span>beyond thought </span></p><p> </p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-89860153526421432092023-06-14T07:59:00.001-07:002023-06-14T08:00:04.931-07:00red sky<p> we wake at dawn</p><p>blood red river </p><p>on the horizon</p><p>and the winds come</p><p><br /></p><p>we run</p><p>to capture</p><p>the sheer wonder</p><p>of crimson</p><p><br /></p><p>"red sky at morning</p><p>sailors take warning"</p><div><br /></div><p>molten clouds</p><p>a streak across the sky</p><p>changing too quickly</p><p>and too primal, too real and too vast to capture</p><p>evaporating as the sun rises</p><p><br /></p><p>cell phones in hand </p><p>this spectrum defies the camera's eye</p><p>even as we wonder how to capture it </p><p>and fail again</p><p>in the retina of the present moment and of memory</p><p>it resides</p><p>untamed</p><p>undaunted</p><p>alive</p><p><br /></p><p>— Lorena Wolfman</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-1407118979267975772023-06-08T18:55:00.002-07:002023-06-14T08:26:46.469-07:00fewer mirages<p> </p><p>there are fewer mirages in the desert</p><p>these days</p><p>fewer romantic leads coalescing in an instant</p><p>who you would have sworn</p><p>would make you a better woman</p><p>with the idea that they would give you </p><p>you</p><p>the you </p><p>you know now is a mystery</p><p>the mystery that continues to be wilderness</p><p>beyond taming</p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-57830278670160374892023-06-04T12:10:00.274-07:002023-06-05T10:06:59.202-07:00wholeness (iii)<p> </p><p> </p><p>Words diaphonous like the morning mist</p><p>that blew in from the northeast overnight</p><p>greet me rising from the ravine of sleep</p><p>meaning surges forth on the wings of consonants and vowels</p><p>that then like low clouds drift </p><p>and fall earthward from the skies domain</p><p>alighting on my wing bones</p><p>and sliding down into my hands</p><p>and into gravity's clasp</p><p>like an invisible handshake</p><p>reminding me of an agreement </p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>I don't recall making.</p><p><br /></p><p>Yet here I am committing to breathe again </p><p>as I again remember my mother's last breath</p><p>as its form resonates again in my breast </p><p>how I held her to the last exhalation</p><p>clasping her hand </p><p>right up to the exit she slipped through</p><p>where I could not pass</p><p>but stood motionless</p><p>feeling expanding absence.</p><p><br /></p><p>By the time she left</p><p>I who had come here flesh of her flesh</p><p>had known being here only within the temporal parenthesis of her existence </p><p>where we had shared the singular intimacy</p><p>of the space of one body</p><p>as the ubiquitous mystery of multiplication and differentiation unfolded </p><p>into tissue and organs</p><p>a whole second body my own.</p><p>I crossed into this world across a bridge her body tended.</p><p>Just so once her body had grown within the circumference of her mother</p><p>and as she with me had ushered her into the world bravely </p><p>in the face of history's difficulties as well as its delights </p><p>my mother's voice not lost shouted</p><p>"Come on baby!"</p><p>It was on the third day of our labor </p><p>well into my own life and death struggle. </p><p>She was barely 24.</p><p>I would be her only child.</p><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>When she left surrending her breath to emptiness as full as that may be</div><div><br /></div><div>the person whose rhythms had whispered to my marrow as it formed</div><div><br /></div><div>left.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>She who had rocked me in her body's ocean belly</div><div><br /></div><div>whose voice and laughter had rippled through my cells</div><div><br /></div><div>whose quest and stories were immanent reminders for remembering</div><div><br /></div><div>the importance of dance and song</div><div><br /></div><div>—and something she encoded as "the dream"</div><div><br /></div><div>something her father had shared with her</div><div><br /></div><div>that was as mysterious and without words as it was sacred—</div><div><br /></div><div>eluded me.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>She shared the dream </div><div><br /></div><div>by dancing with the wind and the ocean </div><div><br /></div><div>telling stories of seals moutain lions and ravens with awe and reverence</div><div><br /></div><div>by sitting crosslegged in silence on surf splashed rocks</div><div><br /></div><div>by caressing sounds and syllables til they formed words...</div><div><br /></div><div>I know I reminded her of these things: </div><div><br /></div><div>towards the end of her life she mused</div><div><br /></div><div>about how as human beings "we cause each other."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>With geneology and expanses of history she had tried to make sense </div><div><br /></div><div>of our wounded lineage and to heal it in dream time.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And even so perhaps in the middle of some unfinished phrase of the song of life</div><div><br /></div><div>or as a part of that phrase</div><div><br /></div><div>promply on that first of march, her last breath swirled away like smoke.</div><div><br /></div><div>I lay in stillness </div><div><br /></div><div>wherever she was words could no longer be pronounced </div><div><br /></div><div>not even the brilliant glistening koans beyond sense of her last weeks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Where she had gone was beyond languages' syllables</div><div><br /></div><div>a place some words only point to</div><div><br /></div><div>like small humble guideposts at the edge of the untamed</div><div><br /></div><div>or like small glistening gems reflecting the light of faraway planets.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Absense was all that was left</div><div><br /></div><div>its dimensions beyond thought</div><div><br /></div><div>its peace as inscrutible as it was generous</div><div><br /></div><div>space blossoming from the depths of everywhere.</div><div><br /></div><div>It had gathered her up</div><div><br /></div><div>holding her just as it contains gravity.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>For a long time I could not comprehend why we even learn words </div><div><br /></div><div>or what it meant to walk across the earth</div><div><br /></div><div>where her footsteps didn't fall</div><div><br /></div><div>a place we call "the world"...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Recently sitting quietly</div><div><br /></div><div>watching swirling smoke rising </div><div><br /></div><div>from a single stick of sandlewood-rose incense </div><div><br /></div><div>tumbling upward in ascention and getting lost in the luminous cool fall air</div><div><br /></div><div>—a dance of myriad currents and changes fluid forms of liquid air </div><div><br /></div><div>no different than all the waters of the planet</div><div><br /></div><div>or womb waters giving birth to bone—</div><div><br /></div><div>there floating forming and vanishing.</div><div><br /></div><div>I saw myself and all creation</div><div><br /></div><div>appearing and disappearing </div><div><br /></div><div>arising from and absorbed by space itself.</div><div><br /></div><div>We as much space as place </div><div><br /></div><div>as space carves form and form space </div><div><br /></div><div>again and again one becoming the other </div><div><br /></div><div>whirling transparencies </div><div><br /></div><div>form space form space form </div><div><br /></div><div>creating each other.</div><div><br /></div><div>The two one </div><div><br /></div><div>and I became </div><div><br /></div><div>the witness and the dance </div><div><br /></div><div>peace </div><div><br /></div><div>impeccably whole </div><div><br /></div><div>neither space nor form</div><div><br /></div><div>nor neither without the other</div><div><br /></div><div>beyond loss </div><div><br /></div><div>residing in eternal awareness </div><div><br /></div><div>beyond the confines of who I thought I was</div><div><br /></div><div>or the accumulation of history</div><div><br /></div><div>pure mirror as clear as an untouched mountain lake:</div><div><br /></div><div>I rest in the absence of perturbation.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I am that</div><div><br /></div><div>body with no body</div><div><br /></div><div>no body with body</div><div><br /></div><div>I am the particularities </div><div><br /></div><div>and that which holds all particularities.</div><div><br /></div><div>Wholeness.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am home</div><div><br /></div><div>in the space between words and in the words</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>–Lorena Wolfman</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-28839255408361150692023-06-02T20:31:00.003-07:002023-06-06T14:22:41.317-07:00orientación elemental<p> </p><p>la memoria </p><p>y la ilación con el horizonte existe en el presente </p><p>en el trama entre el cuerpo y la gravedad</p><p>dentro del pulso de la condensación y la expansión</p><p>que gobierna la creación</p><p><br /></p><p>entretejido en todo siempre </p><p>los hilos de la levedad nos revelan algo </p><p>fuera de los cuadros confabulados del pasado o futuro</p><p><br /></p><p>las facultades para apercibirlos se van haciendo más elementales con la edad</p><p>o más bien con la acumulación de la misma nada </p><p>con todo lo que se nos va de las manos </p><p>dejando al descubierto las sombras las marionetas de la temporalidad</p><p><br /></p><p>te das cuenta? </p><p>las causas inmanentes de las cosas</p><p>están escritas en un código tan elegante</p><p>agua </p><p>(matriz estanque rocío saliva humedad del amor beber)</p><p>aire </p><p>(aliento brisa jadeo ladridos abrir te al vacío)</p><p>tierra </p><p>(arena barro hueso piedra desenterrar tu lugar)</p><p>fuego </p><p>(salvaje furioso candelabro fogón sol cálido pira sagrada)</p><p><br /></p><p>pero es el espacio </p><p>más allá del cielo la nada </p><p>desde donde florece todo en todas partes</p><p>la vasta imaginación de Dios reflejada </p><p>en el espejo de aguas enmudecidas</p><p>inseparables del mar primordial</p><p>desde aquí detrás de estos ojos </p><p>desde aquí en esta humedad</p><p>el cielo tiende su mano</p><p>emisario del más allá que me imanta</p><p>o es esta vista empapada humedad que imanta al cielo</p><p><br /></p><p>hay quien pueda decir cuál es cuál?</p><p>hay quien pueda decir quién se reconoció a quién primero?</p><p><br /></p><p>desde aquí contemplo el dibujo</p><p>es una noche oscura que permite ver el fondo más que las cosas</p><p>una noche en que la nada saca su colmillo </p><p>el opacado cielo moteado de estrellas distantes esconde las cosas</p><p>en la oscuridad el corazón de la tierra es el único indicio de la verticalidad</p><p>es una noche en que apenas surge el más diminuto arco afilado</p><p>su filo sacado por la misma noche </p><p>flamante navaja asomándose entre las ramas vacías del huizache el pirúl y la jacaranda</p><p>mientras en el silencio bajo el manto de las tinieblas </p><p>el paisaje yace invisible </p><p>todo menos una nube translúcida que dibuja la forma de una colina extraviada</p><p><br /></p><p>en la quietud insondable del estanque interior</p><p>misterio vasto</p><p>resplandeciente</p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-33384612526378407842023-06-02T16:20:00.004-07:002023-06-02T16:27:03.471-07:00si le preguntara<p> </p><p>si le preguntara a la tierra </p><p>aquí donde el clima es todo </p><p>aquí donde estamos tan cerca del sol </p><p>porque me cautivó </p><p>sé que me diría </p><p>porque </p><p>es aquí donde ves el sol levantarse sobre las colinas de oriente </p><p>la alborada surge junto con el canto de pájaros y la gracia </p><p>aquí en la primavera se pone el sol en hendedura entre las colinas </p><p>mientras sus senos de tierra están aún pedregosas y secas</p><p>y jamas puedes saber si vendrá la lluvia </p><p>aquí aprendes enunciar alabanzas</p><p>por cada crepúsculo</p><p>por cada salpicadura de sombra de árbol</p><p>por apprender a caminar entre las espinas </p><p>de los nopales los órganos gamabullos y cardones </p><p>y una multitud de compañeros de viaje espinudos </p><p>cuyos nombres nunca aprendiste </p><p>y también por aquellos cuyos nombres conoces </p><p>aquí no se da por hecho ni una sola gotita </p><p>nada se da por sentado </p><p>y aún todavía en algún lugar subterráneo </p><p>bajo nuestros pies</p><p>fluyen ríos </p><p>aquí has aprendido a captar el aroma de sus aguas con tu piel</p><p>no eres más que una forma transitoria en el paisaje </p><p>aquí es donde aprendes a caminar </p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-13468902101260377322023-06-02T15:41:00.001-07:002023-06-02T15:43:52.446-07:00alborada<p> </p><p>durante la noche </p><p><br /></p><p>mis sueños </p><p><br /></p><p>inventan potentes poemas</p><p><br /></p><p>dimensiones de sombra y memoria </p><p><br /></p><p>se explayan </p><p><br /></p><p>yacen ancestros </p><p><br /></p><p>a plena vista en sus tumbas </p><p><br /></p><p>una querida amiga perdida </p><p><br /></p><p>que ha enterrado nuestra amistad </p><p><br /></p><p>se ríe </p><p><br /></p><p>con mi madre </p><p><br /></p><p>que está justamente ahí </p><p><br /></p><p>entre los reinos </p><p><br /></p><p>de la amistad y la muerte </p><p><br /></p><p>la tierra está recién labrada </p><p><br /></p><p>toda la noche </p><p><br /></p><p>la excavación </p><p><br /></p><p>el rastreo </p><p><br /></p><p>sigue</p><p><br /></p><p>y con el despunte del día </p><p><br /></p><p>un cuerpo entero ha nacido</p><p><br /></p><p>y he tomado un paso primerizo </p><p><br /></p><p>los dedos de los pies pulsando la alborada</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-87533060022356681002023-06-02T14:56:00.001-07:002023-06-06T09:22:20.935-07:00los huesos de nuestros sueños<p><br /></p><p>aprendemos a habitar </p><p>los huesos de nuestros sueños</p><p>lentamente </p><p><br /></p><p>de día quizá no nos demos cuenta</p><p>de su distintivo paisaje curvo y tan sutil</p><p>quizá no nos demos cuenta que estamos ahí </p><p>dentro de la médula del sueño que nos dio vida </p><p>dentro del espiral cuyas circunferencias solo son visibles </p><p>con un enfoque abierto</p><p>aquella forma de ver que se despierta </p><p>cuando caminas al ocaso</p><p>cuya carencia hace</p><p>que los habitantes urbanos languidezcan hambrientos</p><p><br /></p><p>aprendemos a habitar </p><p>los huesos de nuestros sueños</p><p>lentamente </p><p>y en algunos casos nos despertamos y vemos </p><p>que nunca nos habíamos alejado de ellos </p><p>que son ellos que nos habitan</p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-68242277660953627922023-06-01T14:54:00.007-07:002023-06-02T10:52:08.606-07:00arena de otro desierto<p> </p><p><br /></p><p>los cielos se llenan de la arena de otro desierto</p><p>un fulgor gris platino distante</p><p>que sobrevuela nuestros horizontes áridos </p><p>amparando nuestra piel</p><p>de la cercanía de los rayos solares</p><p><br /></p><p>estamos suspendidos todos en el respiro de otro mundo </p><p>protegidos del fulgor impenitente </p><p>que emana del centro de nuestro viraje astral</p><p>una esfera explosiva que nace una y otra y otra vez</p><p><br /></p><p>aquí nuestro trozo del cielo</p><p>hoy queda sublimado justo lo suficiente </p><p>para soñar </p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-84857692685608458252023-05-30T18:16:00.004-07:002023-06-01T09:09:24.170-07:00 semillas de un diluvio<p><br /></p><p>La arena del Sahara nos alcanza. </p><p>Su diáfano alma de polvo</p><p>viaja por el cielo filtrando la lumbre del sol.</p><p>A su paso siembra semillas sigilosas de tormenta </p><p>de las cuales nacerán revoltijos de nubes</p><p>que envuelven truenos, hielo y lluvia</p><p>y avientan calor y frío.</p><p><br /></p><p>Después de una larga pausa surreal de días sin medida</p><p>se inicia un tumulto </p><p>de vientos sobresaltados cargados de epifanias mudas</p><p>para aquellos con ojos y la piel presta para descifrar </p><p>el código del tamborileo retumbante</p><p>que convoca la presencia de los sapos</p><p>y señala a las hormigas a apropiarse de nuevos patrones.</p><p>Aquellas diminutas constelaciones se mueven por las vertientes de la tierra,</p><p>los guijarros como peñascos bajo sus delicados pies.</p><p><br /></p><p>Mis propios pasos trazan un curso</p><p>sobre el ajetreado territorio </p><p>en medio de una alta geometría interdimensional</p><p>cuyos cálculos multiplica los rutumbos</p><p>por factores de humedad y polvo, aire y fulgor,</p><p>así conjurando el duluvio que se avecina.</p><p><br /></p><p>Desde aquí a mitad del camino al cielo</p><p>se vislumbran ángeles balanceándose</p><p>su cabello penetrado de sol </p><p>vuela en ráfagas perturbando el mar celeste </p><p>en olas y espuma.</p><p><br /></p><p>Y viene el agua que moja la tierra,</p><p>liberadora bendición rociada teñida de calidez</p><p>como esa madre que respira en sintonía con su hijo </p><p>un solo cuerpo del trópico</p><p>piel translúcida y húmeda, </p><p>luminoso aliento de vida.</p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena</p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-55742447089901315852023-05-07T20:17:00.005-07:002023-05-31T08:00:25.398-07:00storm seeds<p>the african sands seeded thunder </p><p>and clouds with ice and rain</p><p>hot and cold</p><p>growing into a blustering rumble</p><p>tumbling through the heavens</p><p>epiphanies apparent for those with eyes</p><p>and the living skin to hear the drum beat</p><p>calling up toads from unknown regions </p><p>signaling the ants into new patterns </p><p>as they move across the hillsides of earth </p><p>boulderlike pebbles under their delicate feet</p><p>as my own feet plot a course </p><p>across the crowded ground between their tracks </p><p>traced in lines of high interdimensional geometry</p><p>that takes rumble and multiplies it </p><p>by factors of earth air moisture and light</p><p>as the storm gathers force </p><p>anouncing the forthcoming pelting downpour</p><p>half way to heaven</p><p>here the angels can be seen rocked to and fro</p><p>sun streaming through their hair </p><p>blown like waves and sea foam</p><p>as the gusts of wind caress our skin </p><p>with the blessing of moisture and warmth</p><p>like a mother breathing with her child in the tropics</p><p>skin slightly moist and gleaming</p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena</p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-91838106150609973412023-05-07T11:19:00.063-07:002023-05-07T20:22:04.269-07:00desert glow<p> </p><p>saharan sands fill the skies</p><p>with a faraway silvery grey glow</p><p>shielding our skin</p><p>and the white caustic lime stone of our desert </p><p>from the penetrating rays of our sun</p><p>we are suspended in an other worldly respite</p><p>from the unforgiving radiance </p><p>emanating from the center of our local gyre</p><p>an explosive force reborn again and again and again</p><p>here in our piece of heaven</p><p>is muted enough just enough</p><p>to dream</p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-32456222122984928872023-04-12T10:25:00.003-07:002023-04-12T10:32:47.394-07:00we grow into the bones of our dreams...<p> </p><p>we grow into the bones of our dreams</p><p>slowly</p><p><br /></p><p>in daylight we may not notice </p><p>their distinctive curved and oh so subtle landscape</p><p>we may not notice we are there </p><p>alive in the marrow</p><p>inside the curves</p><p>visible only in soft periferal focus</p><p>the kind of vision that awakens </p><p>when you walk at twilight</p><p>the kind urban dwellers</p><p>are often starved for</p><p><br /></p><p>we grow into the bones of our dreams</p><p>slowly</p><p>and perhaps we awaken to see </p><p>we never left</p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p><div><br /></div><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-12870685279168387602023-04-11T17:58:00.001-07:002023-04-11T17:59:51.503-07:00night turning<p> </p><p>during the night</p><p>my dreams </p><p>make powerful poems</p><p>dimensions of shadow and memory</p><p>open up</p><p>dead ancestors </p><p>lie in their graves in plain sight</p><p>dear lost friends </p><p>who have buried our friendship </p><p>laugh </p><p>with my mother</p><p>who is just there </p><p>between realms</p><p>of friendship and death</p><p>the earth is freshly turned</p><p>all night </p><p>the digging </p><p>the turning </p><p>continues</p><p>by dawn a whole new body</p><p>has been born</p><p>and I have stepped into </p><p>a new day</p><p><br /></p><p>— Lorena</p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-79935770939231337302023-04-11T06:26:00.000-07:002023-04-12T06:29:52.133-07:00if I were to ask<p> </p><p><br /></p><p>if I were to ask the land</p><p><br /></p><p>here where the weather is everything</p><p><br /></p><p>here where we are so close to the sun</p><p><br /></p><p>why it lured me here</p><p><br /></p><p>I know it would say</p><p><br /></p><p>because </p><p><br /></p><p>here you see the sun rise over the eastern hills</p><p><br /></p><p>dawn arrives with birdsong and grace </p><p><br /></p><p>here in the springtime the sun sets in the cleft between hills</p><p><br /></p><p>while these breasts of earth are still rocky and dry</p><p><br /></p><p>and you can never know when the rain will come</p><p><br /></p><p>here you learn gratitude</p><p><br /></p><p>for each twilight</p><p><br /></p><p>for each bit of tree dappled shade</p><p><br /></p><p>for learning to walk between the spines</p><p><br /></p><p>of nopales organos garambullos cardones</p><p><br /></p><p>and a multitud of prickly fellow travelers of all kind </p><p><br /></p><p>whose names you have never learned</p><p><br /></p><p>and even for those you have</p><p><br /></p><p>here a droplet is never taken foregranted</p><p><br /></p><p>cannot be taken foregranted</p><p><br /></p><p>and yet still somewhere underground</p><p><br /></p><p>rivers flow</p><p><br /></p><p>here you learn to smell their waters with your skin</p><p><br /></p><p>you are but a transient form on the landscape</p><p><br /></p><p>here you learn to walk</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>—Lorena Wolfman</p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-88167009541279058502022-12-27T10:41:00.003-08:002022-12-27T10:43:18.688-08:00<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbENGUctnVqeGEaZK6wIcVgte238VV6IsK45BDThjJ5d1F9ZLdoLM-0XbSTyeSALwLqd7zaEbK_qJ9GKkUfS4x-8p84fW7xZ_SnckYseVBqw2Hw_5nUgYpnmDna25BU_d95eYQ0aJNZwzG9v0TSXexO8xQFkgZlAJJool8v0eGJZyc1gXEhxxJtg/s993/DivineLightReflected3.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="794" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbENGUctnVqeGEaZK6wIcVgte238VV6IsK45BDThjJ5d1F9ZLdoLM-0XbSTyeSALwLqd7zaEbK_qJ9GKkUfS4x-8p84fW7xZ_SnckYseVBqw2Hw_5nUgYpnmDna25BU_d95eYQ0aJNZwzG9v0TSXexO8xQFkgZlAJJool8v0eGJZyc1gXEhxxJtg/w320-h400/DivineLightReflected3.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">reflected light comes always from source </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">as it continues to expand renews itself </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">arising from the same source it has always been</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">as the aroma of the rose</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">never ceases being part of its first blossom</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">a star emits light to reveal a moon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">a moon ilumines a noctural planet </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">in vigil watching itself becoming</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">the invitation to sight </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">as with music comes from deep within</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">even in her dreams </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">darkness is the inevitable lover of light</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">she shows him off in his whole rainbow spectrum</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">as she watches in silent prayer</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">sight itself is both luminous and dark...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">—Lorena Wolfman</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-56609892564615117212022-11-03T14:47:00.005-07:002022-11-03T14:47:49.264-07:00"Matrilineage"<p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXtDR5GbRabi_cAEwJsn0qYNdEGxfaNrvXJmnRA2tYMjhIHylth67RZkoVgXTef-zgAkxkbdV6m8bFabQTHr3zSMu8M4D2Z-LsZ_CT_wtOsDTIKBeF0v0hkcTEo6k05SlKC9LjcmHXZH1em5H5-hsDJUhvRwSbPidzX3Rd2ynjKeVwL8aU73QNTQ/s4000/Matrilineage.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXtDR5GbRabi_cAEwJsn0qYNdEGxfaNrvXJmnRA2tYMjhIHylth67RZkoVgXTef-zgAkxkbdV6m8bFabQTHr3zSMu8M4D2Z-LsZ_CT_wtOsDTIKBeF0v0hkcTEo6k05SlKC9LjcmHXZH1em5H5-hsDJUhvRwSbPidzX3Rd2ynjKeVwL8aU73QNTQ/w300-h400/Matrilineage.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-38421181398992459452022-10-15T14:47:00.001-07:002022-10-15T19:40:11.014-07:00Water tiger dreams<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uf08SpdOVf3YGbLMnkSvV5Sdds8bcIAP_2iPqpuZu9NeHcYOTrrDtQWrQODMnu26mbf8Y_xD-EE0qI13xklZFi7HHAiG7Q1asFU-LexWao7JWYztEVgZiBmGoHwyZOt1VyAtdqXaV1OX3CcDXucU8gnISOcV9nUvphpYFp5qXDVnCNHAhcS57Q/s2020/WaterTigerDreams2b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2020" data-original-width="1252" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uf08SpdOVf3YGbLMnkSvV5Sdds8bcIAP_2iPqpuZu9NeHcYOTrrDtQWrQODMnu26mbf8Y_xD-EE0qI13xklZFi7HHAiG7Q1asFU-LexWao7JWYztEVgZiBmGoHwyZOt1VyAtdqXaV1OX3CcDXucU8gnISOcV9nUvphpYFp5qXDVnCNHAhcS57Q/w248-h400/WaterTigerDreams2b.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-49697690960981480992022-10-09T17:29:00.002-07:002022-10-09T17:29:31.881-07:00Creative principle at play<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiI4WHrQEsKMMfEFeK60TLFO0KGgQyYqTwRklM4i_gpZEWtrbNjO1i7WEeXJn50UNmdc-r_42MEF2wWzoQ-IhJkuI5pA5OHiRpgTGtaN3nNTr57K_WHbbNumz5dlfKzuRt3lNOi0djnqa0769Q-nh7LjWqDg5FW3Satmv-cZoi-lz1E6ra36w8UQ/s4000/Fool2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiI4WHrQEsKMMfEFeK60TLFO0KGgQyYqTwRklM4i_gpZEWtrbNjO1i7WEeXJn50UNmdc-r_42MEF2wWzoQ-IhJkuI5pA5OHiRpgTGtaN3nNTr57K_WHbbNumz5dlfKzuRt3lNOi0djnqa0769Q-nh7LjWqDg5FW3Satmv-cZoi-lz1E6ra36w8UQ/w300-h400/Fool2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2902768853260340568.post-50560898863354548932022-10-06T04:36:00.000-07:002022-10-09T04:36:17.878-07:00"The same moon"<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguM2WSI6ftFlPOSyuNnH0qhz6IrjDYuihg6Lx20Mb0crty_qoYe0XE7UBy_F1KwtWauOd5QKLVJYaWFmuS-hyiaaD8Xrib2xP2LNb8bHfDQFmRFAAJXU1numPVY-qOQ24ijoGO-CY_arzpToJdZltlScbFGf60LO2jcHDytk5PCIW3TY7xxOrM0g/s4000/TheSameMoon4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguM2WSI6ftFlPOSyuNnH0qhz6IrjDYuihg6Lx20Mb0crty_qoYe0XE7UBy_F1KwtWauOd5QKLVJYaWFmuS-hyiaaD8Xrib2xP2LNb8bHfDQFmRFAAJXU1numPVY-qOQ24ijoGO-CY_arzpToJdZltlScbFGf60LO2jcHDytk5PCIW3TY7xxOrM0g/w300-h400/TheSameMoon4.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p><p><br /></p>Lorena Wolfmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17893964452063202761noreply@blogger.com0