Hekatron

Hekate at the crossroads... knowing where you have come from and looking down the roads of the choices... a place of contemplation...

The secret life of wrinkles...

Like all things do

wrinkles have a secret life

they multiply in drawers

in closets

on faces

across time

when the cold weather comes

and they soften with movement

with sunlight

with the warmth of a caress

guiding them onto a single plane

on linen they flatten out

under the searing heat 

of an iron belching steam.

Wrinkles contract and release

like a heart beating

like a bellow fanning flames

like hands clasping and letting go.

Wrinkles disappear and reappear

and sometimes

come to stay in the thoughtful furrow of your brow

or they deepen like moonbeams 

that have traced the vectors of the light 

twinkling in your eyes again and again.

Where there is life

there are wrinkles

moving of their own volition

in a dance 

with time, heat, movement,  humidity and light...

—Lorena Wolfman

Step forward

Yes, even when you have forgotten yourself,

you are a mandala, you are a snowflake,

you are a prism, you are a fractal

shaping the light coming through you

like no other.

Step forward

into the shadows

or out of them

knowing that even the shadows 

reveal the form of the light 

that pours forth

from your life.

Step forward

following your bliss,

following your burning curiosity,

following your nose

as you seek out the fragrance

of the secret rose,

of the hidden treasure that you are.

Step forward

following your in-tuition,

the inward sense

where you find yourself

on the map of existence

dancing your wandering dance

twisting and turning

across mountains

through valleys

over plains

your toes pressing 

into the moist sands of long beaches.

Step forward 

and let the light move

through you.

Step forward.

You are 

like no other.

—Lorena Wolfman

Our dance…

     for Anna—

You a cloud

dancing

as you always have

on a grand scale.

I mirror your form

rolling and billowing

opening 

and turning inward

tumbling out as I tumble in.

You showing me the grandness

of this endless dance

that grows as the universe does.

Folding and unfolding

embracing

holding it all…

The arms of the galaxies

are opening now…

Your arms are made of space

of ether

as they always have been

yet it’s so transparent now…

You are space dancing

 just 

 as you always have.

—Lorena Wolfman

This is your moon

     for Anna

This moon is yours Anna.

Take a bow.

The rays of the moon are shining for you,

and you make them a little brighter tonight.

There will be five colors to the moon

before dawn

as you shift and flow through the sky.

You make your grand exit

on the full “super flower blood moon”

and complete eclipse.

You follow the fragrant path

of Spring blossoms

all the way home…

—Lorena Wolfman

Never one to trail...

Anna,

You were never one to trail blazes...

You were ablaze!

A blaze blazing with other blazes

Aflame! Aglow! 

Kindling a blazing trail

for so many more to blaze,

blaze brighter than ever before!

—Lorena Wolfman

A rare visitor...

    Photo: Fernando Mendoza Maldonado

A rare visitor has appeared from elsewhere 

seeded from the deeps of the ocean of a faraway galaxy 

she is a blossom

breathing in and breathing out 

her faintly fragrant exhalation

is just enough 

to complete the chemistry

that makes our earth home 

and to spur forth the cycle of breathing everywhere...

—Lorena Wolfman

The fuchsia of so many Springs...

 

    Photo: Fernando Mendoza Maldonado

The fuchsia of so many Springs 

each       one       present 

laid down in the lines of my hands 

a geography of time

while the white canvas 

slowly spreads

                                 towards eternity.

                    —Lorena Wolfman

Heart

    Photo: Fernando Mendoza Maldonado

 

Heart. 

My heart a leaf in autumn. 

Red, veined with joy.

            —Lorena Wolfman 

 

Virgen del camino...

 

Foto: Fernando Mendoza Maldonado

Autobus del pueblo

Virgen en tránsito... 

transitando por la tierra

por caminos invisibles 

el chófer cegado por la luz 

Santa María 

madre de dios 

sagrada entre todas 

esencia femenina pura 

puerta de entrada y de salida 

medio de transmutación

consuela al papa-padre 

arrepentido y apenado

aún incapaz de abrir los ojos... 

¡cuantos años de la patriarquía! 

¡cuantos años! 

—Lorena Wolfman

La Papaya

 

Foto: Fernando Mendoza Maldonado

¡Ay la Papaya!  

Carne anaranjada intensa 

como escarlata disolviéndose en un mar de alegría

semillas anidadas en el ovario del universo 

esponjosa potencialidad

estrella brillante

llamado al jardín original 

¡trópico pululante!

¡trópico de orígenes!

¡Ay la Papaya!  

—Lorena Wolfman

Pomegranate Juice