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Even If We Are Afraid At age nine, we know what we want. We roam in the fields, climb trees, steal a few cherries, or apricots when ripe. We love the sky. We draw houses, trees. We know that we want to be ourselves when grown, or an architect, a  dancer s or singer. We outrun the boys. We know what it is to be free. We bold – protect the weak, adore those ignored, othered, invisible… we grow winged…. Then comes life with all its struggles, storms, temptations, learning, waves, guides, wonders, good-byes, celebrations, loneliness, transformations. When old, suddenly we know we’ve lived a very full – truly wonder-full – life. Surprise. We belong to ourselves again. Awe. Together with the young girl,  still agile  we dance on tree limbs, swing high into the canopy… stretch our limbs…. Many-armed we bend the bow, sow the seeds, teach, prune, write, cook, pray, embrace. We know that our scars and wrinkles attract hummingbirds, butterflies, owls, hawks, moths. With every word a...
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Seeds for the Future   Karinaland & Bay Area Community Land Trust Gathering and Celebration on Sunday August 16, 2026   Here a kaleidoscope of our afternoon, so deeply meaningful for me. Long planned and envisioned – in collaboration. On Saturday, mild summer weather, setting up the back patio with 22 chairs in oval formation. Decorating the perimeter with colorful fabrics. Transforming the space into an open “tent” which is able to hold several worlds. Aysha and Alejandro help to put up a shade cloth, tables for food and drink, cleaning the chairs.  On Sunday, Rebecca joins us early with utensils. At 3 pm, friends start arriving, bringing delicious food to share, mingling with BALCT’s staff, guests, and board members.   We eat and converse. Then I ask people to sit in the circle, or rather oval. Welcoming everyone, I start with sharing in broad strokes Karinaland’ s history of 35 years, weaving together the threads of my life and work as artist and teacher. Vi...
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  Piercing   evening sun, fog is cooling, tempering august intensity delicate fragrance of quince seeps under skin gently… subtly… slowly… kindly just like that   a woman’s voice on the radio sharply defensive, anxious, fast, with urgency interviewer  quickly  tries to puncture her he a fervent sledge hammer just like that   we perceive perfectly polarized propaganda piercing us from all sides, I am right you are wrong, it works just like that   tempering our mood is a delicate affair, requires skill, patience – long view lowers the heat, no quelching but steadily relieving tension radical like that   really? releasing? letting go? when really, we need need need need need need all that speed might not otherwise all collapse? like that   messages of quince bring me back to earth, hands picking yellow fruit crawling into gnarly tree, imperfect shapes, beholden & beholding just as is   fingers on velvet fuzz, sensing golden goodness, in...
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  Sommerträume – Summer Dreams Out of nowhere, my brother Matthias announces that he is sending a package from Germany. Mid-year, not for my birthday. What will arrive? Mail across the ocean is not dependable anymore and postage has become very expensive. Arbitrary tolls have to be paid in Germany and here, so with the huge postage increases I had to give up sending presents to my family in Germany. What a loss. When his parcel arrives two weeks later, a colorful woven textile emerges. Marvelous. So much joy. Freude . His hands spin the wool with a spindle, the threads get died, then he weaves. The beautifully crafted gift brings consolation – a piece of him in my home. I drape it on the couch, admiring it daily. Times of pandemic, my own health issue, and now, for the past year and half, it is too dangerous for me to fly.  Having not seen my siblings and family for seven years, I feel most bereft  t his summer. D reaming of magic carpets. Yes, my old childhood habit of t...
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  Perpetual Promise   Sometimes people from the past appear out of the blue. Recently, a former long-time student of mine writes to ask about my current T’ai Chi classes. She is a memorable and lovely person, and a good writer.  “ I would so love to take one of your classes again — they still linger in my mind as times of great pleasure, peace and progress. ”  We catch up a bit on our lives in our e-mail exchange. I write back about possibilities for her to join. And we add to all the previous p’s: pleasure, peace and progress – possibility. This strikes me as a wonderful game. I add my own p’s as the days go by. There are word-wizards in the world, I am not one of them. But the palpable popping of the syllables is enticing. Just like the dry seed cups of my poppies ready to spread precious potential. Fleeting gentle explosions, play of lips. All the p’s pouncing…   Luscious memories of lingering on the floor with dictionaries. What is progress? I am on my belly...
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  Simple For many years now, my life has been shifting to more and more simple. Not by chance – I work on it. Eliminating unnecessary distractions, setting clear priorities, keeping needed focus. Those are my tools in order to be of good use. In our age of “more-not-less,” I find myself an outsider. Limiting everything to essentials, to stewardship of land, students, and my own destiny. Simple life. As an eight-year-old, my relationship with Spirit is a secret refuge, my citadel. Precious. I dialogue with elusive, yet palpable, "spirit presence" through  feet,  sky, moon, trees, sounds. It lives in all things and everywhere, inhabiting my body, too. When alone, I dance in slow-motion, feeling that clearly something  unknown  is flowing through me. Or I engage in shapeshifting, seeing the world from the viewpoint of a tiny daisy in a meadow.  At age twelve, I start inventing slow sequences, gestures, postures. It's a language, an architecture. An invisible r...
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  Steady and Smooth   Another meditation on qualities which we have  most likely  not explored enough. Our times are fast, rough, and ruthless. After Slow and Sweet here comes Steady and Smooth . Sounds boring, right? Who needs it, when we can successfully act rash, forcefully, flashy, edgy, getting attention quickly – succeeding in the short run. Increasing quick spikes of addictive highs, followed by devastating lows. Dullness that craves fantasies and passive hope. How to get into the groove of pleasurable active-ness? When you repeatedly sound the word “smooth” out loud, extending the vowel into an elongated cooing caress – mysteriously, soothing rivulets will start permeating your heart-body. Like a trance. Listen. Try. One long out-breath....   It feels good to sail smoooothly… all along refining sound and technique. Mindful, curious repetition, relaxing our nervous system, becoming reward, rather than achievement. In my teaching, I have noticed with old ...
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Slow and Sweet   where to turn for true sweetness? slowly drink tender streams of nameless soothing? not related to fast rash harsh sugar stuff we buy, are addicted to, but rather singing swooning   flowing glowing snowing sowing   murmuring melodies, gentle waves quietly lapping at the shore of soul’s secret lake, deep inside, waiting breathing, listening with yearning ears, heart aches can we pacify the savage greed, more more more not enough?   going for the spectacular, advertised and sold as fun biggest, loudest, fastest – are we too dull, deaf, numb so insensitive, not even recognizing what is salty truth? Playful life offers  spontaneous  steady sparks,  small  sacred insights   creeping reaping weeping seeping   where can we taste slow and sweet? searching between split seconds, confounding gap amidst an in  and  out -breath, swaggering in sloppy slow-motion seeking to amaze us, sweeping our cheeks’ smooth skin snow ...
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