Karinaland River

  Who Will Fill My Place When I Am Gone? Out in space, a few humans are orbiting for weeks, months or years, often two or three in a small capsule. For the most part, they return unscathed to earth. In contrast, remember the families missing one or two of its members. The “disappeared” – who will find them? Who will fill their place? The presence of the “abducted” are nevertheless painfully felt in the silence of their home: the empty mug, jacket still on the hook near the door. Nobody dares to step into their spot as not to hinder the possible return of their loved one. Eerie Silence. Absence. my clematis end of December   All of us have to step up constantly, for many reasons. At   certain times, the pressure is higher. Like filling the place of those who have been disappeared, or forced into exile. Or were violently murdered. Those having left for good, leave behind heartache. Their absence might bring forth the best in us. Whenever violation is involved, our soul, too...

  Knowing Last night, on New Year’s Eve, 2025, I am flooded with immense gratitude, bigger than life. To honor it, I finally write about something specifically sacred to me. With its intense flame, the essence of the story is burning inside me. Today, ten years ago, my Mama puts her simple paper affairs one more time in order with the assistance of Edeltraut, her trustworthy helper who comes twice a day. It’s New Year’s Eve – Sylvester . I speak to her on the phone, my morning, her evening already, nine hours difference. “Like you, I am not going to do anything, just go to bed early,” I say. She falls asleep and never wakes up again. That night of hers is my day here. Despite not having heard yet of her death, I seem to know. The irrepressible urge to drive to Point Reyes for a walk on the beach. When two hospice workers drop by bringing confusing news about the service for my husband Bob, I blurt out impatiently: “I need to go, can’t figure this out now.” At the ocean, my feet are...

How Little It Takes   Maybe just a ginkgo leaf falling into your lap? The winds of winter are blowing hard. Making me feel a little homesick and lonely. On my way home from errands, I spontaneously stop at the outdoor latke tent at Saul’s. This decision seems random, but it highlights my vague longing for comfort. Last day of Hannukah, dusk is falling fast. Solstice with its longest night. A warm rain storm to arrive soon. Everyone I am encountering today is kind. The tired cook fetches the last hot latke for me and asks if I like applesauce and sour cream. Yes, I do. He is generous with the applesauce, just the way I like it. I meander over to the bench to devour this snack which makes me feel home. An elder gray-haired gentleman sits there, quietly waiting for his take-out order. He looks kind. Me, an elder white-haired lady, completely absorbed in my latke delight, my own small world. Taking bites from the crunchy treat which is cooling down fast. Savoring. Entranced by tastes o...

  Winter Angels – Engel   cement is bursting again and again, delicate tiny blossoms break the heart of sidewalk unfathomably bright faces, fleeting presence   just as we might freeze stiff with cold, fear, gilded greed we also might melt into an ocean of gratitude, forgetting our untrustworthy desires, arbitrarily chosen smallness   sometimes an angel appears with modest gifts leaving them in your shoes or under the tree then flies down the many stairs and the little girl rushes to get a glimpse of angel presence and… – she does   in winter we wait, we welcome the dark sister precious glow of flame, snowy night flickering inner fire warms our fingertips, toes, and soul   we remember the sick and lonely, we send care packages, later we hum and sing in harmony, eat Stollen und Lebkuchen , connecting East and West   sometimes, filled to the brim, we turn light as a feather we dance to the floor, spiraling, whirling swirling bowing to God, Grace, Gravity,...

  Leseratten   It’s not fashionable with human beings, but I must admit that I admire the curious and inventive intelligence of rats. I have even written a couple of children stories, in one a desert rat features prominently, in the other a white pet rat. And from Garland (owner of Rat Patrol) I have learned over the decades many things about city rats’ lives and behavior. Today I will introduce you to two different rats, and of course they are as smart as any other. They know to make themselves useful: by being Leseratten . Reading Rats – how do you like that? In English this term would perhaps be translated to bookworms. In German we call anybody – young people especially – who get easily and endlessly lost in books: Leseratten , reading rats. I was one of those kids. An endangered species now. Rare, forgotten. Till it might come back into fashion… digital is only one of many ways to feel connected. Let me introduce you to Lupina and Marco, dressed in red-patterned and black...

  Flows, Sings In the early hour peeing later morning   surprises on tongue tasting tea teeth chewing lips   listening with feet on curious soles   another day steps into my humming orb with honest clarity   midday overflows into afternoon filled with silken chords multiple voices ring echoing through ears, flesh, bones   misty waves of sound weaving droplets into dusky desire for rest, drifting, winter five o’clock sun’s gone already, structures, roofs, walls, fences, blurred, melted, faint – how could the day glide so effortlessly Open is the garden: Licht   fading to shades of grey evening sprouts questions   darkness delicately explores night star-studded with dreams Here a fugue entices centuries converge music by J.S. Bach reaches consoles, flows, sings, strings shimmer Tröstet das Herz, wir sehnen uns nach dieser Berührung der Seele   Es regnet… Auch heute noch In der kleinen Kathedrale klingt der Gesang  Violoncello Stimme Orgel ...

Trustworthy             A secret safety resides in the pomegranate’s pregnant belly           is hiding inside bloodred seeds of truth filled with imminent           life – we might no longer believe in such luscious possibilities           instead, we the people panic, deny, force, coerce, control, are           thinking too wishfully, grasping tightly – can’t trust the stream           skin and brain cells’ quiet steady renewal, pulsing beingness           – tenacious           change so intensely uncomfortable, inconvenient, uncontrollable           like my laughter when the radio announcer reports that the driver           was put into driver-less status, yes, his misconduct got pass...

  Our Common Smallness   The hawk circles high, nothing escapes his eyes. Big white and grey clouds are billowing in blue sky. Out of old habit, I enjoy paying attention to the “ordinary” beings around me, there is little pomposity to be found in their extra-ordinary splendor. Observing, asking questions, listening curiously, intuitively sensing how to best connect. This Thursday, I am happy to see the open round face of a young man coming up the stairs. Right away, I know we are going to have a good time. Despite my big problem that turns out to be very expensive, sigh – quickly we are at ease with each other. He expresses his admiration for the Memorial Mural on the garage doors, wants to take a picture of it, share. It moves him. Later I tell him more about honoring the people affected, whether dead or freed. The research it took to give each their tiny bit of personal story. A wall for mourning. Obviously, his heart is spacious and has a natural tendency toward justice. He...