Karinaland River

  New Possibilities Starting end of February, the big old live oaks outside my bedroom cottage on the hill begin showing new growth. Really? The yearly miracle of renewal is happening seven weeks early. Making it even more of a wonder, normally I have to wait till April. So much rain in late fall, followed by a warm January and February. Each spring, I am helplessly stunned all over again, as if I never have experienced it before. Nestled beneath, upon waking my delight mingles with pure astonishment, awe, and contentment. Seeligkeit . Trees and bird song. Bliss. The big giants with their sturdy fat trunks and long limbs – covered in moss and all kind of lichen, reaching wide and far, deep and high – are my teachers and companions. The tender new leaves sing out to me, my heart hums along with joy. The trees’ life juice originates from the equally deep and wide roots, pushing through wood, hard branchlets, closed buds. Inner strength is unfolding, daring, trusting, growing, transfo...

  When Red is the Color   Red, the color of warning, danger, aggression,  fire, destruction, blood flowing. This morning, another war initiated by our country. Red, also the color of life at its fullest. That is what my teaching is about, learning to be in balance, harmony, with self, others, nature – an offering towards peace. Red, with its many meanings and paradoxes, can signal good or bad. Like water, Red needs harnessing. Below an experience of mine this past week. I keep the words as written before today’s news. When Red is the color to carry us over the threshold into the Lunar New Year of the Fire Horse . So, this Tuesday morning, I put on my new red velvet tunic and pants. Their colors and texture are luscious, warm, soft, energizing. Teaching my T’ai Chi classes, I normally don’t dress up, but today it feels right. A new session begins, and several newcomers are joining my established group. Arriving early, caring and observant Parry delights: “Beautiful, new st...

The Beast with a Dream in its Belly   Not Necessary   Sometimes it is just not needed not necessary…   What? Well, the distractions… endlessly urgent Who needs to be diverted from plain simple life From life’s breath – in the belly – who needs it?   Rising and falling waves of aliveness, nourishing consoling, energizing, roaming, traversing, visiting meandering, questing, wandering, pondering the softening and comforting, if we ever would tune in get to know Breath, listen, linger, but we so so busy we can’t help it, we need really – really need to be absent, definitely…   sometimes, the deep cave of my throat fills up with soft happy feeling flaunting a certain fragrance like that of my mock orange bush against the house, unassuming white petals, yellow stamen resembling plum blossoms – sometimes, delicate taste of sweet out of nowhere lingers on my puzzled palate, humbled tongue infusing each belly breath with life, confident in ebb and flow till death will ta...

The Power of the Powerless   The forces of history are always bigger than us – we are at their mercy. What will be our fate? How will destiny unfold? What influences guide us? Can we be dedicated to Living in Truth?   Václav  Havel – Living in Truth In the Spring of 1968, my 14-year-old teenage attention is laser-focused on Czechoslovakia. The great Alexander Dubček is my hero. As secretary of the Communist Party, he puts the Prague Spring Reforms into place beginning of January that year. In West Germany and France much political turmoil and transformation is happening. Starting at 12 years old, I am devouring books by Albert Camus, Thomas Mann, Nellie Sachs, Heinrich Heine, Günther Grass , Hilde Domin, Hans Magnus Enzensberger, and many more. I read Czech writers, poets, and playwrights, like Václav Havel , Bohumil Hrabal, Pavel Kohout, etc.  Ours was a socialist family. Every night, we heatedly discuss sociological trends and political events at the dinner t...

  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...