We all have perpetrated and received. Handed out and endured. Individually and collectively. Some countries carry a huge collective debt or “Schuld” – like Germany – and have to embark on the long journey of reckoning with the horrific crimes that were perpetrated. After the Nuremberg trials, Germany was forced (in a good way) into continued cultural introspection and change, reparations and re-envisioning. Not every citizen took it up of course, but over the course of 75 years the culture has changed in deep ways. It took decades of radical and intellectual movements, artists, filmmakers, educators, psychologists, Nazi hunters, demonstrations, violence and killings, and ongoing systemic overhaul. As well as Vergangenheitsarbeit and Trauerarbeit. Both terms describe inner psychological work, the former refers to the past, the latter to grieving. So much denial, shock, numbness, and grief, and especially deep shame and guilt had to be worked through collectively and individually. (
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YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN Who? Loved ones alive, and dead; invitations to be fully human; ancestors, gods, and guides; the mystery we bow to; melody of soul purpose; laughter and tears…. sacred breeze.... ....generations of squirrels chasing each other, flying high in the tall live oaks, raiding my apple tree, hiding and finding acorns – how could we forget the wonder of life?
Freedom of Feet – Feet of Freedom Nothing better than walking Barefoot – Breathing with the Soles of the Feet. Feeling the world through the eyes and ears of Feet. What a luxury. Purely sensing. Directly receiving, letting the messages ripple up through legs and spine, bringing harmony to the body as it responds in direct pleasure. Not preferring or avoiding. Rather giving over to dry soil or leaves, gravel or moss, stone, sand, wood, asphalt, wool carpet, hot, warm or cool, rough or prickly, smooth or sharp…. and so much more in between. Sighing – and allowing the massage to happen. Skin, nerve strands, and meridians are getting stimulated. Alive. Soft, open, aware… Feet are creatures and we rarely allow them the pleasure of breathing, of being free and naturally playful. We keep them tightly encased and sheltered, away from air and the elements. Toes want to wiggle, stretch, bend, grip, and tell stories. Slide over surfaces. Soles want to relax into ground, roll, and peel off –
“Dedicate your life to something bigger, higher, better than yourself.” These days I am again contemplating my caregiving years. Which were also my grieving years. Which were also full of joy, plenty of delight, and deep fulfillment. Meaningful, life affirming, infused with a profound sense of belonging and purpose. Here is part 2 of On Living and Leaving , from 2012. About the last years of taking care of my husband – 25 years my senior – with his health in slow decline with kidney disease, he died at home in October 2016. (You can find part 1, on the August 17 entry.) And then there is ordinary life, such as home repairs, and the rats that have entered the laundry room again. One adventurous visitor has nibbled on an apple in the bowl on the dining table. I put it in a different spot to test the creature, and sure enough next day the half eaten apple is gone. Intelligent being. It must have entered through the heating vent nearby. Garland from Rat Patrol is setting more traps. “
Metal Gate at the bottom of stairs, right next to garage doors in the evening sun – entrance to Karinaland Design by Karina, custom made by Andrew Kyle Another day, the story of my gate’s genesis in the fall of 2019: from scary incident between a deer and bicyclist, letting ideas to keep deer out and from colliding with bikers grow beyond initial provisional solutions into an artistic vision that speaks to spirits and light, gate becoming a transparent guardian, and the wonderful process of aging, with the patina of rust….
Forces bigger than us… They don’t exist? Till they impact me, you… Don’t exist till they reach you and your loved ones? Earthquakes, firestorms, flash floods, heat waves, pandemics, viruses, diseases, hunger, drought, evacuations, wars, bombings, torture, slavery, genocides, or just plain normal death – they never seem to happen much in this country. Or only recently. Of course that is not true. The ones most affected and suffering are predominantly brown and poor people who are not protected or insured. Unrelenting force and terror are experienced in man-made wars of all kinds. But now the Forces of Nature, more powerful than humans, are hitting increasingly harder, in accelerated fashion. We pay more attention. No matter how much we try to deny, control, sue, blame, prepare, they won’t go away…. The denial of it all is the saddest…. Here is a toast to the Forces of Nature bigger than us teaching & humbling us – wanting to be heard, respected, and danced with…. Inviting us to
Today is Sunday August 22, 2021. Eleanor Bumpers was born exactly 103 years ago. At age 66, the Black grandmother, living in New York City, was killed by police. (Below see more details of the tragic incident in an excerpt from Wikipedia.) She was pushed literally and metaphorically against the wall, fighting for her life. Clearly it is very important to make changes to the use of police force. It is over-due. A big re-envisioning has to happen. May all the lost lives motivate us to bring more caring and justice to our society. Eleanor Bumpers Aug 22, 1918 - Oct 29, 1984 Disabled and mentally ill, 66 year old Grandmother, New York, New York “The shooting of Eleanor Bumpurs by the New York Police Department occurred on October 29, 1984. The police were present to enforce a city-ordered eviction of Bumpurs, an elderly, disabled African American woman, from her public housing apartment in the Bronx . In requesting NYPD assistance, housing authority workers told police that Bum
Nothing will be the same in our future from here on. For a while now, we have been globally in the middle of rapid acceleration on many levels. We humans though don’t easily comprehend the power of “exponential.” Like the worldwide spread of Corona virus, or the massive firestorms that we are experiencing here in California in recent years, or the flash floods – “exponential” is a law of nature. This phenomenon operates also within us humans. Body and mind might be erupting seemingly out of the blue in sudden disease or violent behavior, leaving behind suffering and tragedies in a flash. Always though something has been growing unnoticed, has been festering in the dark, has been spreading invisibly, and then suddenly it is exploding, sweeping, destroying, and shocking us with its force. This also happens in constructive ways, like in the learning process and the miracles of the healing process. Sometimes I am practicing a subtle movement over and over again for quite a while, and i
A Partner in the Dance of Life This past Sunday, when browsing in one of my favorite poetry collections, I find this excerpt (see below) from an essay called “Our Passion for Justice “ by Carter Heyward. Despite knowing the book’s different writings quite well, today these words strike a clear and beautiful bell. I read them to my students in Monday’s T’ai Chi group session on zoom; our theme this month is Inhabiting Heart Space . With the many heart-wrenching tragedies going on in the world right now, the sentences and their tone resonate. “For this reason loving involves commitment . We are not automatic lovers of self, others, world, or God. Love does not just happen. We are not love machines, puppets on the strings of a deity called ‘love.’ Love is a choice—not simply, or necessarily, a rational choice, but rather a willingness to be present to others without pretense of guile. Love is a conversion to humanity—a willingness to participate with others in the healing of a broken wor
KTVU/Fox 2 from Oakland contacts me on Saturday , a day after the story appears in the Berkeleyside on July 24, 2020. I respond that I am open, but I am non committal. Since I don’t watch TV, I do not really know what kind of station this is – a Fox Station? But next day, that Sunday around noon – out of the blue – the TV crew knocks at my door. I send them away, saying that maybe in an hour I might be ready for a short interview. Immediately I text a filmmaker friend to find out about KTVU/Fox 2. Luckily Jed Riffe calls back assuring me that they are ok, I should go ahead. Then I talk briefly with the producer Elissa on the phone. When the camera man and sound person come back, I am barely ready. But right away I recognize that they are professional, kind, and actually interested in the mural and its message. This is a pleasant surprise. The sun straight above is blasting hard, I keep squinting at the camera, fully aware that I am not good with sound bites. What should I focus on?
Yesterday I came across an old piece of writing from January 2012, and was struck. It was done 4 years and 9 months before my husband’s death (Oct 20, 2016). How aware I was already back then that losing him would be very hard. Of course I did not know yet that in 2016, in the span of one year, first my mother would die, and 3 months after my husband’s death, I would find my best friend, colleague and confidant dead in his bed. And with that, the most important pillars in my life vanish in one big swoop. Total disorientation, aggravated grief, the deepest shattering of my life. Friends around me cannot comprehend the magnitude of this earthquake. So I go into hiding. But I had experienced so much grace when care giving for my mother in Germany twice for 3 weeks, and then full time for Bob his last 9 months. The utter beauty, messiness, and healing of it all carried me through the deep valley of grief years, often standing at the precipice. So today, returning back from my cello less
A little more than a year ago, the Berkeleyside contacted me to do a brief interview with me about my 641 Garage BLM Memorial Mural . And they were going to send a photographer. It surprised me how reluctant I was at first. Well, as a documentary filmmaker I know how an article in any paper can distort our work, or leave out the essence. Of course we need exposure to get our films out into the world, but I would always find it excruciating and nerve wrecking. How many things would get left out and misrepresented? For the most part I used to have good luck. With the memorial I am engaged in an experiment that my heart had asked for, it really needs no press or advertisement. The mural itself is already exposed to the public by gradually appearing on the garage doors. It was my brother who said on the phone from Germany: “Don’t resist, don’t stand in the way, just go with the flow. “ And I am glad I did – asking the interviewer to present this Memorial with respect and not just as a s
Nicky shares Reflections of the past Year "When I look at the black and white photos of this Black Lives Matter memorial I remember the energy and air of summer last year. Around the time Karina decided to start the memorial on her garage doors, I was joining thousands of people from our community in protest calling for justice for George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, and Steven Taylor. The uprisings throughout June were candlelit vigils, music, dancing, parents with children and elders, prayers, and silences for 9 minutes and 28 seconds. There were youth-organized gatherings and youth-led marches tear-gassed by militarized police. Some nights sparked into understandable rage, frustration, and valid anger. The media turned their cameras to the broken windows, the tear gas, and the agitations but often left out the morning afters when people came out to sweep the streets, share food & water, and self organize to help the small businesses that were caught in the crossfi
On the morning of August 12, 2020 – exactly a year ago – we are sketching & painting as a trio: Nicky, Laura and me, distanced and masked, up on the scaffold. We are happy that Tomye is visiting; she sits on a chair close by, in the shade of my orange tree near the gate. With a cup of tea I made with herbs from my garden. She, too, has been painting with us a few times, but after having fainted in the heat of midday sun a couple of weeks ago, I do not allow her to continue this strenuous work. She ended up fine and recovered quickly. Also, by now the scaffold is built and not so easy to climb for an elderly person. Too bad, because Tomye’s calligraphy is exquisite, she is such a skilled artist. The scaffold makes our work now much easier on the legs; we do not have to struggle with standing on the steep incline to the garage doors. Stories and silence are floating through the air. By-passers and their dogs stop for a chat and petting session; “old-timers” exchange news with us. A
You see the still with "Mother" at its center in close-up? Here is the memorial entry about this 92 year old woman: Kathryn Johnston June 26, 1914 - Nov 21, 2006 92 year old, known as "Mother", Memorial Park in her name Atlanta, Georgia Here is what I first had after researching, but it was too many words, too long for the mural: She was known as "Mother" in her neighborhood. A park near her home was named "Kathryn Johnston Memorial Park." She was killed by under cover police in a mistaken drug raid that was illegal.
This time of year it’s the season of the Naked Ladies. The beautiful bright pink lily flowers catch the eye, they appear in bunches on tall stems once their green foliage has died back. So they are naked? Forty years ago being new to this country, I did not understand why this name. But American culture is very prudish and at the same time sex-obsessed. So maybe it does make sense to call this flamboyant plant a name that fulfills fantasies wishing for naked ladies :) I did not grow up with the sea close by, so the first time – still very new to America – friends took me to Ocean Beach, I took off my clothes and naked jumped into the waves. Oohh, the water was so cold! But more surprising was the upset of my friends, urging me to put my dress back on immediately! I wondered what was wrong – the beach seemed so empty. Shivering, I laughed. My English was not very good at the time, but finally I surrendered and clothed myself, my skin still wet. “Somebody will call the police on you, on
Do you remember Troy Davis? Rallies in his support were held all over the world from 2008 – 2011. Amnesty International published a report about Davis's case characterizing it as a miscarriage of justice and a "catastrophic flaw in the U.S. death penalty machine." F ormer president (and Georgia governor) Jimmy Carter released a public letter in which he stated "Executing Troy Davis without a real examination of potentially exonerating evidence risks taking the life of an innocent man and would be a grave miscarriage of justice." Reverend Al Sharpton also called for clemency after he met and prayed with Davis on death row. In his final words, Davis maintained his innocence, saying: "Well, first of all I'd like to address the MacPhail family. I'd like to let you all know, despite the situation – I know all of you are still convinced that I'm the person that killed your father, your son and your brother, but I am innocent. The incident that
Yesterday at the Thursday Berkeley Farmers' Market , I get into a conversation with Karamoo and Amina who are sitting on the sidewalk. After getting my favorite breads from Eduardo Morell, first apples from Bernie, mushrooms and eggplants, I listen to Karamoo playing the kora. His partner Amina stands up and dances with me under a blue sky – I feel transported. The exquisite music from Mali is delicate and joyous, flows like a river; the sounds and harmonies open the heart. Amina smiles, showing me her graceful soul as we communicate through movement, we float…. As it ends, she declares the song a dedication to earth, a praise of its beauty. We bow. Danke schön :)
If you are a bit reluctant to look at my blog, don’t worry . I write not only about the memorial, but about ALL of life :) about encounters with foxes, humans, plants, and art, the present, past and future, about delightful and sorrowful realities, ways to participate and be fully alive. I am interested in life’s endless possibilities for transformation & healing, joy & insight. Today we are publishing a new set of Bob Ng's exquisite stills of the mural. And there are more to come. The new ones will always be pinned to the top, the older ones at the bottom. His first set of photos is now at the very beginning of the blog, June 26, 2021 – have a look. Also, read and enjoy the beautiful reflection from July 29 th where Bob explains his approach to art photography, and to taking in the world. Don’t feel shy – make comments on any entry, let us know your stories, reactions, concerns, revelations.
Ode to Fairy Wand Every July the Fairy Wand plant near my entrance door is spreading out its magic. Coming up the stairs she makes you stop in your tracks. Who is THIS, who is HERE? There is no ignoring her magnificence. She speaks to every visitor, rendering them curious and admiring. Her botanical name is Dierama. Each summer, fast growing stems will suddenly emerge out of the big bunch of tall, sharp, grass-like leaves. The stems reach high and arch wide, taking up lots of space. I can barely get to my entrance door. Within a few days delicate bell-shaped flowers will start unfolding, hanging, and quivering in the slightest breeze. Magenta bells dancing in-midst of empty space in endless motion, like a Calder mobile. I am not talking about mobile phones but about a kind of hanging sculpture with many parts, which keep moving on their own in ever-shifting balance. Nothing is fixed. Delight and wonder is floating in the air. Is this plant an Angel’s Fishing Rod? Like with many pl
Returning from my sunset walk yesterday evening – with clear blue skies , pink puff clouds, and golden light making the world so effortless and peaceful – I stop at my garage doors. At dusk the mural speaks softly, yet strongly. My eyes fall onto the panel with Freddie Gray’s entry. Do any of you remember? For more than twelve years, I have been attentive to the high number of killings by police. Starting in 2011, I followed with my film project Finding the Gold Within GoldTheFilm.com six young Black men from Akron, Ohio, through their four years of college, as well the extra-ordinary mentoring program Alchemy, Inc. they had been part of throughout their teens (more about that later). The six protagonists of my documentary and I became very close over the years – and we still are up to this day. So of course, I felt extremely upset about the murders by police, deeply saddened, and worried about the well being of all the Black people around me. But I also knew that these things ha
I love taking night walks – especially on the not so brightly lit streets in my neighborhood. Yesterday in the dense fog, houses, trees, plants, cars, fences, stairs, everything is shifting shape by the second as the fog wafts uphill, softening lines and sounds. Mystery is lingering in the night’s silent and moist air. A deer mama and her baby startle me and I startle them, after a few motionless seconds, we walk our ways. As I turn the corner, a bundled up figure faintly appears in the distance. First standing still, then stumbling a bit. I am keeping my rhythm uphill, but am on high alert now. Very heavy fog is blowing through the steep street. Coming closer I see smoke emanating from the figure's face. A tiny light glimmers, is it a cigarette? The guy or girl – can’t tell – takes a couple of steps into my direction, catches herself, corrects course. Suddenly, I am surrounded by a whiff of cannabis. Relieved I chuckle to myself. The whiff becomes a cloud through which I glide