Karinaland River

With the Thinning of the Veil arriving, I snatch another mid-week day on the Beach, just in time. Balmy, sunny, clear, on golden sand flattened and compacted by the atmospheric river storm I float on enchanted feet…. Encountering several “time-steps” of sand pipers, as I am skirting the waves. It is just so endlessly endearing to watch the little birds glide up and down the wet sand, snatching food from the momentarily receding ocean – their beautiful flurry of movements keep me smiling on my long walk. Then, on my way back as I stand still turning my gaze back to the West, I suddenly see a few of the creatures sitting close to me. Not running on their quick legs or flying away, they eye me from below. I wonder what makes them tame. Then one of them gets up from its cozy little hole in the sand, and looks for another one to rest in the warm afternoon sun. No need to search far, it slides its feather body into the new shelter. And I realize these “holes” were actually created by the fee

  October is a golden month here in California – it is the light that softens, allowing for golden hues. This ordinary midweek day ends with a balmy evening. The sunset turns golden, endlessly golden… The air is still, the bay lies calm – our Atmospheric River on the weekend has cleaned out all harshness… The neighborhood is quiet, my cicadas in the front patio are chirping steadily. Their loud polyrhythms add another level of magical contentedness. Pleasing moisture in the air soothes each breath and makes me forget the never-ending brutal dryness of the long long summer months. As the night falls, shades of pink and light blue in the sky paint moments of timelessness and endings…fading into darkness… alive with cicada song….

  Phoenix Dance  – one of my film projects – called me loudly.   And after the initial fiery inspiration, I started to resist the calling. It was going to be just too hard to find the money for it, and the logistics of it... But as always it is the people I am portraying that pull me in and I can’t refuse eventually. I see something so beautiful, so unique, and I know I must share; everyone deserves to know this exquisite beauty and inspiration that I experience. Of course then comes the task of translating this vision into cinema, because it is not about the outer images and facts but about the inner experience. I must now transform so called reality into cinematic language that is capable of evoking deeper truth about our human existence. This essence is transmissible in live performance of music, dance, theater; we all have felt it. And in film, too, it is possible, with its many its layers of image, sound, word, rhythm (editing), light, music, narrative arc. For me the trick is alw

  Pomegranate Princess From my own tree – one of several fruit last year, this small pomegranate showed its broken heart… Sadly enough, in the last few years, the severe drought has been bringing about massive invasions of gophers. And they have been chewing the roots of some of my fruit trees (fig, persimmon, pomegranate, strawberry fruit trees), and killed them. So I had to learn to live with “underground” wild life – swallowing up the poppies, California and red, nasturtiums. It is eerie to watch the plant being pulled down from beneath, slowly disappearing into earth, like a video of their growth in reverse :)  Gopher is a very clever and feisty creature. When gardening I will hear a bit of rustling, move in that direction, and there he with his beady eyes and two little front teeth, staring at me with defiantly. And we start a conversation and a little game of hide and seek. I argue for him to leave my trees alone. Of course there are many gophers, and their massive tunneling s

 Today, a ll of us here in California are “swimming” in an Atmospheric River which is soaking us deeply. We are brought together in a bathing and cleansing ritual of atmospheric dimension, showering us with blessings and fervently longed for rain. May people be safe in areas with flash flooding and power outages. May those who have to serve and work outdoors stay warm and dry. On this morning, I stay in bed in my cottage watching through the window and skylights the oaks’ long limbs sway violently in the storm’s gusting. What a spectacle, at times scary and dizzying. And then I sense distinctly that the rain, winds & plants are having a big dance party. The big trees especially are getting their root system exercised. Old extra weight is disposed of, smaller branches bang on my cottage roof as they fall 60 feet or more. When I get up to inspect the land, the whole backyard is densely strewn with leaves and twigs clothed in usnea lichen and moss. Little streams rushing down the ter

  My husband was an Owl. In the last few years of his life – being already in his eighties – I got him this stone sculpture to keep looking over him when I was traveling with my film’s screenings and outreach. The Owl sits now with two other stones I painted with words of poetry to mark his presence in the area under the live oaks where I scattered his ashes. We were together for 25 years, and he was 25 years my senior. Bob loved poetry, his father was a poet. I chose the poem in yesterday’s entry for a memorial pamphlet I made in 2016. To get a feel for Bob’s originality, intelligence, rebel nature, humor, and fierce integrity, have a look at Memorial Page from UC Berkeley Sociology Department, where his students – themselves accomplished and renown professors and writers across America ­– and colleagues share insightful and funny stories. Very fun to read. Bob was a character :) and a Mensch. https://sociology.berkeley.edu/robert-blauner-1956 You will hear more about him in the comi

Follow, poet, follow right To the bottom of the night, With your unconstraining voice Still persuade us to rejoice; With the farming of a verse Make the vineyard of the curse, Sing of human unsuccess In a rapture of distress;   In the deserts of the heart Let the healing fountain start, In the prison of his days Teach the free man how to praise. Excerpt from “In memory of W.B. Yeats” by W.H. Auden (Written in January 1939, at the onset of the Second World War)  

What would I do without the younger people in my life? Their dreams, focus, struggles, questions give me hope for the future of America. Those who flock to me, are curious about a life lived out of the ordinary. I have introduced you to Jamie before (July 25 & 26 entries). I met him on the street in front of my home through the mural this past February. Whenever he is in Bay Area visiting his brother and family, he will stop by. Jamie is in his late 30’s, an activist, union organizer and Black Lives Matter ally, writer, college teacher, avid bicyclist, and minimalist when it comes to what we need to live. All things I can relate too, and love to see embodied in the young or not so young :) This past Saturday, we spent time talking under the oaks, watching the balmy sunset from the deck, sharing a simple bowl of rice with vegis, and still more comparing notes till midnight… His Amtrak & Bike trip was a fantastic way of traveling on a budget, meeting people of all walks of life.

  Today – my husband’s fifth death day, the full moon, and the warm gentle rains… It is all melting together in a smooth arrival of blessings. Yesterday evening, I harvest a big bag of apples from the old golden delicious tree, bring some over for Ladan, John, and their daughters Melanie and Moneli who play hide and seek with me. This morning Beth from across the street comes to get her share, then Gregg, a few houses up, arrives with a bag and I take the apples down the stairs to meet him. Pies will be baked :) Earlier in the morning a student lets me know about her dream & sobbing and suppressed emotions stuck in her throat. Sharing insights, rain, tears, apples, feelings, delights – this “remembrance day” keeps unfolding with showers of all kinds. Bob appears, too. Meeting on zoom with the Marketing Communications Manager of UC Berkeley Press about the promotion of the re-issue of Bob’s 1989 book Black Lives, White Lives , to be released February 1, 2022. In another meeting, fr

  The names of the victims who are remembered in our Memorial Mural happen to appear in the news with updates on juror selection process, trials, convictions of the killers, settlements with police departments, cities, etc.   When making these blog entries my heart grows a bit heavy, and yet I feel this is what commemorating means: honoring the individuals who lost their lives, so we might not forget, including the families’ continued struggles to find justice, recognition, accountability, or changes of laws and police practices. We must remember, and hopefully enact change. You can find an earlier entry on Elijah’s trial on September 6, and here is a follow-up: Elijah McClain Feb 25, 1996 ­– Aug 24, 2019 23 year old Massage Therapist, played violin, Aurora, Denver https://www.nytimes.com/2021/10/19/us/elijah-mcclain-settlement.html On Aug. 24, 2019, Mr. McClain was walking home from a convenience store when someone called 911, saying he “looked sketchy” and that he was wearing a

 It is good to see that justice is insisted upon, and at the same time it is devastating. Why was Ahmaud killed in the first place? By who and for what reason? Being Black was enough to be hunted down... How come fairness to Black Americans is not granted? neither in life nor in death.... Ahmaud Marquez Arbery May 8, 1995 – Feb 23, 2020 25 year old Electrician, Glynn County, Georgia https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2021/10/17/ahmaud-arbery-trial-brunswick/ “We no longer intend to beg for justice. We demand it. We expect it,” says civil rights lawyer Gerald A. Griggs. “What’s on trial is the importance of African American life in this country,” said Darren West, a Black pastor in Brunswick.  https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2021/10/18/ahmaud-arbery-trial-first-day/ Annie Polite, an 87-year-old Brunswick native, joined in the vigil after lunch, using a walker to reach a sunny patch on the lawn. “I’ve seen a lot in my 87 years in Georgia,” she said. “Some things have

  Today at the concert, feeling bathed in the live sound of Robert Schumann’s Symphony No. 2 in C Major is a very special treat. The warm tones of the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra playing on historical period instruments creates such a rich tapestry. Now several hours later, the music is still ringing vividly in my body and heart. The whole big family of instruments – 16 violins, 6 violas, 6 cellos, 4 double bass, 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets and 1 Timpani – play with beautiful gusto under the direction of conductor Richard Egarr. For the first time in 18 months for a live audience. The joy is palpable in players and listeners alike. And this feast is taking place on an afternoon when the first autumn rain arrives with a little sprinkle as we are leaving the First Congregational Church in Berkeley. The friends who treated me to this concert are equally nourished and moved. The after taste is strong and delicious. The preciousness of joining toge

  The waters of melancholy from yesterday – five years ago this month, I accompanied my husband to death’s door – are balanced today by a visit to the ocean in Point Reyes National Seashore. Long walk on empty beach, which is never the same I visit. The big whale skull still there, close to the dunes, just moved down fifty feet. But the other whalebones are gone, swept away by powerful waves and currents. For the past two years, I keep visiting this mysterious sculpture – once the head of a sea creature – noting how even bones, white and beautiful, are eroding with ocean, sun, and time, and will end up as sand, dust…. transformed and recycled…. to be breathed by generations to come…. Whale vertebras, gone by now – the skull's majestic presence did not get captured in the stills I took. May it come alive in your imagination...

  These days time rushes, earth cools, the sun sets earlier and earlier, and the season changes gears in fits and starts, all is bustling towards end of year, towards darkness – and me wanting to linger just for a moment longer, but time is flowing in a steady stream of transitions, mutations, transformations, acceleration of loss of light –   – and the moment my knife cuts the tomato's skin, a burnished melancholy alights in my fingertips, all losses rolled into one big ball of yarn waiting to be unspooled, a moment that is not sure of…. but breath flows on, carries me over thresholds unknown….

  As with all initiations, Death and Life are the great teachers. Death is ready to strike, and if we are full of awareness, then the mystery of life will open up to us. In my case a deep inner warm flame moved into my consciousness at around age six. Post war Germany. It happened on one of our rare Sunday afternoon outings. The whole family in the old Opel , me sitting in the back with my siblings – right behind my father at the steering wheel – as always making sure I was taking the opportunity to learn how to drive, emulating his moves of shifting gears, and paying attention to the road, leaning into curves. In just one of those curves, descending down toward a small underpass, I am suddenly propelled into hyper awareness. A split second before our car is about to enter the tunnel, a massive MILITARY TANK emerges out of the dark – like in a dream. Racing towards us with enormous speed, the huge STEEL TRACK PLATES ready to crush our tiny vehicle and flatten us dead into the narrow c

Apples harvested this morning. When I going out, I bring my small basket with me :)  to share some of the bountiful fruit with others. And you can see the last Asian pear on top. The tree did not carry a lot this year, but they are hardy, ready to explode in the mouth with sweet refreshing juice – the squirrels love them too… The Barlett pear – posing graciously in a potted jade plant surrounded by succulents – is from the Farmer’s market. Bernie’s pears are the best. And pears with their sculptural and energetic beauty are “pearfect” for our hot autumn weather, cooling and balancing the palette and spirit…. I don’t know if there exists any greater “ pearfection ”….  (stills by Karina)

The story below is about a ridiculous insignificant scene that came back to me in its deeper meaning  and essence when I told it to a friend. It is January First of 2021, I am on my way to Limantour Beach to celebrate my mother’s death day. I stop in Point Reyes Station to pick up some food. Walking down the sidewalk ready to cross the street, I see a youngish guy loudly shouting, gesturing and talking at people in a theatrical manner – clearly he is “high.” For a split second I am tempted to discard him as crazy or a nuisance, but then I feel the inexplicable compulsion to enjoy his outlandish style of holding forth like a fool. I just can’t refuse it, and I send him silent good wishes and inwardly smile to myself. It is after all a special day. When I come back out of the store, he gestures from across the street, pointedly addressing me: “I saw that, Lady, yeah you – keep it that smile, beautiful…. yeah so beautiful….” He goes on with more that I don’t remember. But clearly he is

 My practice of writing a blog entry every day was asking for a brief pause – after three months, taking off one week became another kind of practice :)         Like standing on one leg, knee bent, allowing body to find soft and deeply rooted balance, drinking in earth's answer to gravity.... breathing into the unknown, into the wonder where my steps will take me.... freedom.... unfixed.... Meanwhile the APPLES on my trees have become the stars in my life, so utterly abundant that even the squirrels cannot finish them, and plenty are still waiting to be picked and handed to friends, students, neighbors. They are just so good, so full of life and deliciousness. Working in the garden in the morning and biting into a freshly plucked yellow-skinned fruit with its red cheek, is an adventure that unleashes a sun of sensations radiating through my body.  Each day I wake to wonder and immense gratitude for the Geborgenheit * in my tiny bedroom cottage under the oaks, for a roof over my h

This Time of Year the Sun is setting at the horizon right in between the two trees across the street – and I get a private sunset show from my living room. How quickly she – die Sonne – is sinking and disappearing across the shiny bay into the Marin hills. And then I imagine her – yes in German the sun is a she – diving into the ocean very soon after that, and the sky gets to glow in variations of pink, deep red, orange... as if to applause. The sun never sets in exactly the same spot, in the summer much further to the right, in winter much further to the left behind the Golden Gate Bridge, and for this sunset show I will walk to the nearby outlook with a better view.  Dusk falls softly and soothes the senses, without any spectacular cloud illuminations this evening, and yet the fading light is enveloping the world in a palpable embrace. Applause rises from below for the African Band playing live music down the hill somewhere (at a private birthday party perhaps?)... Now the light tu

Another angle (still by Bob Ng) https://www.nytimes.com/2021/09/30/us/police-killings-undercounted-study.html “There’s been an attempt to limit the reality of what is.”   

The Scaffold – our ally – I really loved painting on it l ast summer, climbing up and down :) and  for the past 30 years  always liked these old fashioned garage doors –  now even more... (still by Pete Rosos for the Berkeleyside) Karina and Laura (still by Tomye)