Karinaland River

  Patterns   The older we get the more we can make sense decipher read the signs in between the lines nuances sneezes breezes   navigating   we learn road maps   when young we in sand water waves wind sun feet see the world   immersed we know what do YOU see ? At beach on April 14, immersing myself...

Surprises: Opening an old Taschenbuch   Moving books into another bookcase, I come across this:  Inside the book a handwritten poem   My handwriting – a surprise from such a long time ago –  so lange her . The paper is yellowed and thinned. It feels as if meeting my younger self. I wonder: Really, I did this? Touching the note, I vaguely remember copying it. Other newspaper clips of poems are hidden in the book as well, as bookmarks. Keeping poetry close to me. As consolation, as companion. This poem by Pablo Neruda, written in 1973 shortly before his death, finds me just as I am turning twenty later that same year. The encouragement to sit with and in darkness makes immense sense to me. I know despair. My childhood and my twenties are filled with it. But looking for the light is my lifelong path and work, even back then. This poem promises light if we are patient: fallen light ­– gefallenes Licht...               Wen...

  This is how the world keeps changing     Two weeks ago, hearing the rhythm of small feet on the roof of my bedroom cottage named Paraiso, I realize this is music I have not heard in a while. From my window, still in bed, I can see a tiny light squirrel jumping onto the nearby massive oak trunk. From here solid moss-covered branches are curving and reaching high. The little one looks almost naked, perhaps she is on her first outing – but she is scampering up into the heights. Aha, a new batch of squirrels is ready to inhabit trees and garden. But raising a squirrel family is not as easy as in the old days. The oaks have become very thin during the drought years. And each year one or more hawks are patrolling the neighborhood with their territorial whistling calls. Despite the crows’ loud ruckus, the hawks will not be deterred. They are busy keeping the squirrel population down. It used to be over the top, everyone complaining about the squirrels ravaging fruit trees. Now...

  Which poem floated your way today?   Below is a poem I introduced to my T’ai Chi students on Monday night. I was saying: "National Poetry Month is a daily reminder of   poetry , which means paying attention to life. All wants to be known, seen, heard, tasted, smelled, touched, admired, experienced, cherished, cared for...  interconnected … Is it not our duty and privilege as humans to bear witness to others’ joy and suffering? How do we listen to others? How do we listen to ourselves?" News     although we would prefer to talk   and talk it into psychological the-   ory the prevalence of small genocides   or the recent disease floating   toward us from another continent   we must not      while she speaks her eyes   frighten us      she is only one person   she tells us her terrible news      we   want to leave the room we may not   we must listen ...

  Good old Friends by Candle Light                              Nacht                            dark night                             don’t take it for                             granted passing by                             a flock of dangly running                             giggling students on campus                            the comfort won’t last     tremble     ...