Karinaland River

  Geborgenheit – Wordless Sitting on death row is the opposite of feeling  Geborgenheit , feeling safe.  Geborgenheit  is a beautiful German word, old-fashioned, with so many subtleties that it takes several words to convey its meaning. It can be translated as “in the arms of the Great Mother” or “deep feeling of security” – in a mother’s safe embrace. We all yearn for it, one way or the other. We all need it, feeling protected, comfort.  Geborgenheit  is a sensation in my soul that is wordless. It is a feeling of wholeness. I did not know it as a child. A few years ago, I started to taste it finally. I had to practice evoking Geborgenheit till it gradually began lodging itself viscerally into my being, deeply. Some of us, perhaps many, each for different reasons, might not know basic security and trust, and my heart goes out to all of us. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/opinion/deathy-penalty-texas.html   https://innocenceproject.org/petitions/justice-for-robert-roberson/   Here i

  Letter Writing Project A colorful moth fluttering around me, taking her time drinking – who is sending a message? Is it a letter on moth wings?   My mother’s birthday is July 21, and my father’s July 24. Both are long gone, Mama for 8 years now, Papa for 31 years. I have written in  Karinaland River  about  my parents . I am so blessed to have been born to these unique individuals. Each July, I connect with them in spirit through small gestures. Like touching or using objects which they  made with their hands , or writing in my journal, maybe a letter…. This year the ritual takes place early, out of the blue, on July 7, publicly in a museum exhibition, which my friend Fern and I are visiting upon the urgent recommendation of her marvelous artist friend Antonie Cosentino. No thinking is involved, I take off my shoes, sit down on the cushion, pick up a sheet of paper and a pencil, and start writing the words which flow like melodies from deep within my soul. Love letters. To Mama &

  Praying Mantis – Gottesanbeterin   At the beach the other day, I get to meet a wondrous creature.  Bending down, I wonder who is this two-inch-long insect at my bare feet. Folded wings like beautiful long skirt, almost like a big cricket, but different. I feel I should know her, but cannot pin her name. Mesmerized by the slow movements of her beige-grey body – well camouflaged in the sand – I let myself be pulled into her universe for a seemingly long time. For maybe 45 minutes I am in another world.  As soon as I crouch down beside her, she is acutely interested, approaching me in deliberate slow motion, fearlessly. What does she see? Her big otherworldly eyes gaze at me, the stranger, both curiously and authoritatively. Her rectangular head with its long antennae sits on a long neck and moves freely which gives her such a sophisticated air of aliveness. Her two long front legs are up in the air. The whole slender and delicate body moves with breathtaking grace. I am in awe.   The f

  Transformation – Bowls These artisanal wooden bowls are brand new – freshly turned – and yet they have ancient stories to tell. Their emptiness holds meaning, memories, history, promise, nourishment.   It’s been over a year, my heart broken, many losses and drastic changes, transformations. February 2023 starts with the murder of my step daughter  Marya  (by her vet husband who then killed himself). Then two months later another huge loss: fourteen years of drought here in California finally kills my stately 140-year-old live oak. She is the mother tree of a small grove of four live oaks and one cork oak. The loss of Mama Oak is momentous for the hillside and me. Both events are mirroring – alas in lesser ways – the devastating effects of rapidly growing mass shootings, wars, wild fires, heat domes, flash floods and more. For fifteen years I have been sleeping in the embrace of Mama Oak’s arms – in my tiny bedroom cottage beneath the far-reaching branches. By the end of June, the  ce